Policy Unplugged: Dis/Connections between Technology Policy and Practices in Canadian Schools 9780773560420

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policy unplugged

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Policy Unplugged Dis/Connections between Technology Policy and Practice in Canadian Schools jennifer jenson chloë brushwood rose brian lewis with Richard Smith, Stan Shapson, Penny Milton, and Robert Kennedy

McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston • London • Ithaca

© McGill-Queen’s University Press 2007 isbn 978-0-7735-3279-3 Legal deposit third quarter 2007 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% post-consumer recycled), processed chlorine free McGill-Queen’s University Press acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (bpidp) for our publishing activities.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Jenson, Jennifer Policy unplugged: dis/connections between technology policy and practice in Canadian schools/Jennifer Jenson, Chloë Brushwood Rose, Brian Lewis; with Richard Smith … [et al.]. Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-7735–3279-3 1. Educational technology – Canada. 2. Educational technology – Government policy – Canada. 3. Education, Elementary – Canada – Data processing. 4. Education, Secondary – Canada – Data processing. I. Brushwood Rose, Chloë T. (Chloë Tamar), 1972- II. Lewis, Brian III. Smith, Richard IV. Title. lb1028.43.j45 2007

371.33′40971

c2007–901749-5

This book was typeset by Interscript in 10/15 Palatino.

Contents

Acknowledgments vii Introduction ix Richard Smith, Jennifer Jenson, and Chloë Brushwood Rose 1 The Global and the Local: Technology Policy in Education 3 Brian Lewis and Jennifer Jenson part one: studying educational technology policy and practice 2 Finding Space for Technology: Organizational and Instructional Issues for Computer-Use in Schools 29 Chloë Brushwood Rose and Jennifer Jenson 3 Gender Inequity and Professional School Culture: Teachers at Work with Technology 48 Chloë Brushwood Rose and Jennifer Jenson

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4 IT Professional Development for Teachers: Beyond “Best-Practice” Lists 68 Jennifer Jenson, Brian Lewis and Richard Smith 5 Supporting Technology versus Instruction: Divisions in Policy and Practice 86 Jennifer Jenson and Chloë Brushwood Rose part two: making educational technology policy 6 Making Better Policies for Learning Technologies Penny Milton and Robert Kennedy 7 Bridging Policy Gaps between Teaching and Technology 122 Stan Shapson Conclusion: Learning from Local Needs Jennifer Jenson and Chloë Brushwood Rose Notes 149 References

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About the Authors 171 Index 175

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Acknowledgments

First and foremost, the authors wish to thank the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada for funding the research project from which this book developed through its Initiative for the New Economy (http://www.sshrc.ca). In addition, we wish to thank the Canadian Education Association (http://www.cea-ace.ca) for its work initiating dialogue throughout the country on key public policy issues in education and, in particular, for hosting the Technology Summit, through which the authors were invited to meet with various stakeholders in educational technology policy. We would also like to thank the many educational administrators, teachers, students, technicians, and school district officials who met with us and generously shared their time and thoughts over the course of our research. Our greatest wish is that the research reported here will contribute to the ongoing improvement of working conditions and teaching and learning experiences in the schools we visited and in schools across

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Canada. We are further grateful to the Canadian Association of Principals, which invited us to participate in its annual conference, and to the provincial ministries of education, which graciously granted our requests to meet with provincial officials. Finally, we thank Johanne Provencal and Jackie McLaughlin for their editorial work on the manuscript and all of the anonymous reviewers who offered feedback on earlier drafts of this work.

Introduction richard smith, jennifer jenson, and chloë brushwood rose

Canadian public policy in all areas is concerned with the country’s transition to a “knowledge society.” This transition has brought increased attention to education, which is considered to be a primary engine and infrastructure of the “knowledge economy” (see, for example, oecd 2002). A dramatic result of this shift has been an added emphasis on information technology in Canadian schools. Provinces and school boards are seeking corporate donations and partnerships to support and increase the critical mass of computer technology (Rainsberry 2001). Technology implementation has become a key resource issue for education, with an investment of hundreds of millions of dollars in information technology infrastructure. What few of these fiscal policies address are the ways in which the introduction of computer technologies into classrooms has interrelated and practical implications for staffing and human resource development, curriculum development, professional development, and a range of other issues. Much

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of the discussion about the need to use computers in schools is either explicitly or implicitly concerned with changing the ways in which schools operate – making them more “efficient” – by changing the ways teachers teach or by adapting teachers’ goals to better match broader societal ends (aauw 1999; National Academy of Science 1995; and, relatedly, Noble 1995). While the impact of computer technologies on school environments and working conditions is undeniable, a growing body of research has documented that placing computers in schools has not only resulted in few significant changes to educational practices but also in inequitable social relations (Bryson and de Castell 1998; Cuban, Kirkpatrick, and Peck 2001; Huber and Schofield 1998; Schofield 1995; Sutton 1991). With all of this in mind, our research team spent two years examining the implementation of computer technologies in schools across Canada, focusing on the human and organizational, rather than on the technical, dimensions of this new social environment. We wanted to explore whether and how technology implementation policies are addressing the real experiences of administrators, teachers, and students who must contend with the relatively sudden introduction of computers into their districts and schools. Who makes technology implementation policy and for whom? What drives technology implementation policies, and where do they have their greatest (or least) impact? What is the relationship between educational technology policies and the practices of technology implementation that occur (or not) in schools? We have approached these questions with a broad sense of what constitutes policy, especially in the context of the largely ad hoc policy development that has surrounded technology implementation in schools. While policy may formally address institutional procedures and goals, it is also made up of many informal and unwritten rules and regulations that govern and put into operation the social relations that define institutional

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practices. In this way, although we focus specifically on change within the educational system, our research in fact speaks more generally to the impact of knowledge-based economies on social relations, on the nature of work, and on the organization of knowledge.

about the study The study reported on here was conducted from 1999 to 2002.1 During this time, we visited schools and school districts across Canada, where we interviewed teachers, technical support staff, and administrators in order to document the difficulties, questions, and possibilities they encountered making use of computer technologies in the classroom. Rather than aiming to survey or quantify the issues at stake, these school visits were intended to produce a series of detailed case studies that would examine the “on-the-ground” implementation and integration of computer technologies in Canadian classrooms. As part of this commitment to reporting localized accounts rather than to presenting quantifiable, generalized “data,” we follow Jenson, de Castell, and Bryson (2003) and others (e.g., Becker 2000; Cuban 2001; and Zhao, Byers, Sheldon, and Pugh 2002) who insist that large-scale studies of computer (mis)use in schools often elide what are “spontaneous and tangential, and yet enormously important … ‘voices,’ stories, and experiences” (Jenson, de Castell, and Bryson 2003, 564). With this in mind, we conducted qualitative research, including in-depth interviews and classroom observation, at thirtytwo elementary and secondary schools across Canada. These school visits took us to seventeen different school districts in six provinces – Alberta, British Columbia, Manitoba, Nova Scotia, Ontario, and Quebec – where we not only visited schools but also interviewed school district staff and officials as well as representatives in several of the provincial ministries of education.

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Our primary methods for gathering data included interviews with teachers, principals, school district officials, district technology support staff, and provincial policy makers; observation of classrooms, workshops, and meetings; and documentation of formal, informal, and developing policies and practices. Rather than collecting a wide sample of quantitative data (through surveys, for example), we chose methods that would allow us to develop detailed micro-focused case studies of individual schools and districts over time. In the highly uncertain environment that characterizes the implementation of new technologies in schools, traditional sampling methodologies can sometimes miss the direction and velocity of change if it is being led by small groups of innovators. In this research, we targeted early adopters (and early rejecters) of educational technology – in essence we talked with people who had interesting stories to share about the implementation of technology in their schools and classrooms. In many cases, listening to people tell their stories led to the stories of others, and we tried to follow those networks of connection and practice whenever we could. We followed these networks among practitioners and stakeholders as a way to examine and understand how educational technology is “socially constructed.” Pioneering work by Wajcman (1991) and many others (e.g., Latour 1993; Marcuse 1998; McLuhan 1964) has led scholars to a much more nuanced and subtle understanding of the way in which technology and society interact. In the most recent examples of this research, and in particular with reference to Internet and computer technologies, it is clear that there are moments in the “lifecycle” of a technology when social shaping is more important than it is in others. The emergence of a “dominant design” (Utterback 1994), for example, can result in significant reduction in the variety of products and the sources of innovation as well as in the role and importance of lead users. However, the use of

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computer technology in schools has not reached the stage of a dominant design and, as such, is still the site of considerable change and innovation. For this reason, we have tried to look for and illustrate a range of crucial “defining moments” for technology implementation among teachers, administrators, and policy makers. It was important to us to better understand, and to then show, how teachers and their administrators were attempting to come to terms with top-down provincial and district mandates to make more and better use of computer technologies in teaching and learning. In Policy Unplugged, we draw on many case studies in order to highlight some of the less obvious tensions that are central to the use of new technologies in schools – technologies that would not have been apparent had our research merely examined policies, their practices, and “effects” from a desk (Willinsky 2003). Our decision to report this research by exploring several case studies in depth rather than by generalizing from a large data set encompassing all the schools and classrooms we visited is driven by our awareness of recurrent and all-too-familiar discrepancies between typical findings of large-scale studies of computer use in schools and small-scale ethnographically grounded classroom studies of teachers and students at work (de Castell, Bryson, and Jenson 2002). For example, large-scale surveys of teachers’ computer use might take into account institutional barriers teachers often face when attempting to make use of computers, but they often fail to show whether and how the relationship between these barriers and the work of teachers might actually be co-produced (Becker 2000; Cuban, Kirkpatrick, and Peck 2001). Our face-to-face observational studies of teaching and learning with new technologies show how responsibility for failing to make more/better use of computers in schools is co-constructed by teachers, administrators, and school districts and is structurally reinforced by both

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written and unwritten policies. It is through the lens of situated, everyday “micro” practices (de Certeau 1984; Foucault 1995) that we focus on some of the more and less apparent disconnects between instructional and curricular support for new technologies, professional development for teachers, social and institutional inequities, and policies for the fiscal and technical support of machines and networks.

about the book Policy Unplugged offers a critical and engaging study of the nature and effects of technology policy and its practices in Canadian schools, and it will be of interest to both researchers and practitioners alike. Chapter 1 provides a detailed discussion of the terms and contexts for policy research as well as an overview of Canadian educational technology policy in the context of the national and international changes brought about by economic and political globalization. In the chapters that make up part 1 – “Studying Educational Technology Policy and Practice” – we report on the study described above. These chapters explore some of the implications of technology policy making by taking a critical look at “grassroots” policy practices; that is, whether and how formal technology policies – which tend to be primarily fiscal – determine, guide, and influence the everyday practices of teachers in classrooms. Chapters 2 and 3 consider the local barriers affecting the implementation of these policies. More specifically, chapter 2 explores the practical difficulties that confront schools trying to find physical and organizational space for these new technologies. The case studies discussed in this chapter suggest that the physical location and organization of computer technologies, whether in the lab, classroom, library, or even school hallway, delimits and shapes the ways in which teachers think about and make use of computers in their schools.

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Chapter 3 examines the gender inequities that function as barriers to teachers trying to teach with technology. It documents how, for the teachers who were studied, perceptions of expertise and experiences of access in relation to new technologies were produced and maintained by the gender inequities evident in computing cultures pervasive both in schools and in society more generally. In addition to exploring the barriers to implementing technology policy, chapters 4 and 5 consider the difficulties posed by putting policies into practice. In chapter 4 we explore policies that address educational technology and professional development, and the benefits and difficulties inherent in the different models these policies advocate. This chapter also attempts to clarify the disjuncture between what administrators and teachers identify as salient and relevant professional development, on the one hand, and what professional development policies and programs purport to accomplish, on the other. It does this while recognizing that divergent perspectives on these issues are delimited by individual subject positions in relation to technology and by positions within the institutional structure of schooling. Chapter 5 builds on this discussion by considering districtlevel fiscal policies and the ways in which they affect the availability of training, resources, and support for schools implementing new technologies. Discursive shifts in provincial educational policy from a skills-based model of “technological literacy” to cross-curricular “technology integration” have resulted in district-level policies that allot far more resources to technical support for technologies than they do to curricular support. Looking closely at the lived realities of educators, administrators, and support staff, the case studies in this chapter suggest that the (mis)uses of computers in schools are more often determined by technological considerations than they are by pedagogical ones.

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Part 2 – “Making Educational Technology Policy” – takes a step back from the specifics of the study discussed in part 1. Chapters 6 and 7 each address the creation of technology policy more generally and offer insights into the nature of policy reform. In chapter 6, the authors argue that technological innovation must be accompanied by social innovation, both in the way we teach with computer technologies and in the way we create policy for technology implementation. Chapter 7 addresses Canada’s Innovation Strategy and argues that it is time to move from an initial phase of technical infrastructure investment focused on quantitative benchmarks to policies focused on change in teaching practice, institutional policies, and student outcomes. In addition, this chapter identifies policy issues that need to be addressed in order to achieve more effective links between technology and teaching as well as several key policy-making principles. The concluding chapter considers possible directions for addressing the issues raised in Policy Unplugged, which collectively point to a disconnect between education technology policy and practices in Canadian schools. In particular, the authors consider the value of “learning from local needs” and offer a critique of approaches that emphasize best practices and demand solutions that can be generalized. Finally, the case studies and perspectives this book offers on the relationship between technology policy and technology implementation allow its readers to consider how the development of the former has become “unplugged” from the daily experiences of teachers and schools and yet, despite this disconnect, continues to significantly inform the complex social, organizational, and pedagogical life of the Canadian school.

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1 The Global and the Local: Technology Policy in Education1 brian lewis and jennifer jenson

“It’s like riding the front car on the roller coaster … It may look like you’re steering the cars, but in fact you’re just holding on.” This is how the then head of the us House Telecommunications and Finance Subcommittee, Rep. Edward Markey, described his role as a key policy maker in 1994. It is a cautionary statement, graphically reflecting the type of shell shock we have witnessed among teachers, principles, boards, and decision makers involved in education policy making across Canada and the United States today. An information revolution has shaken the world. The effects of this revolution are visible on micro and macro levels – from the details of the way people live their lives every day to the highest decisions of government. The Economist put it this way: “by reducing the cost of communication, it (information technology) has helped to globalise production and financial markets. In turn, globalisation spurs technology by intensifying competition and by speeding up the diffusion of technology

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through direct investment. Together, globalisation and it crush time and space” (Woodall 1996, 19). Most countries are greeting the emerging communication technologies with new sets of globally harmonized regulatory and economic policies. In the formulation of these policies, they are facing a multiplicity of obstacles and turmoil that is induced by a series of related fundamental global trends: worldwide policy deregulation in telecommunications, the collapse of traditional national market barriers, economic concentration in truly transnational companies, and breathtaking technological innovation as communication technologies converge into a digital sea. This has led to profound questions about the role and nature of policy itself. Are old values attainable – or even desirable – anymore? Policy makers everywhere have begun to find their traditional policy contexts inadequate, indeed irrelevant, to their work. New possibilities, hopes, dreams, and, indeed, fears are being lived and expressed at all levels of society. The effects of this technological revolution are often confusing and contradictory. So in China, while a generation wakens to the possibilities of instant and affordable cellular communication and leapfrogging wired technology, a state apparatus struggles to control the flow of information from the Internet by registering users, building firewalls, and controlling intranets in the name of national security. Singapore offers itself as a kind of one-stop service for multinational information and multimedia industries, while closely monitoring and restricting the Internet access of its citizens. Malaysia foresees development linked to the creation of an information-intensive society and a multimedia corridor. Japan pins its hope for economic reform and renewal on the development and implementation of the very information technologies that challenge the information hegemony of its bureaucracies. Canada, struggling to find a place on the new world scene, proposes itself as a “world knowledge broker,”

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putting the information revolution to the service of its internationalist, democratic vocation (Axworthy 1996). In The End of the Nation State (1995), Kenichi Ohmae questions whether nation-states actually function anymore as the primary actors in the world’s economy. He cites the corrosive effects on national economic structures of the “four I’s”: investment capital, industrial production, individual consumers, and information technology. Investment capital is no longer geographically constrained but flows towards the best investment opportunities. Industry is increasingly transnational, driven by the quest for global partners and markets. Individual consumers increasingly search out the best and most affordable opportunities around the world. And finally, information technology makes all of the above possible, allowing investment capital, industry, and individual consumers to act and work and think and learn on a global basis. Ohmae (1995, 2–4) argues that “the mobility of these four I’s makes it possible for viable economic units in any part of the world to pull in whatever is needed for development … This makes the traditional ‘middleman’ function of nation states – and their governments – largely unnecessary.” He goes on to describe the concept and practice of “national interest” as a “declining industry” (ibid.). Much as we are confronted with the attempted global harmonization of economic forces, objectives, and policies over the past decade, so now we are faced with the globalization of ideas: the uncontrolled circulation of information and the resulting development of transnational “networks of interests” working outside of the traditional context of states and regional or local communities. We are confronted with a range of new possibilities and problems, and policy decisions made at this point will prove to be truly fundamental ones, with strategic national and regional implications. Policy decisions are crucial here. But

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never have policy makers seemed so overcome with events, so dazed, in such disarray. The information revolution has challenged the functions and capabilities of policy itself.

wh a t i s p o l i c y a n d h o w i s p o l i c y m a d e in a global age? Policy is that set of written and unwritten rules and guidelines that institutionalize and put into operation the social contracts that define our institutions and organizations. Policy is at work at both macro and micro levels of governance and control: in government at all levels and in virtually all other public and private institutions, including our universities and our school systems. Policy addresses both institutional procedures and institutional goals. It provides a framework for the structure of decision making within an organization, and it rationalizes the decision-making process in the context of substantive and idealized values that represent the goals of the organization. Policy can take progressive or conservative forms. In its progressive aspects, policy will be flexible and it will map and steer the development of an organization in light of evolving social perspectives and goals. In its more conservative aspect, policy tends to entrench established institutional practices and power relationships in favour of stability. Conservative policy becomes dysfunctional when, with a focus on protecting the status quo, it works against the recognition of the underlying changing realities of an organization. Dysfunctional policy assumes that the agreed-upon procedures and goals are fixed and natural: it denies the reality of the institution or organization as a historical entity and denies its own role as the operational form of evolving social and institutional relations. A conservative policy is dysfunctional when it is used to defend bad decisions on procedural grounds, when it is used to bolster an institution and its powers against beneficial

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change and evolution, and when it becomes exclusionary and non-inclusive. Policy breakdowns can occur at the progressive end of the spectrum as well. A progressive policy becomes dysfunctional if it is too far out front, if it is uninformed, shortsighted, pressure-group driven, and non-inclusive. According to Ernest Wilson (1997), policy development typically proceeds in distinct phases. In the first phase, technical issues are propelled into public view and onto the action agenda of senior policy makers. Policy is then developed in consultation with the implementers, who explain the cuttingedge features of their work and the social problems it will solve. Only in a subsequent phase are more critical issues engaged: the institutional, political, and power distribution issues; the question of winners and losers; and how a balance can be achieved among these issues. Policies addressing the information revolution are largely intended by their implementers to be progressive – that is, they are intended to map, steer, and facilitate institutional change in light of the promise of a technological and economic revolution. They are often “out-front” policies, leading social change. The best progressive policy is based on research as well as on informed and inclusive debate and consultation. Our work demonstrates, however, that policy has largely been stuck in the initial phase of development as defined by Wilson (1997): important policy decisions are being made in a largely ad hoc manner, driven by an action-oriented bureaucracy and technology promoters. And, around the world, this seems to be true of information policy generally.

global policy convergence On a global scale, we seem to be faced with a phenomenon that can be called “policy convergence” – that is, in essence, harmonized policy alignments brought on by the communications

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revolution and the global economic changes within which it is occurring. As Ohmae argues, nation-states themselves are less relevant than they used to be. National value systems seem more archaic. The protections of time, space, and cultural uniqueness seem to be washed away. As we have entered a new age of information, so we have entered a new age of policy. Quickly and surely, policies are converging. The North American policy maker’s job has switched from policing to promoting. In the past, the role of the policy maker has most often been to moderate market forces in light of national, regional, or local goals. However, that role is now switching to moderating these local goals in light of new global economic and technological imperatives: competitiveness, mobility convergence, globalization, and interoperability. The social context and values that have guided public policy are rapidly evolving in line with the development of a dominant, market-based, macro-economic policy identified as “neoliberal.” Our policy makers have to a large extent shifted their focus away from cultural protection and protection of the public good in the traditional sense of “protecting national values.” The Canadian government’s commitment to a globally oriented, privately developed, market-based regulatory framework, the commitment in its educational system to developing “knowledge workers” for the “knowledge society” (which is arguably a global society), has thrown into question the nationalistic communications and education policy frameworks of the past several generations. As a new communications infrastructure is being established, a new value system is becoming dominant, and an entirely new policy framework is developing as well. In justifying these policies, governments have often employed idealistic and simplistic visions of what the information revolution will mean. In their rush to remain competitive with the United States and the rest of the world,

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few Canadian policy makers are asking truly fundamental social questions about the risks and the changes into which they may be rushing.

education p olicy: th e g l o b a l m e e t s t h e l o c a l Policies addressing the implementation and use of new technologies within education find themselves firmly entangled within overall information and economic strategies. Increasingly, education policies find themselves straddling boundaries between educational and economic objectives. The “ivory tower,” if it ever existed, exists no more (see Lewis, Massey, and Smith 2001). In Policy Unplugged we identify and clarify some of the most pressing issues arising from the implementation of computerbased technologies in schools. These include questions of infrastructure, human resource, and learning policy issues; questions of sustainability; questions of gender; and questions of public policy in an increasingly techno-centric and commercial education environment. Each of these issues speaks to the need for strategies designed to address how and why choices are made, who makes them, and to what effect (both intended and unintended). Too often the reverse happens: technology changes rapidly and decisions are made in a more or less ad hoc fashion, as administrators scramble in response to the initial promises of technology. And then these same administrators, as well as teachers, students, and parents, must face unforeseen problems and demands triggered by implementation. The cart drives the horse. There is a critical need for an approach to the implementation of technology in our schools that pays attention to questions of policy, organizational culture, politics, and decision-making practices (Apple 1986; Apple and Jungck 1998; Becker and

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Sterling 1987; Bryson and de Castell 1996; Goodson, Mangan, and Rhea 1991; Pea 1991; Rossman, Corbett, and Firestone 1988). That is the approach we have taken in our work. Technology for whom, why, when, where? How are the decisions made? By whom? These are “local” questions, grounded in the needs of real people, in real circumstances and real contexts. Yet these local questions – answers to which we believe are key to the successful implementation of technology policy and practice – are too often left unanswered, subsumed by other objectives. In fact, it is as though a major social fault line has emerged: there has been a shift in our relationship to all social activity, which is increasingly judged and evaluated against a touchstone of macro-economic objectives and priorities. Education has not escaped this shift. If, historically, education has been the goal, the final cause for its leaders, movers, and funders, it has now become much more a means to an end – the end being a more efficient and competitive economy and workforce, frequently referred to as the “knowledge economy.” The past decade has seen an extraordinary amount of interest and investment in the deployment and use of computers and computer networking in Canadian public schools: hundreds of millions of dollars and millions of hours of work and worry have been invested in the planning and implementation of new information technologies. These are heavy cost burdens, and the education sector has been asked to ante up. Investments are made at the federal level, and they are repeated and/or matched throughout Canada, from Newfoundland to Nunavut. Governments at all levels have made ambitious promises about equipping classrooms with computers and have devoted significant funds towards fulfilling objectives, including the promotion of computer skills, networking students around the country and the world, and implementing courses through distance education.

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Education in Canada is a provincial responsibility. While there is no “Department of Education” at the federal level, key federal policies and key federally funded programs have been, and will continue to be, driving motors for much of the technological investment in Canadian schools. These programs are largely administered by Industry Canada. Our policy scan of some of the federal and provincial technology-related policies presented in the next section reveals considerable disparity among them with regard to the allocation of funding for infrastructure and on-therecord policy visions for technology use in schools. But it did become clear to us that, at the provincial level as well, technology policies most often mean the allocation and distribution of funds for computer and networking infrastructure. In Policy Unplugged we argue that technology policies in education reflect a shift in interest from civic and individual development, from serving families and communities, to the interests of developing economic and technological infrastructure. This shift in values tends to privilege economic activity and technology as ends, and it tends to favour one-size-fits-all solutions to diverse problems. For these reasons, the “education revolution” is best understood as an important part of a more general information revolution.

te c h n o l o g y p o l i c y f o r c a na d i a n s c h o o l s In this study, one method of elucidating both global and local issues was to begin by reviewing provincial technology policies for K-12 schooling. In general, this policy-scan revealed enormous disparities among the provinces with regard to provincial funding for infrastructure and on-the-record policy visions for technology use in schools. It also became apparent that, at the provincial level, technology policies most often meant the allocation and distribution of funds to school districts for purchasing

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of technology. What follows here are some examples of federal and provincial education technology policies. These examples do not claim to fully represent all policies for technology in education in Canada but, rather, some of the key policy initiatives at the federal and provincial levels. Here we examine the technology policies and initiatives of four of the provinces we visited – Nova Scotia, Ontario, Manitoba, and British Columbia – in an attempt to provide a partial historical grounding for provincial K-12 technology policy. This overview is not meant to cover all programs, policies, and funding practices; rather, it is meant to provide an initial impression of some of the important themes and issues in Canada K-12 technology policy. It should be read, therefore, as a sampling of “on-the-books” policies that effect, limit, enable, support, and/or undermine those local, grassroots practices that are outlined in the next section of Policy Unplugged. Federally funded programs As previously stated, education in Canada is a provincial responsibility. There are, however, federally funded programs that are influential on a national level. These programs are contained within the Government of Canada’s “Connecting Canadians” initiative, which is administered not by a department of education or culture but, rather, by Industry Canada. The mandate of Connecting Canadians has been to “connect Canadians to each other and the world” – something that it claims to have accomplished by 30 March 1999, making Canada “the first country in the world to connect its public schools, including First Nations schools, and public libraries to the Information Highway” (SchoolNet 2000). Funding for the Connecting Canadians program goes to many different subgroups, two of which we focus on owing to their direct impact on schools: the Community Access Program and

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SchoolNet. The Community Access Program provides funding for technological infrastructure, hardware, and software so as to facilitate public access to the Internet through schools, libraries, and community centres. SchoolNet is a large educational website that houses content and programs relevant to technology’s uses in Canadian public education (http://www.schoolnet.ca). Within SchoolNet, two programs were especially important sources of funding for schools: the GrassRoots Program and Computers for Schools. GrassRoots funding at one time supported online projects developed by teachers and their students to build Canadian content, while at the same time developing “the skills young Canadians need in the knowledge-based economy.” Funding for the GrassRoots Program ended in 2005, though there continues to be interest in the program as SchoolNet still showcases the work that teachers and students across Canada produced with the funding made available to them (http://www.schoolnet.ca/grassroots/e/ home/index.asp). The Computers for Schools Program has remained operational and donates surplus or used computer equipment to schools and public libraries across Canada in conjunction with private partners. To date, it has donated over 650,000 computers (http://cfs-ope.ic.gc.ca/). The federal approach, through Industry Canada, is clearly one that values infrastructure, equipment, and connections as ends in themselves. Canada and its institutions must be wired to “play a part in the global knowledge economy.” Initiatives dealing with content, curriculum development, and teacher support are secondary. Nova Scotia In 1998, the Government of Nova Scotia implemented a threeyear Information Economy Initiative, with the assistance of

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Industry Canada. This was a unique, $73.4 million federalprovincial education partnership, and it was established and characterized as an economic development, skills-building project. Of the $73.4 million, the Department of Education received $38.2 million for the purchase of over 6,000 computers, lans, and Internet connections for junior and senior high schools. Through programs handled at the school board level, substantial funds were put into professional development for teachers and into support for technical personnel. It is quite revealing that elementary schools were not able to participate in this program as it was meant to focus on skills-training rather than on more general educational or curricular objectives. As the three-year cycle ended, important questions were being raised about the sustainability of any such one-off program: how does one ensure continuing upgrades to the skill-sets of the teachers – indeed, how does one maintain the infrastructure? These questions were answered in another significant investment in information and communications technology (ict) funding through an Information Economy Initiative (iei) extension that focused on grades 4 to 6, over three years (2001 to 2004) and provided over $15 million for computers and software, professional development for teachers, and technical support. Between 2004 and 2006, a further iei extension was provided to equip grades 7 to 9 with computers, professional development, and technical support. Concomitantly, a strategy for technology in schools was articulated in a 1999 document, “Vision for the Integration of Information Technologies” (Nova Scotia Education and Culture 1999). It called for the integration and implementation of information technology (it) throughout the public school system: “the educational use of it best improves learning when those technologies are accessible, flexible, responsive, participatory

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and integrated thoroughly into all public school programs” (Nova Scotia Education and Culture 1999). It specified itrelated learning outcomes for students based on grade level; as such, this policy represented a significant departure from what we saw in other provinces at that time (late 1990s, early 2000s). In 2005, the document was replaced with “The Integration of Information and Communication Technology within the Curriculum,” shifting the 1999 focus from technological literacy to all aspects of the curriculum. This vision “enables students to achieve essential graduation learning and curriculum outcomes through the selection and integration of appropriate ict within public school programs. To realize this vision, all students and teachers must have ongoing access to appropriate ict within the classroom and school library or media centre. Students and school staff must use networked resources ethically, balancing access with student privacy and safety” (Nova Scotia Department of Education 2005a, 4). Implementation of this vision continues to be a struggle in 2006 and 2007. In its most recent business plan (2006–07) for education funding, Nova Scotia, unlike Ontario, foregrounds technology as an essential provincial education issue: “The changing nature of work, society, the economy and technology require that learning institutions provide options and opportunities that will allow students to reach their potential by acquiring the knowledge, skills and attitudes needed in today’s world” (Nova Scotia Department of Education 2006, 7). Nova Scotia’s ongoing struggle has been with the costs of outdated computer equipment in schools, and it is currently starting to replace equipment that is more than seven years old. Meanwhile, it continues to investigate the impact of icts in public school classrooms and to theorize how best to accomplish ict integration to “enhance student learning and achievement of curriculum outcomes” (Nova Scotia Department of Education 2005b, 3).

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Ontario Ontario is Canada’s most populated and wealthiest province, and it is the centre of Canada’s major education faculties. It has not, for all that, been at the forefront of technology implementation. Here, policy has tended to be more conservative, perhaps because of a heavily market force-oriented provincial government and the distractions of large-scale structural educational reform. While new initiatives and funding for technology were relatively haphazard and insignificant up until about 1999, Ontario seemed poised for major changes. A 1999 initiative was slated to commission $130 million for Internet connections and other large networks for classrooms, schools, and school boards, but it was dropped after a large-scale consulting process had been completed. Funds for technology are provided to school boards on a per-student basis for the purchase of hardware and software. The government also funds a number of narrowly targeted online service programs, including snow (a resource website for teachers of students with special needs), pebbles (Providing Education by Bringing Learning Environments to Students connects students in hospitals or other locations to their classrooms), and spectrum (supplies math, technology, and early childhood education material online). The 2002 report on technology in schools from the Ontario Knowledge Network for Learning (oknl) was expected to lead to major and dramatic investments in technology. Interestingly, the committee developing this report included respected academics and researchers knowledgeable about the pedagogical and administrative issues often overlooked by the government policy makers. The explicit goal of oknl was to tie technology more directly to education and to foster “business partnerships” in the education sector to support direct investment in hardware and software (Magnusson 2005). In 2002, a review of the

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funding formula for Ontario K-12 classrooms was conducted, and it noted that the funding for technology implementation had not changed since 1997, although costs in all sectors of education had risen (Education Equality Task Force 2002). In that report, Mordechai Rozanski (principal author) commented: “I support the calls for improvement of ict systems in the classroom and in board administration. This issue offers the Ministry of Education an opportunity to promote the standardization of classroom ict systems and to promote the effective and efficient management of board resources” (52). Since then, very little has changed in Ontario, despite a change in government. Technology still remains, however, at the forefront of ministry initiatives as they push for more equitable access and technology-assisted solutions for students with special needs. snow has now been in place for many years, and the ministry continues to work on making school and other websites accessible to everyone. It further continues to struggle with effective technology use: The ministry will support English- and French-language school boards in using technology more effectively for students with disabilities by bringing together presenters, vendors and representatives from school boards, school authorities, faculties of education and advisory bodies at a province-wide Assistive Technology Symposium, Tools for Learning: Effective Practice for the Use of Assistive Technology for Students with Special Education Needs (Kindergarten to Grade 12)/Des outils pour apprendre: Pratique efficace pour l’utilisation de la technologie au service des élèves ayant des besoins particuliers, de la maternelle à la 12e année. (Ontario Ministry of Education 2006, 24) Other than the explicit connection of icts to support students with special needs, and despite the oknl report and explicit

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recommendations from commissioned reports, Ontario has not altered its funding formula for icts nor has it made any significant or direct investment in ict professional development for teachers on a provincial level. That said, over the last two years oknl transformed itself into an e-learning initiative to improve and support student learning in the province. In the fall of 2006, eleven school boards were piloting online courses for over 300 students (http://www.elearningontario.ca/eng/default.asp). Manitoba A large prairie province, Manitoba seems to be carving out a niche for itself in several ways. First, it is targeting much of its spending towards the development of online curricular materials for teachers and students. Online projects in the province are significant and seem to be funded both to support the province’s broad mandate of developing technology literacy and as a mechanism for professional development and raising the skill-sets of participating teachers. Funding for online projects include the Curriculum Information Technology Integration Project, designed to help teachers integrate technology into the curriculum by building electronic resources useful to each other; the Interdisciplinary Middle Years Multimedia Project grants, and the Web-Based Course Research and Development Project. Second, and significantly, the Ministry of Education has committed $81 million for professional development in information technology and distance learning. The document “Technology as Foundation Skill Area” outlines a vision for the integration of information technology throughout the curriculum and across all grade levels (Manitoba Education and Training 1998). This document is still the most active record of ict vision for the province. More recently, professional development for teachers in general has moved online in Manitoba, and a new program,

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Strategic Technology-Assisted Professional Learning Environment (staple), is in place to support professional learning for educators (http://www.edu.gov.mb.ca/k12/staple/). Manitoba has, since 1999, been developing online resources to support technology integration/implementation. One such resource, Literacy with ict, provides teachers with a how-to guide for ict integration, including guidelines on assessment and documentation of the importance of ict in implementing curriculum across grade levels and subject areas (http:// www.edu.gov.mb.ca/k12/tech/lict/index.html). Manitoba is also involved in supporting school and business partnerships through the Manitoba Education Research and Learning Information Networks (merlin). merlin provides links between businesses and schools as they work to build a technological infrastructure. It helps the schools develop strategic plans for purchasing computers and applications, holds software licences for the province, negotiates Internet access, and oversees the implementation of networks for distance education (http://www.merlin.mb.ca/). Since 1998, Manitoba has been actively working to use the changing “affordances” (i.e., what a particular technology allows a person to do) of the Internet to deliver just-in-time resources and professional development for its teachers under the broad mandate of technology implementation across the curriculum. Indeed, its Ministry of Education website foregrounds “Information Technology” as one of its key areas, alongside Aboriginal education, assessment, and so on (http:// www.edu.gov.mb.ca/k12/). British Columbia In 1999, British Columbia was in the process of revisiting and extending initiatives it began to establish in 1995 when two key reports were published, Provincial Information and Computer

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Technology Plan (British Columbia Ministry of Education 1995a) and Technology in British Columbia Schools: Report and Action Plan, 1995–2000 (British Columbia Ministry of Education 1995b). From the latter came the District Technology Grant Program, which provided $100 million over a five-year period for technology spending, divided among all districts in the province, and dependent upon the submission of a technology plan. Another significant early initiative was the Provincial Learning Network (plnet), which provided $126 million for wiring all schools and districts. The plnet website claims to have delivered on this promise, although in our interviews we learned that “connection” can mean something very different for each school (e.g., some schools have Internet connections in each classroom, while others have only one connection in the school office or are using a modem to connect an entire lab). In total, from 1995 to 2000, British Columbia committed over $200 million to the development of infrastructure for networks and to the purchase of hardware and software by its schools. Since then, it has steadily supported ongoing technology funding, and plnet has upgraded and supported Internet access for bc schools to date (http://www.bced.gov.bc.ca/plnet/). In 1999, the Teaching Learning and Education Technology Advisory Committee was formed, consisting of teachers and interested computer educators and politicians. The committee’s report, Conditions for Success (1999), attempted to comprehensively identify key issues or themes for technology use, and this, interestingly, was taken from the educators’ perspective. In addition to curriculum development and output questions, we found themes such as meaningful and integrated technology learning for students; professional development and support for teachers; equity; involvement of all teachers, not just “enthusiasts” in decision-making processes; research for policies and programs; and adequate funding.

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The ministry then produced Information and Communication Technology: A Plan for 2000 and Beyond, which was based on the committee’s report and took its recommendations seriously, outlining provincial commitments to its major objectives. In 2005, British Columbia initiated its first one-to-one laptop program, which provided $2.1 million to pilot the use of wireless laptops in schools and provided a further $1.5 million investment in web casting and conferencing for rural schools in order to enable then gain access to a wider variety of educational opportunities (http://www2.news.gov.bc.ca/nrm_news_releases /2005bced0012–000186.htm). In the 2006 bc government annual report, one of the two main goals for education is to “improve[] … student achievement by increasing flexibility in how and where students can learn: Any Time, Any Place, Any How, Any Pace” (British Columbia Ministry of Education 2006, 1). Like Manitoba, British Columbia has also invested in online professional development opportunities for educators (http:// bcedonline.com/) as well as in an online distributed K-12 education program entitled Learn Now (launched in fall of 2006), which, among other services, allows students to take online courses and receive just-in-time tutoring and academic advice (http://www.learnnowbc.gov.bc.ca/). The focus is on how best to deliver online education from teacher, student, and parent perspectives. Overview All provinces, it must be stressed, are coping with the same problem: how, while facing ongoing issues of outdated equipment, to provide equitable access to educational opportunities in a time when technological advances make cost-enabling what was once cost-prohibitive. The question for technology

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in education has always been whether the expenditure can be “measured” in student performance and success; however, in today’s context, as the workplace relies more on educational institutions for job training and as a new workforce faces multiple career changes, technological familiarity and competence are pressing skills. In this overview of technology policies in K-12 education, what is important to notice is: (1) the ongoing fiscal pressures to equip and maintain equipment in schools; (2) the migration, in the last five years or so, of all ministries of education, who now deliver some form of e-learning both for teachers and students; and (3) the ongoing struggle between policies that support technological integration across the curriculum and the actual implementation of these policies at the grassroots level.

making technology policy Placing computers in schools is a deceptively easy task. Dealing with the policy issues and the practical issues that accompany computers in the schools is less easy, and the challenges are often unanticipated by those who make decisions – especially when these decisions are not informed by local experience. As Stan Shapson says later in this book, “We have gathered new equipment and technology, but we are watching them rust.” Ultimately, local policies either assure or discourage the sustainability of change. Policy makers and administrators at the school, school district, and government levels have a decisive impact on the direction of any school reform (Glennan 1998). But parents are also important: often the key driver for technology in the classrooms, parents need information in order to judge the educational “value” of different types of learning resources, and they would ideally be part of the decision-making process. And in the classroom, teachers, of course, must be

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given the ultimate responsibility for determining the appropriate application of these tools. It is in this type of partnership that we find successful technology implementation and practice. The overall picture we would paint of a progressive, healthy, policy-making process for education is one in which an enabling, supportive context for experimentation comes from the top, while specific applications and innovations come from the bottom, fully grounded in an understanding of local learner needs. Policy makers must first ask: “Why?” What is the vision, the reason for change? What are our goals? Where do we want to go? These are the fundamental questions that should be driving technology policy for our schools. Defining and coordinating this vision is the first task of policy leadership. Provinces should have technology plans, with clear goals. Boards should have plans. Schools should have plans. And good planning should be rewarded with resources, up and down the chain. These plans have to be grounded in local and regional concerns: what do we want our children to learn? What works best as a learning strategy, a learning technology – why and for whom? Second, policy makers must understand technology as a means, not as an end. Policy needs to adapt a “value-added” approach to technology. Technology-enhanced learning must not be seen as an alternative to the traditional (and legitimate) teaching, training, service, and community functions of a school but, rather, as a way to add value to each of these functions in specific cases. How can the introduction of technology enhance learning, help build community and citizenship, expand the horizons of our learners, add value to the education experience, and help us to achieve our traditional educational goals as well as new objectives? Policy makers must also ask: “How?” A transparent and inclusive policy process is essential. At each level, managers

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need to think carefully and consciously about the appropriate process for the development of policy. These processes need to be seen to be, and in fact must be, transparent and inclusive. They must be locally appropriate; that is, they must fit the institution and its history and culture. They must embody local/ regional knowledge. They must include an implementation strategy. We are no longer the pioneers we once were: we have a considerable body of successful and unsuccessful practice behind us and we can learn from those examples. A first step should always be to attempt to foresee the problems, generate possible best practices, critique these practices in light of the local circumstances, and attempt to generate local solutions. And, finally, policy makers must be prepared to ask: “What if?” We must reward experimentation, make room to play and grow, make room to fail. We need to increase the critical mass of examples of successful practice at the local level. We need good teachers teaching great courses, made better through new tools. Schools should encourage and legitimize innovation, create an environment that encourages risk taking, and publicize it. The end result should be a critical mass of good examples, well publicized – as well as mistakes made and lessons learned, which are equally valuable data.

conclusion A transparent and responsive policy-making practice combined with a value-added approach to technology – a technology policy that attends to conditions that both foster and sustain innovation – will enable teachers to take control of these new tools and encourage them to become innovators themselves, not in the fulfilment of some grand macroeconomic objective but, rather, in the fulfilment of the obligations of their professional practice as educators.

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Each of these questions can be understood as “local,” grounded in the needs of local communities, circumstances, and contexts. Yet these local questions – answers to which we believe are key to the successful implementation of any plan for education, technology, or otherwise – are too often subsumed by the global issues, objectives, and assumptions of plans to develop “knowledge workers for the knowledge economy.” This is not to say, however, that the “global” is not a political space within which a particular dominant local seeks global control; on the contrary, all too often global interests are decidedly local ones freed from local, national, and international restraints. The global does not represent universal human interest (think here of us foreign policy and Iraq) but, instead, a particular local and parochial interest that has been “globalized” in order to strengthen its local position, interests, economies, and so on (Shiva 1993). The chapters that follow directly and specifically address some of the most problematic technology-related obstacles that confront educators and policy makers in Canada and, in turn, the learners in the classrooms, schools, and communities that continue to be transformed by technology.

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par t one Studying Educational Technology Policy and Practice

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2 Finding Space for Technology: Organizational and Instructional Issues for Computer-Use in Schools1 chloë brushwood rose and jennifer jenson

The large-scale acquisition and installation of computer and networking hardware in schools across Canada has forced administrators and teachers to address two significant concerns: first, where to locate these new technologies – in computer labs, classrooms, libraries, or mobile laptop labs; second, whether the architectural structure of the school (i.e., classroom size and shape, including desks that accommodate mobile laptop technology, the building of new labs, and/or the creation of computer libraries) needs to be altered to accommodate new technologies. Cost factors often determine the placement of computers in schools as the price of rewiring an older school to equip classrooms with networking and Internet capabilities can be excessive and not easily afforded. Access to, and location and allocation of, computers is a complex financial consideration for schools, their administrators, and technical support staff. Teachers, on the other hand, are faced with demands by provincial policy makers to make educational use

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of these new tools, often without any discussion of the teaching and learning issues around computer-use (Cuban 2001; de Castell, Bryson, and Jenson 2002; Norris, Sullivan, Poirot, and Soloway 2003). There is little doubt that most schools experience the introduction of computers as institutionally disruptive and structurally demanding; it is only since the mid-1980s that schools have been designed and built to accommodate such technological demands. In most schools, the installation of computers has meant that space must be “found” or “given up,” which can require significant institutional restructuring. As one teacher we interviewed remarked, “We gave up our music room to have a computer lab, now we don’t even have music anymore because there is nowhere to send the students.” Debates on where to place computers in schools have centred on access and use: will students have greater access to computers in a lab setting or in the classroom? Where will teachers dedicate more time to computer use – lab or classroom? Where should computers be located to support teachers as they integrate technology into their curriculum? And, because all too often computers in labs and classrooms are viewed as being under-utilized, is the physical location of the computers contributing to their under-use? Typically omitted from this list are questions about teaching and learning; that is, questions that ask whether and how computer location/placement might limit, change, enable, or disable different kinds of pedagogy and possibilities for teacher practice. This chapter addresses the pedagogical implications of the relationship between seemingly basic decisions about where to put computers in schools and the way in which those computers are used. While the school-based organization of technologies was not the primary subject of this study, in each of the thirty-two

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schools visited in six different provinces across Canada the institutional organization, structure, and use of space in the placement of computers within the school figured prominently in whether and how teachers made use of computers with their students. More important, teachers and administrators often had strong opinions about how much and in what ways the school location of computer technology mattered in the work of education. In each of the interviews, physical location and access to the technological resources already available in the school was frequently cited as one of the most important factors in shaping how teachers were integrating technology into their curriculum and instruction (Norris, Sullivan, Poirot, and Soloway 2003; Sharples 2002; Swan, Kratcoski, and Unger 2005). This chapter considers the structuring and restructuring of space for computers in schools as an important factor in whether and how they were used by teachers and students. The examples we give are not intended as prescriptions for how schools ought or ought not to organize the physical layout of their technological resources; rather, they are intended to serve as sites for exploring the direct and symbolic influences of existing and emergent patterns of organizing school computers, based either on their use or the lack thereof. In the first example, which illustrates the “classroom-versus-lab” debate, the commitment to a single direction can limit, restrict, and sometimes make impossible the use of computers for some teachers in the school. In the second example, where computers are located in diffuse sites across the school or can be moved easily between locations, it is demonstrated that organizational flexibility can contribute to school-wide integration efforts. The third example explores the frontier of new school design and illustrates how teachers’ and students’ use of technology can be supported by a school’s architecture and the location of computers within it.

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Exploring the impact of technology placement on its pedagogical uses was not the direct focus of the research project from which these data are derived. However, the significance of the issue emerged as a result of observations at thirty-two school sites and conversational (rather than “formal”) interviews. At each of the sites, between eight and twelve hours were spent speaking with the administration, teachers, and (in some cases) students as well as making direct observations in classrooms, in labs, and anywhere else technology was placed within the school. Interviews were either audio-recorded or were recorded in note form and written up following the site visit as fieldnotes. All observations were recorded in fieldnote format. The (somewhat) anecdotal quality of the empirical data we present here does not detract, we think, from the significance of these insights, however, so much as it emphasizes the need for more sustained inquiry into how the physical organization of computers in schools (dis)allows certain pedagogical possibilities. The influences of classroom design and organization on student and teacher behaviour have been documented as both direct and symbolic (Green, Cook, and Bolt 1996; Weinstein 1981). In a classroom where the students’ desks are organized into straight rows facing forward, one of the direct influences of the physical layout is to make group discussion difficult, if not impossible, because the students cannot face each other or hear each other speak. In this same example, the symbolic influence can also dissuade class discussion: sitting in straight rows suggests to the students that the teacher does not value class participation and that students are not meant to interact. The introduction of new technologies into classroom spaces also alters student and teacher behaviours (Becker 1999; Cuban 2001; Dwyer, Ringstaff, and Sandholtz 1990a, 1990b; Goldberg, Russell, and Cook 2003; Sandholtz and Reilly 2004; Sandholtz, Ringstaff, and Dwyer 1997; Swan, Kratcoski, and

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Unger 2005). Certainly, the integration of technology in schools has always had a pedagogical focus, and that focus has often been placed on how the location of the technology affects the quantity and frequency of use (Bebell, Russell, and O’Dwyer 2004; Hernandez-Ramos 2005; Ravitz, Wong, and Becker 1998, 2000; Silvernail and Lane 2004). This research indicates that the physical location/organization of the technology also reflects and shapes the qualitative possibilities for use. Although efforts have been made to link technology to the curriculum in pedagogically sound ways, issues of how computers should be organized within the given space of the classroom to promote curricular integration efforts are often neglected due to the practical difficulties faced by schools just trying to find space for this new technology. There have been a number of studies (Gayeski 1995; Glass 1997; Green, Cook, and Bolt, 1996; Najmi 1996) that address how computers might most optimally be placed in classrooms and labs, taking into consideration not only the layout of the room but also environmental issues such as lighting and ergonomics. That said, schools are still very much constrained by some of the following issues: 1 Working conditions: such as optimal lighting or ergonomics for sitting, writing, reading or listening, are not sufficiently addressed; 2 Purchasing decisions and location of new technologies: often constrained by district specifications and costs, with little input from “end users” (i.e., teachers and students); 3 Overcrowding: classrooms/schools often support more students per class than these were originally designed for; and 4 Bricks and mortar: all but the most recently built schools were not designed to accommodate new computer-based technologies, which take up already limited physical space and demand infrastructure support in terms of cabling2 and electrical wiring.

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Given these constraints, discussions around optimal arrangement of computers in labs and classrooms to support both teaching and learning rarely take place. In all of the older schools that were visited (approximately twenty-seven of thirtytwo), the placement of computers was not only constrained by the availability of space (in both labs and classrooms) but also by the availability of adequate and appropriate furniture, electrical outlets, and network/Internet drops. Computer equipment often ends up being located based on its minimum space requirements – for example, along the non-blackboard wall (Glass 1997) – rather than on pedagogical considerations. Whether or not pedagogical considerations were sufficiently addressed by schools in the organization of computer technology, it was interesting to discover that the location of computer technologies – in a lab, classroom, library, or even school hallway – shaped the ways in which teachers talked about and made use of computers in the schools visited. As with the distribution and access to any kind of resource (which, for many of the schools visited, could be labelled “scarce”), the distribution of and access to computers had a range of effects on the integration/implementation efforts of the teachers who were interviewed for this project.

singular commitment: dismantling a computer lab There are obvious and well-documented advantages and disadvantages regarding the use and placement of computers in labs and/or classrooms. At the same time, there is little agreement in the literature on this debate, which has spanned nearly two decades (see, for example, Becker 1984; Beers, Paquette, and Warren 2000; Najmi 1996; Smerdon et al. 2000; Wilson, Teslow, et al. 1994). Placing computers in a lab setting allows for more direct instruction of large groups/classes and for whole classes to

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work on the same project at once. Such arrangement enables skills-based training in an individual, one-person-per-machine learning environment. Computer labs also have their disadvantages: teachers and students might have infrequent access to the lab; they have to disrupt their classroom routine to make use of the lab; and labs require frequent and high-skilled maintenance (Bauer and Kenton 2005; Becker 1999; Cuban 2001; Fulton and Sibley 2003; Shamburg 2004). Placing computers in classrooms, on the other hand, gives teachers and students ready access to equipment; encourages daily, ongoing use of the technologies; and encourages a more project-based and cooperative approach to computer use (i.e., classroom computers must be shared by all students). However, teachers often complain that there are either not enough machines per classroom or the whole class cannot work on the same project at once. Space in the classroom is already highly limited, and the placement of computers can restrict other uses of the learning environment. Further, student access to computers in a classroom cannot necessarily be characterized as “frequent” as many of the teachers interviewed claimed to use their classroom computers as a “reward” and little else. At most of the schools that were visited (over half), teachers referred to the tension between locating school computers in one large “pod” (as in a computer lab or library) and distributing them in smaller pods of two or three among individual classrooms. Regardless of individual strategies at each school, it seemed that, at most schools, the staff had considered the classroom-versus-lab debate at some point in the deliberation process. In addition, the large pod-versus-small pod question has been taken so seriously in some provinces and school districts that it has shaped the discussion as well as the kinds of policy being implemented at the school level. Educational policy in one western Canadian province, for example, requires that teachers make integrated use of computers

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with their classes, focusing on these instruments as “just another [learning] tool.” Understandably, then, in one rural school visited in that province, the school administrator and teachers were committed to the idea that computers were “just another tool” and, consequently, two years prior to our visit had dismantled their computer lab and moved computers into the classrooms. During the visit, the principal and teachers spoke at length about the practical implications of this policy on their own practices and computer uses with their classes. Worthy of note in the following accounts are the perceptual differences between the policy maker (the principal) and those whose practices the policy affects (the teachers). Watson Elementary3 is a rural school with 300 students in grades K-7. At the time of the study (October 2000), David had been the principal at Watson for two years. At the beginning of his tenure, the district recommended to schools that they dismantle their computer labs and put all computers directly into classrooms. David took this recommendation seriously and instituted the change without, he admits, consulting the teachers. Notwithstanding opposition from his staff, David was committed to leaving the computers in classrooms. He explained that, with a lab and eighteen to twenty classrooms, the students were only able to use the computers once a week; further, there was the tendency to teach computers as a “separate” subject. With two to four computers in each classroom, he felt that teachers would change their teaching style to accommodate greater computer use and, accordingly, that greater exposure would mean that students would be more likely to use the computers. Echoing the language of the mandate of the provincial government to use computers as “just another learning tool” and as a tool to “enhance learning for a particular subject area,” David observed that some, though not all, of the teachers in the school showed greater success at integrating computers in

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their curriculum once the machines had been placed in their classrooms. When asked how he was encouraging and/or providing support for those teachers who were still not using computers with their classes, David indicated that, while some computers “collected dust,” as a principal he was committed to “finding gadgets” to spark interest. The presence of policy language in the discussion and its implications for perceptions of and possibilities for the technology is worth mentioning. Using the school budget, David hoped to encourage classroom use of technologies by buying “gadgets” that the teachers were interested in learning to use, such as scanners, microscopes, a “white board,” and digital cameras. He also tried to give teachers time to plan with the librarian, whom he said really helped them to implement technology in their classes. In marked contrast to the principal’s enthusiasm for the changes and potential made possible through a dismantling of the computer lab, the teachers at Watson were less certain about the benefits of this change. Four out of five expressed disappointment that there had not been some consultation before the decision had been made. Faced with the daily realities and constraints of attempting to make thoughtful, educative, and effective use of computers with their students, the teachers at Watson were also ambivalent as to whether or not having the computers in their classes instead of in the lab promoted greater computer-usage. One teacher described a positive result of the change. “One teacher described a positive result of the change as pedagogical. Having the computers in her class, she said, “changed her style of delivery.” She said that having the computers in her class had “changed her style of delivery” – that is, she now thought she taught “less linearly” and focused more on problem solving with her students. However, each of the five teachers confirmed that one of the more negative results of the dismantling of the computer lab was that it made project-based work for the whole

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class extremely difficult. In order to give all students in a classroom access to computers, teachers had to “farm” their students out to other classrooms, and this not only hindered the students’ collective work but was also disruptive for other teachers and their classrooms. Eliminating the school’s computer lab and thus committing all of one’s technological resources to a singular approach obviously limits what is possible with regard to instruction and learning how to use the machines. Instead, principals, teachers, and district administrators might do well to remember that a more flexible, diversified approach to the organization of computer technology – one that moves past the binary computer-versus-lab debate – could provide more consistent support for the various instructional uses of these tools.

m o b i l i t y a n d d i f f u s i o n : m ov i n g computers beyond the lab or classroom In contrast to the classroom-lab debate illustrated by the first case, a few of the schools visited took a different approach to integrating technology: they privileged the mobility and diffusion of technologies throughout the space of the school and encouraged teachers to be flexible with regard to allowing students access to technology in a wide range of locations. This approach fosters strategies such as the “computer on a cart,” which can move between classrooms; the use of libraries and even hallways as alternate learning environments; and rules that allow students to move easily between classrooms and within the school. As with the use of a computer lab and classroom-based computer use, the location of the technology had a significant impact on the kinds of integration and instruction employed (the direct influences of computer placement) as well as on what was seen as possible (the symbolic influences).

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Luther Public School is an inner-city K-5 school that, over the past five years, has made the integration of technology a priority. Danielle, the school’s principal, pointed out during an interview that part of Luther’s success in integrating technology had been its determination to “work with whatever we’ve got.” It is largely this philosophy that gave Luther the appearance of being a technology-rich school – there appeared to be computers everywhere – although a number of the computers were out of date and would most certainly have been discarded by any other institution. Danielle explained that the staff at Luther had decided to organize their technology in such a way that none of their higher-end machines was used for keyboarding or drill and practice, both of which Danielle saw as the least important uses of technology. Instead, Luther had a collection of refurbished and donated computers (even a few Commodore 64s!) that were designated to be used solely for less demanding types of software and practices. One of the most interesting things about this approach was that the staff members at Luther had come together collectively not only to discuss the location and uses for the technology but also to identify distinctions, to make decisions about which machines were best used for specific purposes, and then to organize the technology accordingly. The faster machines were not used to run drill and practice software or for keyboarding, which could just as easily be run on a donated 486 or Mac Classic. These slower machines functioned as “computer skill stations” and were placed in groups in the school hallways, while the better machines were located within the classrooms and the computer lab, which was referred to as the Advanced Technology Centre (atc).4 This approach to diffusing technology throughout the school had significant implications regarding the types of integration and instruction embraced by the teachers at Luther.

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Staff members, for example, were aware that there was an important difference between technology skills-acquisition and curricular integration. These teachers did not view keyboarding practice or drill-and-practice software as adequate technology implementation and, thus, such experiences were not conducted within the instructional space of the classroom but were instead relegated to the independent working environment of the “skill stations.” Computers in the classroom and the atc had been explicitly located and identified for use in project-based exploration and production. Danielle explained that, according to the school technology plan, every student at Luther was required to complete an “integrated technology project” in each of three school terms. In addition to this diffuse use of space, exemplified by the distribution of computers at the skill stations in the hallways and the atc, the staff at Luther had also adopted an approach that favoured the mobility of the school’s technology. Each grade-level team (made up of three to four teachers) shared a set of four or five computers mounted on transportable rolling desktops. Each year the grade-level teams decided collectively how they wanted to share these computers: some teams split them up so that each class had one computer and others kept the set of computers together in one classroom or moved them between rooms. The mobility of the computers allowed the grade-level teams to adjust their location and organization to fit whatever units of study were being undertaken in any given week. While it was somewhat unclear how much this potential mobility was actually used, the teachers at Luther did have the experience of contributing to discussions about how to locate the technology in terms of its direct link to their teaching practices. As such, these teachers were invited to explore both the direct and symbolic consequences of this more fluid organization of technology.

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Luther had one other set of mobile computer systems, which staff affectionately named the “benz” and the “caddy.” These were two multimedia centres, both with high-end computers, a scanner, and one projector. They were mobile units that could be signed out by teachers. It seemed that these units were used a great deal, and they moved around the school constantly. Without this mobility, presumably these higher-end computers would have been located in a lab setting to which the class as a whole would have had to move in order to make use of them. Similarly, without the mobility of the grade team computers, each classroom would probably have had one or two in-class computers instead of the option of using four or five. This mobility within the school and between classrooms offered greater and more convenient access to a limited amount of high-end computer equipment. These machines could be shared more easily and efficiently by a greater number of teachers, while the ethic of mobility helped facilitate a culture among teachers within which people learned to ask for and negotiate what they needed.

f o r m a l d e s i g n : s o m e o b s e r va t i o n s o n “ s pa c e ” a n d t h e p l a c e m e n t o f c o m p u t e r s i n a n e w ly b u i l t e l e m e n t a r y a n d secondary school Given the constraints of older school structures, schools like Watson and Luther demanded innovation and flexibility in the organization of new technologies. However, recently built schools have the advantage of incorporating the requirements of computer technologies and philosophies of integration into their design. In this section, the two schools to be discussed were built in the last five years and are well suited to architecturally and structurally accommodate new technologies. We

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discuss these schools because they serve as examples of how an educational institution might be built to accommodate not only possibilities for new technologies but also possibilities for reconceptualizing how new technological tools might be placed within schools to better support teaching and learning. Green Valley is a relatively new elementary school located in a small rural area in western Canada. It was built in consultation with its first administrator, and a key consideration in its planning was the placement of computers. As a result, in both wings of the school there were approximately ten to twelve computers, to which any student and class could have access at any time. These pods of computers were not housed in a classroom but “in the hall,” an open space that would otherwise have been wasted. There were also pods of computers located in “technology centres” (not “labs”), to which all classes had access. As a result, teachers sent their students to use computers frequently and without direct supervision. What was interesting about Green Valley was that the principal, vice-principal, and teachers all felt that the architecture of the school and the placement of computers within it enabled them to make better, more appropriate use of these instruments. Tracy, the vice-principal, described the founding principal, who had worked with the architects to build the school, as a “visionary.” His leaving meant that, over the next five years, leadership in the school had undergone a significant transition (there were three principals during that period). However, Tracy insisted that, despite these changes, the original “vision” for the school had remained intact. She suggested that it had survived various administrative changes because the purposes and uses of technologies had been adopted at a “grassroots” level by students, teachers, and administrators. That the computers were “visible” (not hidden away in classrooms and labs) enabled both teachers and students to find uses for them as “integrated tools” for learning rather than as “add-ons.”

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One further example of new school architecture, which takes into account how teachers make integrated use of technology, is a high school in the Atlantic provinces. Hemlock High School had a modern, open architectural structure with a large gym, a centralized cafeteria, a large-staged auditorium, and classrooms arranged in wings according to department (subject area). Each wing, except for the science wing, had classrooms arranged around a lab space, with large windows where approximately twenty to twenty-five computers were placed around the edges of the room, facing outwards. The computer lab’s windows allowed teachers from each classroom to supervise and observe their students as they used the computers. Thus, teachers could send just a few students at a time to the lab or they could send the whole class. The teachers at Hemlock directly influenced how the school would be organized and built. According to one of the district’s technology consultants, teachers from the old high school, representing each of the departments, suggested how they wanted their department designed, including where they wanted technology to be placed. They agreed that technology should be easily accessible, visible, and shared among teachers. And to accommodate this, the teachers came up with a design whereby the computers were placed in “studios,” or “modules,” which could be shared by four classrooms. In classrooms that had their own computers, these were organized into small clusters of five to eight. This was an unusual arrangement for a high school: most high schools did not have computers in classrooms but, rather, in one or two labs, which doubled as computer science classrooms. The choices involved in design and organization made Hemlock look a bit more like an elementary school: students worked in small groups on different tasks. It is noteworthy that both Green Valley and Hemlock were recognized by a national award program designed to highlight

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schools that are “innovative” users of new technologies. In visits to these schools, however, what was striking was not so much the actual practices of teachers and students (few of which could be characterized as “innovative”) but, rather, the affordances of newly built schools that had considered, “from the ground up,” the practical physical arrangement and location of computers within the school. In these schools, as in every one of the thirty-two schools visited, the teachers spoke about the location and organization of computers as significantly contributing to whether and how they made use of those technologies. In addition, teachers and administrators attributed their ongoing use and educational application of these digital tools to the physical access they and their students had or did not have on a daily basis.

conclusion Glass (1997) notes that structurally, spatially, and even environmentally classrooms have changed very little since the late 1800s, although workplaces have changed radically since then (especially those that have had to accommodate computers). In this study, what was striking in conversations with teachers, administrators, and technology support staff was how often the location and arrangement of computers not only enabled or disabled use of those machines but also how often it significantly restructured and redefined the kinds of instruction and tasks teachers envisioned with their students. In the case of Watson Elementary, for example, a number of teachers reported that, because they were unable to gain access to even a small lab of computers where their students could work in groups on projects, they did not assign many class projects that required the use of computers. On the other hand, in each of the other three examples – whether the creative restructuring of space for computers at Luther or the newer architectural

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consideration and support for the machines at Green Valley and Hemlock – the teachers indicated that the ways in which the technology was organized enabled what they wanted to accomplish with their students. In the preceding examples, which draw upon an anecdotal body of data, the importance of considering the location and arrangement of computers in relation to possibilities for teaching practices has only been touched upon. Certainly, this is an area that warrants further exploration and inquiry. Just as classrooms with desks that are fixed in rows can indicate teaching in its most traditional and, some would argue, its least effective form, so too can the arrangement of computers delimit and signal various instructional possibilities for the use of these instruments. This is not to argue, however, for more research that examines the placement of computers in schools from an ergonomic design approach (which frequently fails to consider financial constraints and often produces what amounts to a “wish list” regarding how things might be different); rather, it is to argue hat the “everyday” conceptions and uses of “space” in relation to computers in schools (i.e., the physical location and placement of these technologies) can reveal more about how these machines are actually being used in teaching and learning than can more specialized discourses and practices, which tend to consider these spaces in terms of their optimal, ergonomic, and environmental design (Fraser 2002; Glass 1997; Oates, Evans, and Hedge 1998; Straker and Pollock 2003). The impact of physical organization on instruction is an especially important consideration, given the frequent assertion that the introduction of computers into classrooms can be a “catalyst” for change – that is, that the integration of computers into teachers’ curricula and instruction can function to change teaching practices, transforming more “traditional” teachers into collaborative facilitators for student-centred

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learning (Sandholtz, Ringstaff, and Dwyer 1997). If the practical arrangement of the technology itself does not support collaborative learning, this would seem to make it less likely that change could occur in the ways in which some theorists and researchers so optimistically assert. In a public lecture entitled “New Media, New Learning”, Janet Murray (2001) discussed a project at mit that illustrates the ways in which, as digital tools make new forms of knowledge and representation possible, pedagogical changes require new spatial arrangements. She described a physics teacher who began to use computer-generated 3-D models to teach a course that had previously been taught in a large lecture hall in front of a blackboard, with assessment being gauged by students’ production of complex mathematical formulae. This teacher’s use of new digital “affordances” for knowledge representation led to his replacing traditional mathematical equations with dynamic graphic modelling. This representational change not only altered what counted as curricular knowledge but also altered, in turn, both how the curriculum could be taught and the criteria for assessing student learning. In addition, making these transformations possible meant a reorientation of instructional space: the class moved from a lecture hall to a large room in which students sat at tables around laptop computers. Murray’s example suggests that, in making use of these new tools, questions of curriculum, pedagogy, knowledge, and space intersect in ways that research has infrequently anticipated or articulated. Deploying new technologies in ways that actually transform curriculum and pedagogy requires an exploration of new spatial “frontiers.” As we learn more about how to effect genuinely transformative and not merely additive uses of technologies for education, we find that there is an increasing demand for greater thoughtfulness about the organization of these technologies in the space of the school.

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Therefore, instead of looking to newer and more powerful technologies, or better-trained and more “innovative” teachers, or more insistently “transformative” policies for institutional change in education, we should be looking to the physical spaces in which all of these elements are expected to converge. Innovative ideas for working with computer technologies in the space of the schools will not be found by looking at esoteric ergonomic designs of dizzyingly expensive labs and classrooms that few schools could ever hope to afford but, rather, by looking at how – and where – teachers and students actually make the best uses of their tools. Clearly, there is a need for remodelling, for rewiring, and for making a host of other expensive structural changes to the physical plan of the school. These can and must come in time. However, there are, as well, spatial arrangements that can be made with little or no cost, many of which can even give back to music rooms, art rooms, and libraries the spaces that computers have taken away. To understand more about the optimal redeployment of institutional space in schools, whose architects could not have envisaged the new demands computer technology would place on the physical layout of these buildings, what is required is a concerted investigation of how the most effective technology-using schools and classrooms quite literally “find space” for computers in education.

3 Gender Inequity and Professional School Culture: Teachers at Work with Technology1 chloë brushwood rose and jennifer jenson

This chapter explores some of the pressing concerns of teachers faced with the recent and ongoing demands made by provincial policy makers, administrators, and parents to implement and integrate computer technology in primary and secondary schools in Canada. In particular, we focus on the ways in which these concerns are complicated and shaped by gender inequities among teachers, within the school system, and in society more generally, especially in relation to competence with and use of computers. Like many of those who have studied computing in schools in the last twenty-five years (see, for example, Anjos 1999; Bryson and de Castell 1996; Culley 1988, 1993; Elkjaer 1992; Hill 2002; Jenson 1999; Schoeld 1995; Turkle 1988), we were struck by what has been characterized elsewhere as a masculinized culture of computing (Bryson and de Castell 1998; Clegg 2001; Wajcman 1991). This masculinized culture, we show, creates and sustains tensions inside and outside school

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walls, contributing in more and less inhibiting ways to teachers’ (mis/dis)use of new technologies. As we visited schools and spoke to teachers, technical support staff, and administrators across Canada in order to document their difficulties, successes, and questions in making use of computer technologies in the classroom, we frequently encountered a gendered relation to technology. It was important to us to understand, and then show, how teachers and their administrators were attempting to come to terms with top– down provincial and district mandates to make more and better use of computer technologies in teaching and learning. In this chapter, we draw on two of our case studies in order to highlight some of the less obvious tensions that are central to the work of teaching in relation to these new technologies, paying explicit attention to the gender inequities that continue to structure our understandings of both teaching as a profession and technology as a cultural artefact. Methodologically, our decision to explore just two cases in depth rather than to generate and report on a large data set encompassing all the schools and all the classrooms we visited was driven by our awareness of recurrent and all too familiar discrepancies between the typical findings of large-scale studies of computer use in schools and small-scale, ethnographically grounded classroom studies of teachers and students at work. For example, large-scale surveys of teachers’ computer use most typically disregard gender as a significant category for analysis (Kramarae 2001). This is strikingly contradicted by our face-to-face observational studies of teaching and learning with new technologies, in which persistent patterns of gender inequity are all too tangibly in evidence. Failure to observe gender inequality in schools is as entrenched a part of educational research as it is a practice among classroom teachers, representing a self-sustaining arena of “cultural embarrassment,” which

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“not seeing” both keeps at bay and also, of course, keeps firmly in place. It is, then, through the lens of “everyday” micropractices that we have chosen to focus on those gendered practices and viewpoints. The teachers’ narratives we elucidate here are not atypical (see, for example, Anjos 1999; Bryson and de Castell 1998; Hill 2002; Jenson 1999), and, significantly, they describe the daily cultural condition/s for female teachers in relation to new technologies.

wo r k i n g w i t h c o m p u t e r s i n s c h o o l s In the context of state-funded public education, teachers are irrevocably caught up in the tensions between government systems, community networks, and more and less flexible institutional structures. Acting within each of these, teachers must negotiate complex and even contradictory demands. Meanwhile, the ever-increasing diversity within Canadian schools has prompted teachers and principals to explore collaborative planning strategies and non-traditional methods of instruction even as teachers are faced with highly elaborate and often not very flexible curriculum guidelines from ministries of education. In addition, there is an overwhelming contemporary preoccupation with the importance of science and technology in public education (attended by what many see as a correlative marginalization of the arts and humanities). Many teachers feel the pressure of functionalist discourses in the arenas of politics and education, which assert that students must be trained to compete for jobs in a future sure to be dominated by techno-science. These socio-political demands add to the already complex set of tensions that teachers face as they try to navigate many roles, including those of state employee, educator, caregiver, community member, and, more recently, computer user. The challenges and demands faced by teachers

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become heightened as they try to grapple with the introduction of a new curricular domain as logistically vast and socially meaningful as the computer. That, for teachers, computer technologies in schools seem simultaneously to pose overwhelming demands and exciting possibilities is partly the result of the kinds of discourses that have been employed by educators and administrators to both justify their presence and to explain their educative relevance. In Policy Unplugged we have used both implementation and integration to describe the relation of computer technologies to schools. While these terms are often used interchangeably, there are important differences in meaning between them, which, when more fully described, could illustrate the tensions at stake with the introduction of any new curricular piece – in this case, computer technology. To use the term “implementation” is to place an emphasis on the use of a ready tool or piece of curriculum. It suggests that computer technologies may be applied by teachers themselves or by an outside force, such as administrators or school districts, and it suggests that computers are tools within which educative ends are already embedded, needing only to be “implemented” – that is, used (without critical attention or even skill) and “put into practice” by teachers. In this case, computer technologies are positioned as an addition to the ongoing practices in schools. “Integration,” on the other hand, is a term that implies the blending of resources and tools and the incorporation of computer technologies into schools. In slight contrast to implementation, integration suggests that teachers and school communities themselves could choose to make computer technologies central to the changing nature of their work. In this sense, computer technology is positioned as a new feature of life, whose emergence might change school-based practice. The differences between these terms – implementation and integration – point to a tension in our thinking about how best to

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facilitate the large-scale introduction and use of computer technologies in primary and secondary educational institutions. Should governments impose requirements that teachers use these technologies regardless of their own instructional practices? Or should teachers have the freedom to choose whether and how these technologies are valuable in their working lives? In practice, of course, the experience of teachers and schools exists somewhere between government prescription and local decision making, and many would argue that both of these dynamics are central to the practice of public education. At the same time, teachers’ experiences of getting access to and using computer technologies in their schools and classrooms raise concerns about structures of control over their working conditions and their sense of power and expertise as professionals. How are existing power relations in schools reinforced and/or reorganized by the introduction of computer technologies? How do these new technologies change the work of teaching, and how do these changes undermine or encourage the teacher’s sense of herself as a professional? How does the introduction of computer technologies limit or promote the teacher’s sense of control and ownership in the work of the institution? These questions emerge from a series of conversations and experiences we had with individual teachers whose schools participated in the development of our case studies. Like Janet Schofield’s (1995) study of computers and classroom culture, which “did not set out to study gender,” we found that the above questions about the changing nature of teachers’ work and their sense of that work consistently raised issues of gender inequities both in the context of schooling and in relation to the technology itself.

g e n d e r a n d t h e c u lt u r e o f c o m p u t i n g Studies of the culture of computing and other new technologies over the last twenty-five years or so have consistently

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reported the masculinization of both tools and expertise (see, for example, Cockburn 1985; Sanders 1985, 1995; Schoeld 1995; Volman and Ten Dam 1998; Volman, Van Eck, and Ten Dam 1995; Wajcman 1991; Whitehead 1996). Technology and gender, these studies argue, are delimited by the social and cultural context in which they are produced and utilized, and, as such, the applications of technologies are mediated by social and cultural perceptions of their functions (Balsamo 1996; Cockburn 1985; Franklin 1990; Noble 1992, 1995; Wajcman 1991). Wajcman (1991, 149) writes, for example, that technology refers not only to “hardware” but also to the knowledge and practices that surround its use: [Technology] fundamentally embodies a culture or a set of social relations made up of certain beliefs, desires and practices. Treating technology as a culture has enabled us to see the way in which technology is expressive of masculinity and how, in turn, men characteristically view themselves in relation to those machines. Contributing to a masculine culture of computing is the heavy marketing of computers and software as “toys for boys” (Culley 1993; de Castell and Bryson 1998). The sex-typed nature of the computer industry and its marketing produces not only an image of males as “computer geeks” but also an image of females as passive and incompetent computer users. Several studies of the pictures in popular computing magazines (Demetruilias and Rosenthal 1985; Ware and Stuck 1985; Weinstein 1998) have concluded that women were signicantly underrepresented in images in computing and, further, that those images that did portray women showed them in stereotypical roles such as clerical workers, sex objects, or models to emphasize ease of use (i.e., “this computer is so easy to use, even a woman can use it”). Though this sexist depiction of women in

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computer (or any other) advertising is neither new nor surprising, it becomes crucial when considering male and female teachers’ perceptions of computers and, thereby, for beginning to understand the differences in their willingness to take up their socially defined roles in relation to computers. Concomitant with studies that examine technological and computing culture are those that document the underrepresentation of girls and women in technological courses and elds (aauw 1998, 1999; Collis, Kass, and Kieren 1989; Dugdale, DeKoven, and Ju 1998; Lightbody and Durndell 1996; Siann, Macleod, Glissov, and Durndell 1990; Sutton 1991; Taylor and Mouneld 1994). While these studies tend to focus on students in school (elementary, secondary, and postsecondary), studies about teachers’ relationships to technologies suggest that teachers are subject to the same social and cultural constraints and responsibilities as are their students (see, for example, Brosnan 1997; Bryson and de Castell 1998; Evans-Andris 1995; Farby and Higgs 1997; Gordon 1995; Rosen and Weil 1995). Teachers, like their students, grapple with social and cultural constructions of gender in relation to technology, which always already position women as less confident and competent than their male peers. In the two case studies that follow, we document how, for the teachers we studied, perceptions of expertise and experiences of access in relation to new technologies were produced and structured by the gender inequities evident in computing cultures and pervasive in both society and schools. These case studies highlight what we felt was the most important, and very rarely documented, barrier to teachers’ access to and use of computers – a pervasive institutional blindness to the masculinized culture of computing within the school generally. In each of the schools and districts we visited across the country, both elementary and secondary, very few (if any) women held technical computing

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positions or even technological support positions (though there were more women in these roles than in purely technical roles). Most of the computer labs in elementary and secondary schools were taught in and “overseen” by male teachers. Even when a male teacher did not teach primarily in the computer lab, he was perceived by other teachers to be the primary user of the lab as well as the primary technical person to consult should there be questions or should there be something they wanted to do in the lab. We argue that not only is the gendered culture of computing within schools one important consideration among many with regard to facilitating teachers’ implementation/integration efforts, but it is also central to understanding in what ways this technology integration might be accomplished.

case study one: p ro f e s s i o na l i d e n t i t y a n d e x p e r t i s e Donna, our first case study and a woman with a great deal of both technical skill and organizational power, provides a rich example of the ways in which perceptions of technological expertise are gendered by the culture of computing within the school. For five years, Donna was the teacher librarian2 at Lexington Public, a small inner-city public school in Ontario, and she worked closely with the grade teams in her school as a resource person in the development of curriculum and the integration of computer technology in the classroom. In addition, during the course of our study, for a short time Donna held the position of acting principal, which indicates that her work and expertise was highly respected by her superiors. Of all of the schools we visited across Canada, Lexington was one of the most advanced in terms of the number of teachers using computer technologies and their non-traditional and project-based approach to integration.

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Donna’s computing skills were developed through a combination of school-sponsored workshops and self-funded professional development at outside institutions. She was a member of Lexington’s three-person technology team, which also included two male teachers, both of whom, in the school’s computer lab, taught skills-based classes in computer technology to all grade levels. Donna’s position on the technology team was a combined result of her expertise with computer technology and her role as teacher librarian – a role in which she oversaw a wide range of educational resources. Interestingly, this perception of school librarian as a role that should be closely linked to the school’s integration of computer technologies was not evident in many other schools. In most schools, the librarian and the library itself were often described by teachers working with technology as antiquated and were perceived as competition for the allocation of funding for technology. Despite Donna’s technical skills and knowledge of computer technologies, her position on Lexington’s technology team and in the school at large reflected an overall climate within which female teachers were positioned as “general support” while male teachers were positioned as “technology experts.” Donna functioned primarily as the liaison between the technology team and grade-level teams, and she helped the latter gain access to the technological resources they needed in order to meet their curricular demands. Her male colleagues and fellow members on the technology team handled all instruction in Lexington’s advanced technology centre, which each class visited once a week to acquire training in computerbased skills as well as assistance with class projects. Donna’s school created a technology team that worked with school staff to integrate computer technology throughout the school. This approach to integrating technology contrasts sharply with the more common strategy of designating one information technology (it) support person, whose job is to

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maintain the school’s equipment and to answer teacher queries. In almost all of the schools we visited, this designated it support position was filled by a male teacher whose time was almost entirely allocated to the technical work of keeping the school’s computer technology operating. While Donna’s school distinguished itself in its development of a collaborative technology team, many of the same dynamics around perceived expertise persisted. When teachers at Donna’s school required technical assistance, they called upon her male colleagues, who were seen by their peers to be the school’s technology experts. Donna’s role on the technology team was described by her male peers and the principal of the school as that of a facilitator or liaison between the inaccessible world of technical expertise and the practical world of the classroom. While Donna considered herself to be someone who has technological knowledge and technical expertise, in our conversations with other teachers in the school, she was never named as a technology “expert.” It is these inconsistencies, between actual and perceived expertise, that illuminate the gendered power relations pervading school-based perceptions of teachers’ professional roles in relation to computer technologies. In a Canadian study completed nearly ten years prior to this one, Bryson and de Castell (1998) documented a pattern of hiring or promoting male teachers into positions of responsibility for computer technologies in schools, even when female teachers were equally skilled. In our own work, we also noted that it support positions were most typically held by men. In some of the elementary schools we visited, for example, there was a tendency to hire male teachers with experience in the computer industry or computer science, despite there being little or no overlap between a computer scientist’s knowledge base and the kinds of knowledge relevant to educational uses of technology in elementary schools. These hiring practices pay little attention either to the kinds of technologies actually used in schools or to the kinds of educational

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uses teachers and learners actually make of these technologies. Furthermore, they also overlook the expertise female teachers may bring to their work if they have had previous experience in female-dominated professions, such as clerical or administrative work. Unlike her two male colleagues on the technology team, Donna was not initially hired for her expertise with computer technology. Her expertise was developed through her work as a librarian and in response to the increasing presence of computer technology at Lexington. As a result, Donna forged a professional identity for herself in relation to computer technology and in relation to her male colleagues, who, from the start, were hired and positioned as “technology experts” within the school. That gender played a powerful role in the formation of her professional identity and sense of expertise became evident in our first interview with the technology team at Lexington. The gender dynamics we observed in this interview raised concerns about the ways in which female teachers like Donna are often positioned, despite their actual expertise, as insufficient sources of information and technical skill in relation to the school’s integration of computer technology. During our interview with the technology team, Donna listened patiently to her two male colleagues as they responded to the majority of our questions. When we specifically directed questions to Donna, she was consistently interrupted by her male colleagues. In their own responses to our questions, Donna’s colleagues said several times that they “[didn’t] know what the technology team or grade-level teams would do without her” because she was solely responsible for “keeping everything together” and coordinating the communication that happened between teams. While this was a lovely compliment, it seemed quite clear that Donna’s colleagues were describing her position on the technology team as having very

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little to do with her expertise in relation to computer technology and very much to do with her filling a “mother” role, whereby she was expected to keep “the boys” (her male colleagues) in line and on task (on the impossibility of doing this, see, for example, Walkerdine 1990). While initially we understood these gender dynamics as possibly quite specific to the (inter-)personal dynamics of this particular group of teachers, we discovered that these kinds of assumptions and perceptions followed Donna into other professional contexts and seemed to be of concern to other female teachers at other schools. One of our follow-up visits to Donna’s school coincided with a school board-sponsored professional development workshop on computer technology integration. Lexington being one of the school board’s flagship schools in technology integration, its technology team and other staff had been invited to develop the workshop for other schools in their district. The members of Lexington’s technology team, as well as their principal and several other teachers, made presentations to sixty participants from five district schools on the first day of the four-day workshop. While the team of teachers from Lexington selected by the principal to attend the workshop represented a fairly equal gender ratio, all of the male team members were responsible for aspects of the workshop addressing the specific use of computer technology, while only two female team members offered sessions – on pedagogy and inquiry. For example, male team members gave PowerPoint presentations on the use of the World Wide Web, the use of peripherals, and the design of computerbased databases. Donna and one other female teacher spoke briefly to the group about the importance of using an inquirybased pedagogy when integrating technology. Donna’s presentation (which also used PowerPoint) focused exclusively on what this inquiry-based pedagogy looks like, without making

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any explicit connections to the use of computer technology. Unlike her male colleagues, who each operated their own equipment while moving between their presentation slides, when Donna went to do so, one of her male colleagues insisted on stepping in to operate the computer for her. The other female teachers from Lexington who were present did not participate as leaders in the workshop. In addition, as technical problems arose, it was always the male team members who stepped forward to correct them, often taking over from female teachers rather than offering assistance. These gendered divisions and dynamics might reinforce the perception, both among the staff at Lexington and the sixty workshop participants, that female teachers, regardless of their actual expertise, are not technology experts or, indeed, even competent users or troubleshooters. Donna was not asked by her principal to share her expertise on computer technology, despite her years of experience working with this technology as a librarian and a teacher. Like several of her female colleagues whose seniority and experience at Lexington surpassed that of their male colleagues, Donna’s professional identity and expertise were marginalized, and, as a consequence, her own integration efforts were too often stymied by that fact that her male colleagues were positioned as “experts.”

wo r k i n g c o n d i t i o n s : ac c e s s a n d ava i l a b i l i t y The technology available in the schools we visited across the country deviated widely, and not necessarily along predictable socio-economic lines. As in the case study above, some of the schools we visited in poorer districts (often labelled as “innercity” schools) were the best equipped technologically and made the most school-wide use of machines, while those in more economically affluent areas had far fewer machines and made far

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less use of them. One obvious reason for this kind of disparity could be that, in the more affluent areas, students already had computers (often far more up-to-date and powerful than those the schools could provide) in their homes,3 and, therefore, did not require access to digital tools or the teaching of computer skills. While we did not document the ratio of students to computers in the schools we visited, we did ask questions about what kind of access they had to computers and other types of technologies (i.e., computers located in a single lab, multiple labs, in the library, in classrooms) as well as questions about the organizational structure of access and support (i.e., school-wide mandated lab time, a resource teacher for it support, equal numbers of computers in classrooms, and so on). As might be expected, access structures and kinds varied in each school we visited, and they figure significantly in institution-wide implementation/integration efforts. In this next case study, we focus on one small part of this issue (i.e., beyond the typical and already well-documented barriers to gaining access to computer-related technologies in the school [Becker, Ravitz, and Yan Tien 1999; Bryson and de Castell 1998]). We asked about the material working conditions for teachers within schools and how these conditions make it more and less possible for them to make use of computers. In asking this question, we hoped to better understand (1) the relations between and among teachers and (2) the relations between teachers and the organizational structure of the institution. We wanted to determine how each of these is related to issues of access to technologies and is informed by the gendered culture of computing.

c a s e s t u d y t w o : ac c e s s a n d c o n t r o l Phoenix Elementary School in British Columbia was a medium-sized (350 students) urban elementary school that was

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classified by the school district as “inner city,” meaning both that it drew from a low socio-economic catchment area and that it had significant numbers of students with behavioural and learning issues. The school itself was technologically well equipped: it had two computer labs and one classroom in which students had computers at their desks for three-quarters of the day. Each of the teachers in the school rotated through the computer labs on a bi-weekly basis, with most of this time being allocated for the use of a district-wide instructional software program meant to improve students’ mathematics and literacy skills. We interviewed two teachers at Phoenix who were just completing a two-year certificate in educational technology, asking them to describe some of the barriers and difficulties they had encountered while implementing their technology-based projects. Both women spoke about the difficulties they had in getting help when something went wrong and in gaining access to the equipment that they needed. They identified two male teachers (one a technology-support teacher who was given release time to “keep the computers working” and the other a grade 5 teacher who was perceived to be an “expert” and who had applied for and received a grant from the province to have enough computers in his classroom for each student) as the “computer experts” and as the “gatekeepers” for access to equipment. At Phoenix Elementary, these male teachers, in consultation with the principal (also male), made all of the hardware and software purchasing decisions for the school. Beth, a practising teacher for eighteen years and head of the English as a Second Language (esl) program in the school, shared the difficulties she had getting help with technical questions from either of her male colleagues. First and foremost, they were often “too busy” to help her and could not answer her question until days later, by which time she had either solved the problem or moved on. Furthermore, she felt

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that when they were able to assist her she did “not know enough” to understand or make relevant the answers that they formulated for her. She felt that, too often, they ended up “just doing it for her” instead of “showing” her how to solve the problem herself. As a result, she said that it frequently took her much longer to work through simple and mundane technological problems than it needed to, and this made it difficult for her to spend more time thinking about and experimenting with classroom projects. Lynn (in her third year as a teacher) agreed that, although her male colleagues were the two most knowledgeable teachers in the school who could provide technical assistance, when called on they were not “helpful.” However, she also asserted that, through the two-year professional development course on technology, she had learned to “ask the right questions” so that she could get the help that she needed. When asked what the “right questions” were, Lynn indicated that, as she became more familiar with “technical lingo” through her university course, she became more able to ask for help from her computer-using colleagues. Beth was much more specific, indicating that both male teachers tended to use “technicist” language, which she felt was unnecessary and deliberately alienating. While Lynn was able to find a way to get the help that she needed to make effective use of computers in the school, Beth had to negotiate her own way. For this reason, Beth felt that, in terms of advancing her own technological skills and in terms of what sorts of projects she was able to undertake with her students, she accomplished much less than she could have had she been able to get the appropriate assistance. The masculinist discourse of computing has been well documented as being isolating and exclusionary with regard to girls and women (Clegg 2001; Collis 1986; Culley 1993; Elkjaer 1992; Hill 2002; Stepulevage 2001). Both Lynn and Beth suggested that their male colleagues’ use of this language allowed them to isolate

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themselves from the rest of the school and “do what they want,” with little interruption or interference, as most teachers felt too intimidated to go to them for help. Other female teachers at Phoenix often sought out Lynn and Beth instead of the male “technology experts” because they were perceived, due to their enrolment in the university course, as technically competent; however, they were not perceived as “experts” whose technical knowledge set them apart from the struggles of the majority of the teaching staff. A further issue for Lynn and Beth involved their physical access to the only lcd projector in the school. This projector was most often in the classroom of Henry, one of the two teachers considered to be the school’s technology experts. Although the projector was purchased for all the teachers to use, hooked easily to a laptop or the teaching machine in the lab, and was on a travelling cart so that it could be moved between rooms, Henry used it most frequently (in fact, Lynn and Beth said that it was always in his room). Because of this, teachers who wanted to use the projector had to go to Henry’s room and move it to the computer lab. The teachers with whom we spoke felt that the projector should be kept in the lab. They felt that their use of it was limited partly because it was inconvenient to go to Henry’s room to pick it up but mostly because they were “uncomfortable” taking it out of his room and could never be sure when he was using it. Lynn was especially adamant that the projector needed to be available for more general use, describing how it would provide instructional strategies that were not possible without it. She described, for example, how being able to use a projector enabled her to model a new skill for her grade 2 class. The students would watch the skill being modelled on the projected screen and then replicate it on their own screens. Lynn told us how this strategy allowed nearly all the students in the class to perform the new skill with less confusion and with less one-on-one help.

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Being denied access to the projector had definitive repercussions for both Lynn and Beth in terms of whether and how they attempted to make curricular and integrated use of computers with their classes (beyond typing practice and use of commercial instructional software). Lynn and Beth’s description of their use of computers at Phoenix Elementary shows how frequently that use was mediated and, too often, inhibited by their male colleague’s expertise and control of computer-related equipment. The difficulties that Lynn and Beth describe with regard to gaining access to and using technology in their school are not simply determined by the ratio of students to computers or by the amount of lab time allocated to each teacher’s class. And while it might be easy to dismiss the impediments we describe as mere “complaints” or “excuses” and therefore as not “valid” reasons for these women’s failing to more thoroughly integrate technology into their curriculum, this would be unwise. To dismiss these impediments would be to miss their importance with regard to whether and how teachers use technology within a particular setting. In this school (and others), these female teachers found it not only difficult but nearly impossible to negotiate relations with their male peers in such a way that they were able to gain any real autonomy or control over their own use of computers.

conclusion Studies that examine the introduction of technologies into schools often overlook what these technologies mean for the working conditions and professional experiences of teachers; instead, these new curricular objects are examined for the kinds of changes they instigate in the practice of instruction and the experience of learning. While these are crucial areas of concern, much of our research indicates that privileging the practice of instruction accounts neither for all of the ways in

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which teachers perceive their work in schools nor for the various kinds of learning that occur outside of the classroom and in the school community. Teachers’ working conditions and experiences of identity certainly affect the kind of instruction that occurs in relation to new technologies. In addition, the kinds of gendered beliefs and perceptions that pervade the school-based use of computer technologies contribute to a learning environment that extends beyond the boundaries of the classroom. Students and teachers alike seem to be learning that technologies constitute a male domain. Instead of focusing on finding a causal connection between teachers’ technological skills/resources/understandings and their instructional integration of computer technology, our research suggests that we should take into account not only the school’s socio-cultural and political context but also the context in which teaching occurs (particularly daily working conditions) as this is central to whether and how teachers make use of computers. The extent of teachers’ use of new technologies in schools is socio-culturally mediated, and, at times, it has very little to do with how technologically skilled or unskilled teachers actually are. In the case studies we describe, for example, Donna, Lynn, and Beth were all technologically skilled, but their “skills” had very little impact on their actual use of computers with their students. For Donna, this use was both mediated by the male technology “experts” who positioned her as the person who “facilitated” relations between their “world of technology” and the “world of the teacher” and by her own willingness to accept and maintain that position, given that she saw it as essential to promoting technology use in the school generally. Likewise, Lynn and Beth’s use of computers had little to do with their actual skills or instructional practices but, rather, was highly regulated by a culture within the school that afforded them little or no recognition as skilled users of technology and by the everyday, practical political hierarchies that

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delimited the technologies to which they could have easy access (e.g., the projector). It is precisely these complex and often unacknowledged social relations of power and control that delimit teachers’ use of technologies in schools. Continuing to look for relatively simple connections between teachers’ skills acquisition and their instructional use of computer technology obscures the importance of relations of power and inequity that shape the school environment and the nature of their professional lives. Instead of a linear, or causal, analysis, our study suggests that research on the integration of technology into schools requires a more holistic and qualitative approach – one that takes into account the way in which teachers’ work is mediated by a complex set of socio-cultural beliefs and practices. In each of our examples, the work of teachers is produced by, and also reproduces, a climate in which female teachers are not imagined to be technology users, regardless of their actual expertise. And this has implications for their female students as it functions to perpetuate the well-documented underrepresentation of girls in technologyfocused courses and programs (Bryson and de Castell 1998; Kramarae 2001). In this sense, changing individual attitudes and beliefs is not a solution to the inequities of computer use among teachers. Neither the male teachers nor the female teachers we interviewed can be held personally responsible for the social relations that shape their practices. What is required is that we understand the school community and environment as a complex and collectively wrought socio-cultural space that functions as the medium through which the work and identities of teachers are both produced and reproduced. It is only by beginning to study and articulate the culture within which teachers enact particular roles and identities, and negotiate various hierarchies and institutional structures, that we may be able to renegotiate and reconstruct school relations that support and sustain effective and equitable technology integration.

4 it Professional Development for Teachers: Beyond “Best-Practice” Lists1 jennifer jenson, brian lewis, and richard smith

An often overlooked aspect of the implementation of computer technologies in schools, across Canada and elsewhere, is professional development. In this chapter, we aim to identify, describe, and clarify examples of teacher professional development from the standpoint of its participants – namely, the teachers and their administrators. As the number of computers accessible to students and teachers in classrooms and labs has increased, especially in the past ten years, there has been a corresponding emphasis on “integrating technology across the curriculum.” Teachers’ effective use of computers in their classrooms, however, remains an elusive goal. Researchers have identified numerous barriers to teachers’ use of computers in their classes, such as limited equipment, inadequate skills, minimal support, time constraints, and teachers’ own lack of interest in or knowledge about computers (Baylora and Ritchieb 2002; Berg, Benz, Lasley ii, and Raisch 1998; Bradshaw 2002; Bryson and de Castell 1998;

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Clark 2000; Dick 2005; Ertmer, Addison, Lane, Ross, and Woods 1998; Hadley and Sheingold 1993; Hartnell-Young 2006; Laferrière, Breuleux, Baker, and Fitzsimons 1999; Macmillan, Liu, and Timmons 1997; Mouza 2002; nces 1999; Schrum 1994, 1997, 1999; Sugar 2005; Vannatta and Beyerbach 2001). Rightly or wrongly, teachers have come “under fire” as insufficiently skilled to make use of promising new technologies. In the early stages of technology implementation in the classroom we have too often seen provinces and districts dedicating enormous resources to hardware and software while neglecting the human part of the equation: teacher support and development. Governments, faculties of education, school districts, schools, communities, and individuals have belatedly come to understand the need to give teachers access to training and development in required information technology skills. In British Columbia, for example, the Ministry of Education earmarked $1.6 million in 2001 for professional development for the integration of technology into classroom instruction for 1,000 teachers of grades 6 to 9. While programs for providing professional development have varied widely and have been examined in detail in a number of us-based studies (Baylora and Ritchieb 2002; Hoffman and Thompson 2000; Mouza 2002; nces 1999; Schrum 1999; Sorg and Russell 2000; Sugar 2005; Swain 2000; Walbert 2000) and a Canada-wide study (Laferrière, Breuleux, Baker, and Fitzsimons 1999), we have chosen to focus on three examples of professional development in Canada, each functioning at a different administrative level (faculty of education, school district, and individual school) and each employing a different strategy or set of tactics for professional development. The programs are described here in general terms, elucidating the methods and practices that support and hinder teachers in their technological professional development. The focus is on teachers’ and administrators’

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own stated preferences for “what works” and “what doesn’t work” as they attempt to make more and/or better use of computers in their classes and schools. Teachers and administrators respond to and speak differently about the programs in which they are involved. This chapter attempts to clarify the disjuncture between (1) what they identify as salient and relevant professional development and (2) what the professional development program itself purports to accomplish. Administrators and teachers have divergent perspectives on these issues, which are delimited by their individual subject positions in relation to technology and by their positions within the institutional structure of schooling. This institutional structure, in many ways, demands that those within it take up particular speaking positions in relation to it, and, although not explored in depth in this study, it should be emphasized that this is certainly an important (and often crucial) interpretive lens through which to critically examine issues in professional development for practising teachers (Baylora and Ritchieb 2002; Bryson and de Castell 1998; de Castell, Bryson, and Jenson 2002; Hartnell-Young 2006).

a university-based program Teaching and Learning in an Information Technology Environment (tlite) is a two-year post-baccalaureate diploma program offered by the Faculty of Education at Simon Fraser University (sfu) in British Columbia. tlite is self-directed, collaborative, and designed specifically to aid teachers in using technology effectively in their classrooms. Over the two years, teachers meet face-to-face and online with peer mentors as well as occasionally with university-based mentors (instructors from the Faculty of Education) to design their courses of study, to learn new skills, to develop projects, and for general accountability. They also meet as a large group for two weeks

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(usually in the summer) with their school-based mentors for collaborative skill building and minimal pedagogical and theoretical studies. tlite is an excellent example of a scaffolded, peer-supported program in which teachers explore and learn to use technology, setting goals for technology applications in their classrooms based on their own subject interests. It makes use of both face-to-face and online instruction and support. In the next section, we describe the tlite program from the perspective of two teachers who have very different levels of teaching experience and who imagine widely variant uses of computers in their classrooms. Teachers’ perspectives At the time of the study, Sue and Terry were both teachers in an inner-city elementary school in British Columbia’s Lower Mainland region, and they were taking the tlite course. They were interviewed mid-way through their program and again near its end. Sue was a long-time teacher at all levels of elementary school, and she described her use of computers before taking the course as “quite limited.” Over the years, Sue had taken numerous district workshops, but she found it difficult to apply what she had learned to her own classroom practices (a recurrent complaint about workshop-based programs), usually because her school’s software differed from that used in the workshops or because she had forgotten key elements from the workshop, which left her unable to complete tasks on her own. Terry had been teaching just four years and had two Mac Classics in her room (which she said “broke down” constantly) and a “very old” computer at home that she used for word processing. She felt that she had little opportunity in her recently completed teacher training to think about how she

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would use computers in her classes. The tlite program provided her first formal computer training. Sue and Terry’s reasons for taking the course were quite similar: they both said that the increase in pay appealed to them (taking the program counts as ongoing education credit for pay purposes), as did the opportunity to increase their computer skills and to consider how best to make use of those skills in their classrooms. Not surprisingly, Sue and Terry’s interests, goals, and needs with regard to the course differed widely. For Sue, the most important aspect of the tlite program was that it gave her access to various kinds of computer help in her self-specified interest area: there were workshops, one-on-one tutorials, demonstrations, hands-on group work, and ongoing support online from her mentor. Also of significance to Sue was the fact that the help she received was given by other teachers who were in the program with her and who didn't talk “over her head” (i.e., by using technical jargon) but who would patiently go through the steps and give her enough time to take notes. One of the biggest benefits of the program for Sue was the way in which methods of collaborating with other computer users were modelled. For example, after she started tlite, the school librarian approached her with questions about using the Internet. Sue began teaching the librarian what she had learned and, as she had done in the program, she began strategizing about how to help students conduct research on the Internet, working with the librarian to develop ideas for different Internet-based projects that classes throughout the school could perform. Terry’s approach to the tlite program was somewhat different than was Sue’s: she did not find the peer support network, the group work, or the workshops consistently useful, preferring instead to “work on her own” or to ask for help from people around her. For Terry, one of the best things about

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the tlite project was that it made her independent and more confident as she learned to troubleshoot her way through problems. And her skill level on computers increased so that more often than not she could figure out a way to fix a computer rather than to simply “shut down the computer and restart it and see if that helps.” Both women indicated that they were now using computers more often with their classes and in more meaningful ways, and their colleagues at school now called on them for advice and support. Unlike traditional workshops offered by the district, which offered no follow-up, tlite offered teachers the opportunity to experiment with computers and to be accountable for their own learning through the completion of projects and ongoing interaction with a program mentor. They each agreed that the program’s greatest strength was in its “focus on the teaching, not the technology” – an approach that presents an answer to the question of “whether or not you want a good teacher with a piece of chalk and a chalkboard or a bad teacher with a Pentium.” In the district where Terry and Sue work, tlite has been an attractive alternative among teachers who are seeking technology skills. As an administrator, the district superintendent stated that the program was an extremely cost-effective solution, given that teachers each paid for the training (although they received salary increases upon completion). Also, because the “training” occurred after school, on weekends, and during the summer, teachers were not taken away from their classes. Both the superintendent and the district technology support administrator reported that the program had resulted in almost half of their elementary school teachers, most of whom were women, becoming more skilled using computers. What is most notable in Sue and Terry’s experience of this professional development program is the variety of instruction and mentorship opportunities they were offered – face-to-face,

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online, and in large and small groups – and the individualized aspects of the program, where each was able to choose her own interest area. However, while tlite promises that its graduates will improve their “technology skills,” this does not necessarily mean that they are especially skilled with regard to classroom uses of computers. For Sue, the greatest benefit of the program was that it enabled her to “get comfortable” with computers. With her students, she ended up simply using current esl software and her printer for printing their written work. While Terry acknowledged that her own use of computers had increased at home, she said that she had found it difficult to further her classroom applications. She had tried a computer-based drawing project, but she felt that it took up too much time and that the students could have more easily done the drawings with paper and pencils. These very real differences – between (1) the uses to which Sue and Terry actually put computers and (2) the expected “outcomes” of the program – are too often overlooked in research and reporting on professional development. In this case (and those that follow), an examination is crucial as it clarifies the difference between the course’s purported “outcomes” and its participants’ “uptake” of those outcomes in daily practices.

a school district example Many school districts have developed, funded, and implemented professional development in instructional technology (it). In Ontario, we observed as sixty teachers and principals from five schools attended a four-day conference on technology in the classroom. None of the participants was paid to attend. In the morning workshops, the teachers from the host school (these demonstrator-teachers were paid $100 to be there for the four days) presented most of the education-related content and showcased their technical skills and applications. In

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the afternoon workshops, two technicians from the district offices gave hands-on workshops for conference participants, while the teachers presenting in the conference offered workshop support. While nearly all of the workshop participants were women, all of the technical instruction came from male teachers or technicians (see chapter 3). Although none of the teachers with whom we spoke commented on this stereotypical distribution of expertise, one of the district technicians acknowledged that he felt he was “talking over the heads” of many of the teachers, that he felt he was “ineffective” in communicating with them as he didn’t know “teacher talk”. The four-day workshop was followed by additional workshops, site visits to the host school, and online mentoring throughout the year. All schools participating in the program received additional funding for computer and software purchases, and teachers received four additional days of release time over the course of the year to plan together and/or meet with the mentoring school’s teachers. The expectation of the workshop organizers was that the teachers would create a single instructional unit that made use of computers and that would be implemented in their classes during the school year. Participants were given time over the four days to plan their instructional unit in groups, and they were encouraged to work in the same groups in the postconference workshops. The program culminated at the end of the school year, with each group making a presentation to all participants regarding the outcomes of using the unit of study they had designed for their classes. Searching for a “solution” We attended the four-day workshop, follow-up workshops and meetings, and meetings with teachers and principals who participated in the workshop in their own schools. During the

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course of these interviews, similar issues emerged, which varied less thematically than according to individual conditions and contexts. The viewpoints we describe here are representative of the range of understandings and concerns that we encountered in this study. All of the principals who participated in the workshop were requested to attend by the superintendent of the district, and, in turn, they approached their vice-principals, technical support teachers, librarians, and other teachers in their school, asking them to participate. Some of the teachers refused the “invitation” on the grounds that they did not want to do any unpaid extracurricular work, but most teachers agreed to attend. All of the principals participated in the conference by attending the various workshops and planning sessions. One session, in particular, provided an opportunity for principals to talk among themselves about technology-related issues in their schools. During this discussion, most of the principals agreed that the majority of their teachers had little or no familiarity with computers and that this conference was at least making a few teachers more “comfortable.” Because many, if not most, of the school computers were unused by a majority of students, many principals also discussed the ways that each of them had reconfigured the location of computers in their schools. Some had chosen to move individual computers out of classrooms and into the library, where teachers could use them concurrently for class projects; others felt that computers could be better used by dismantling portions of their labs in order to move more computers into classrooms. Following the conference, the principals with whom we spoke observed, in general, that the teachers who attended the conference had started to make more use of computers in their classes (if only for small, short–term projects) but that their enthusiasm and knowledge had not yet been shared with other teachers. Contrary to research findings (Watson 1998) and the

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practical experience of teachers in their schools, most principals continued to believe that teachers who do integrate technology can cause a “ripple effect” in the school, whereby other teachers become curious about using computers and interested students become more “enthusiastic.” Rather than imposing technology use requirements on teachers, these administrators believed that the “train-the-trainer” model was ultimately more effective in that it was able to “inspire, not require” teachers to integrate technology into their classroom practices. Everyone noted, however, that this approach was difficult to sustain once the leader was gone. They also agreed that neither incentives nor mentoring is as important as is a teacher's own interest in learning about new applications and uses of it. The principals to whom we spoke felt that most of the teachers in their schools who participated in the conference were now more actively working to implement technology in their classrooms. The greatest issues facing these teachers involved the question of how to fit computers into the space and routine of the classroom. For the principals and the teachers, the workshops in the conference “gave teachers good ideas” (though they did not always follow up with practical skill-based instruction) and provided opportunities for them to plan together to accomplish at least one computer-based class project in the coming school year. These elements also helped teachers to overcome feelings of incompetence – feelings that principals reported as significant among most teachers as well as among themselves. The conference combined workshop and skills-oriented professional development with teachers’ own subject-related interests with regard to using technology with their students. It provided support for teachers throughout the school year, both online and face-to-face. Even more uniquely, the conference provided mentorship and support for the school principals involved in the project as they attempted to more fully commit their staff to technology use.

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As with so many professional development initiatives, there were two primary short-comings: (1) the conference took place at the board office on software that many teachers did not have available in their schools, and (2) there was little practical connection between the skill-based training teachers received and the project-based lesson plans they were attempting to create for use with their students. In interviews that we conducted two months following the four-day workshop, and after two follow-up sessions had been completed, we spoke to approximately one-quarter of the teachers who had attended. They said that they found the workshops valuable as a “showcase” of what they could do with their classes but that most of what they had learned they could not remember well enough to incorporate into a classroom activity. This was partly a function of not having enough time during the day to practise. Also, for some of them, what they learned at the conference they could not bring into the classroom because their schools did not have the software. When asked whether they used computers more frequently with their classes following the workshops, all of the teachers indicated that they intended to use computers more but that, thus far, they had not used the machines any more or less than they had previously. The single exception was a teacher who had been appointed the “network expert” in her school and, as a result, had teamed up with another teacher for a class project, receiving weekly networking tutorials from three grade 5 boys. There was an inherent contradiction between the teachers’ sense of what they had accomplished (i.e., little or no additional use of computers) and their principals’ perceptions of them as knowledgeable and active users of computers in the classroom. This contradiction was also prevalent in the followup workshops, which began with the presumption that all the teachers were “continuing their work” when few of them had

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even looked at their unit of instruction since the summer workshop. Because, at the end of the project, the teachers were expected to present a “unit of study” in which their classes had made use of computers, a few of them expressed anxiety over the possibility of having “nothing” to present. Significantly, however, these feelings were repeatedly placated through consistent teacher reports, which were presented at the institute and which indicated that technology integration took at least three years. These reports significantly alleviated their anxieties around using computers with their students.

a school-based program: flexibility and constraints One individual working within a school, with the support of a principal, can do much to aid his/her colleagues in the use of computers with their students. A representative example in our study is the case of Jane, a teacher at an elementary school in British Columbia, who provided technology-related assistance in her school, giving teachers access to professional development and support in their use of computers. For example, upon the request of other teachers, she offered skillsbased, one-on-one help before and after school and during lunch, and she assisted them in planning the use of computers for different aspects of the class projects upon which they were each working. She also provided hands-on help for teachers for the first three or four times they used computers for their class projects, working with them side-by-side with their classes. Jane’s principal facilitated her provision of “just-intime,” individualized support for teachers by arranging for her to take two hours of “release time” from teaching per day. Jane began helping other teachers in her school with their use of computers because she had been dissatisfied with district workshops. Largely self-taught, Jane admits to having

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attended a number of district workshops over the years, but she generally found them “uninteresting” and unrelated to the particular skills that she most wanted to learn. One of the only district workshops that she felt was “worth the time and money” was conducted by a high school computer science teacher who taught web page authoring using a particular piece of software that she was interested in learning to use. As other teachers in her school began to express a “willingness to learn,” she approached the principal and suggested that she be scheduled a few hours per week out of class to assist them. The principal supported her in this, and, as demand increased, he increased her hours of release time. Jane also ran workshops after school, making them available to teachers from a number of neighbouring schools. She was not paid to run the workshops, and the teachers who attended them were not compensated by the district for their time. This became increasingly frustrating, however, as few teachers attended and few returned to their classes to use computers with the students in any substantial or different way. This was because they found it too difficult to “try it” in their classes without more practice and/or without someone more knowledgeable there to help. Jane felt that follow-up was crucial for teachers, and neither her workshops nor the ones that were put on for professional development days provided it. When she was able to work one-on-one with teachers outside of the workshops, she noticed that they made substantially more use of computers in their classroom projects. Because teachers knew that she would help, they would come and talk with her about their ideas. She would then make suggestions and help them in their classes the first few times they used a particular piece of software. After receiving such individualized support, Jane indicated that these teachers usually felt more “comfortable” with the process and less anxious over not “being the expert.”

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Jane felt that time and “personality” were her greatest limitations. Concerning her time, the principal was able to give Jane only a few hours a day to help other teachers in the school with their technology planning, projects, and/or classroom excursions – duties that could easily fill her whole workday. She further asserted that her status in the school as “computer expert” interfered with her being of help to some teachers, particularly those who were most “intimidated” by technology and, as a result, were “afraid” to talk to her. Jane found that many of the teachers who required the most assistance in using computers with their classes received the least. She believed that these teachers needed some training and support with regard to their implementation of technology in their classrooms, and she believed that this support should come from within the school. This method of peer training and support works best when teachers and principals cooperate to take advantage of the expertise of one or more individuals who are capable of providing flexible, ongoing, on-site assistance. Success depends entirely on the good will of the actors, including a supportive principal, and the issue of sustainability is of chief concern. Specifically, the departure of the key person (Jane, for instance) would bring this type of support program to a halt. Staffing and budget cuts often prohibit even a few hours a week of release-time for a position like Jane’s, and such a position is particularly susceptible to changes in administration that result in a lack of emphasis on teachers’ use of technology. The principal indicated that the assistance Jane was giving had also led to “union difficulties” as the district had technology support people who were contracted to do this work. Furthermore, there was some discrepancy between Jane’s description of her support work and teachers’ perceptions of that work, as at least one person felt that Jane spent far too much time “fixing machines” and far too little time helping the teachers “at least learn how to use the Internet better.”

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Both the principal and the teachers generally viewed the role that Jane had assumed as the “technology expert” as important to the ongoing use of computers in the school. For the principal, her work was significant and justifiable because it supported, albeit in a very limited way, the everyday, practical operation and maintenance of computers. While Jane’s colleagues appreciated her technical expertise, they were more in tune with the importance of having someone whom they could go to for technical help and who could also make suggestions about how best to make use of computers within their given curriculum and/or subject area.

conclusion As many districts and schools have discovered, professional development can be the Achilles’ heel of technology integration. From the research we describe above, we can suggest some key elements that should be considered when designing and implementing professional development programs for teachers. It is not unusual for these elements to be unproblematically cited in a positive, bulleted list, with little consideration of the shortcomings of each. Such a list implies a kind of lock-step movement towards “success,” without giving due consideration to individual conditions and contexts. While we provide our own such list, we also provide a counter-list that problematizes the more familiar features of the former. In the spaces between these two lists, we hope to call attention to the illusory and often contradictory construction of “best-practice” lists (see Laferiere, Breuleux, Baker, and Fitzsimons 1999). The “positive” list is in line with what other researchers have also noted with regard to teachers and it professional development, and it emphasizes the importance of:

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•

incentives, both finance and time-related;

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play and discovery;

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flexibility (which makes allowances for all levels of competency and interest);

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ongoing technological and curricular support, both online and in person;

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on-site work, where teachers learn on the computers they will be using with their students;

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an activity-based approach, whereby teachers don’t learn “stand-alone” skills but, instead, use computers in relation to the curricular activities they design; and

•

the scalability and sustainability of any program. What the above list leaves out are the contradictions that oc-

cur in any work of this kind. Instead of ignoring these contradictions, we have created a counter-list, which we developed from the inconsistencies we noted between professional development participants and organizers. The problems most frequently encountered include the following: •

“Self-motivation” is assumed to be “volunteerism,” with teachers attending and paying for their own training and “upgrading” of skills/knowledge;

•

Supporting innovation usually means supporting the one or two teachers who are already making use of technology, thus doing little to assist other teachers in the school;

•

There is little or no recognition of the “audience” as workshop facilitators often use technicist language that is not well understood by teachers;

•

There is little or no acknowledgment that it is mostly female teachers who seek out and take it professional development;

•

“Self-display” is accepted as a method of presentation, with workshops focusing solely on demonstrating the technical

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knowledge of the presenter, who does little or nothing to advance the technical know-how of his/her audience; •

There is often significant epistemological disparity as there is often a great difference between the proclamation of a certain knowledge or skills base (by workshop and program organizers) and its “uptake” (actual implementation and use) by teachers. Neither of these lists is exhaustive, but each is illustrative of

those elements that teachers felt made their professional development experience with computers either more or less “successful.” Professional development for teachers in the area of information technologies presents complex issues that cannot be easily ignored. And it cannot be assumed that old models will work with new systems and technologies. In fact, the characteristics of new technologies that make them so effective and challenging in the classroom pose unique challenges and opportunities for teachers and their professional development. It is in the space between the two preceding lists – between the positive “to do” list and its cautionary counterpart – that we find the most productive and ultimately practical means for providing professional development for teachers. This involves paying attention to the socio-economic constraints on teachers and administrators, and it begins to make more apparent the extent to which the uptake (and especially the actual outcomes of professional development “opportunities”) depends on factors quite outside institutional reach – factors such as individual interest and ability, time, and personal economic resources. Perhaps most important of all, though, is the need to take serious notice of the ways in which a professional ethic of collaboration, supportiveness, and civility might actually be impeding progress in technology integration. In each of the cases we present, we can see significant divergences between what

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teachers are actually doing with computers in their classrooms following professional development instruction and what participants, organizers, and school administrators are saying about the outcomes of such instruction. There are the familiar reassurances and beliefs: that “integration takes time” and that participants’ experience a sense of personal accomplishment and satisfaction with regard to their professional development program; that teachers’ personal interest in and familiarity with computers automatically translates into their increased use of technology in classroom instruction; and that providing support in the form of teacher release-time assures that teachers have access to the kind of help they need in order to make good educational uses of computers. Such assurances, while they serve to alleviate the anxieties of teachers, administrators, and program facilitators, can in fact function to obscure how little effect such professional development provisions may be having on technology integration in everyday classroom practice.

5 Supporting Technology versus Instruction: Divisions in Policy and Practice jennifer jenson and chloë brushwood rose

During the 1990s, across the curriculum, teachers’ and students’ use of technology in Canadian schools shifted from a skillsbased focus, in which students are “trained” to be “technologically literate,” to a focus on “technology integration.” The emphasis of provincial governments on the cross-curricular integration of new technologies has renewed a focus on teachers’ “appropriate use” of these tools, and this, in turn, has strengthened calls by teachers for more and better support in their teaching with computers (British Columbia Ministry of Education 2002; Manitoba Ministry of Education 1998; Ontario Ministry of Education 2006). Accordingly, while school districts have thus far struggled to provide technical support for machines (and small and large networks) in schools, they are now increasingly called upon to provide curricular support for teachers using technologies. And this is all to the good – or so it might seem. The difficulties of this curriculum/technology balancing act appear to have led, however, to the formation of district-level

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technology policies whose inherent contradictions tip the scales dramatically in favour of information technology (it) at the expense of curriculum and instruction (c&i). Provincial policy espousing the goal of classroom technology integration is met, paradoxically enough, with district-level funding policies and technical hardware and software requirements that make curricular and instructional integration of technology virtually impossible. Provincial policy in British Columbia, for example, continues to contribute large-scale funding for the purchasing and maintenance of networks, hardware, and software for schools but has committed very little, by comparison, in to its highly publicized and “on the record” efforts to require teachers to make use of these technologies in their classrooms (see, for example http://www.bced.gov.bc.ca/technology/). In this chapter, we focus on identifying significant tensions between technical and educational requirements as these are embodied in technology policy and policy-driven practices that create and maintain barriers to the use of computers in schools. The cases we examine help to show how policy priorities made at the provincial level, which called for greater technology integration requiring curricular and instructional support, were met with a fiscal emphasis on technical support and how those funding priorities effectively closed down any considerations of curriculum- and instruction-focused goals. Our study found many cases in which district spending on technical requirements intended to promote and support technology use actually worked to marginalize the instructional needs of teachers who were attempting to respond to provincial policy on integration. We argue that, despite what is widely viewed as a positive shift in technology policy from skills-based instruction to integration, there has not been a corresponding shift in district policy and practice concerned with professional development and teacher support. Moreover, although teachers are being asked to integrate technology in all subject areas, we found that

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the professional development offered to them at the district level has continued to follow a skills-based model, with teachers taught stand-alone skills or familiarized with software to which they, in fact, have no access and which they never get the opportunity to use in the context of their work. To explore deep structural disjunctures between curricular and instructional support for new technologies, along with practical maintenance of machines and networks, we used our school-based fieldwork to elucidate various tensions and contradictions and what these seem to suggest for the larger matter of whether technology use in schools is serving or “subserving” educational values and purposes. The first two cases illustrate how district policies specifying technical requirements negatively affected a school’s ability to integrate technology into the curriculum, in one case by failing to account for classroom needs and in the other by actually barring schools from making decisions about their own purchasing and uses of computers. These examples demonstrate how technology policies can and do interfere with teachers’ practical and everyday uses of technologies in their classrooms. They also illustrate a “migration of attention,” pursuant to a migration of resources, from curricular and instructional concerns to technologies of information. In the final section, we examine the case of one particular school district and its policy practices around spending, hiring, professional development, and on-site support to illuminate how current policy effectively places information technology and curriculum/instruction at odds with one another. These examples show how school district policy, often guided by larger political “visions,” can be so disconnected from local contexts and classroom practices as to undermine its own initiatives. We illustrate a range of ways in which technology policies work to undermine and discourage the very practices they claim to produce. Policies, policy practices, and everyday practices mutually co-construct, inform, and misinform each other,

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often in significantly contradictory ways. The disjuncture between technology and instruction in technology policy and practice reflects and reproduces a conceptual tension within the current context of technology implementation that manifests itself in confusion concerning the relative importance of, and relationship between, curriculum/instruction and technical skill. We further suggest that the political struggles of policy makers, administrators, and teachers are intensified by reconfigured systems of authority and knowledge that have emerged as a byproduct of the widespread endorsement and adoption of computer technologies in schools and the displacement of curricular and instructional concerns by technical ones.

forgetting teachers and students A school district in the Lower Mainland area of British Columbia provides a good example of the difficulties that can result from the dislocation between technical concerns and instructional concerns with regard to teachers’ attempts to implement technology in their classrooms. In this school district, it staff are authorized to make decisions about the networks and computers in the district schools, and little or no thought is given to the implications of their decisions when applied to classrooms. Here district policy severely limits what teachers and students are and are not able to accomplish with the machines provided for them. Responding to a system-wide “hacking” incident at the end of the 2000 academic year, for example, district technical staff determined that the networks in the district were far too “vulnerable” and, therefore, needed stricter controls. In an effort to implement this new level of control, during the summer break throughout the district all teachers’ and students’ log-in identifications and passwords were changed. What the district technology coordinators either ignored or failed to take into

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account in this “transition” was that teachers needed to use and have access to their e-mail even when school was “out.” It wasn’t, however, until three weeks into the fall semester that teachers were finally given their log-in id’s and passwords, and it was a further six weeks (in some cases eight) before students were given access to the machines. While some delays in major network upgrading and “protection” are understandable, the implementation of these new policies not only prevented actual computer use by teachers and students in the district for nearly two months of the fall semester but, in the case of elementary students, acted as a permanent barrier to technology use. In their rush to provide log-in id’s and passwords for all students in the district, the it planners had failed to consider that a number of the students who would be using the machines would not be able to easily type (let alone memorize) an id that began with three numbers, included a dash, and then six letters of the student’s last name. As one of the teachers put it: “I teach a kinder class and it would take me the whole hour in our lab just to get my students logged on!” Another teacher to whom we spoke had been struggling to get this policy amended so that she could more easily use computers with her grade 2 students. She wanted someone to create a generic id and password so that all of her students could log in under the same user name, thus saving her the time spent trying to get them all logged in. After three months of this struggle, she said she “gave up” and decided not to use the lab any more as it was just “too difficult” and “no one was listening to her” or being “flexible” about her request. She felt that the district’s concerns about network security were “overblown” and that a grade 1 or grade 2 student was not going to be able to do any harm. Teachers and students in this district were constrained by technology-driven policy practices that directly contradicted both district and provincial policies, which called upon teachers

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to integrate new technologies into their teaching. As a grade 2 teacher explained, “Here I have this beautiful lab to use with my students and I can’t even get them past the first log-in screen.”

forgetting local needs A related example of these tensions in technology policy and practice occurred in Alberta where, as with most districts across Canada, district technology policy dictates that schools must buy hardware from a vendor designated by the district, regardless of the needs of the school. In some districts, schools are unable to spend funding for hardware anywhere else; while in other districts, like the one in this example, schools are told that if they purchase hardware from anyone but the designated vendor, they will not be entitled to district-funded machine maintenance and repair. This results in schools incurring expenditures that they can little afford for technology they have purchased to serve their own teaching needs. Meanwhile, the hardware already in their schools, or being purchased according to district technical specifications, is often not used in ways that facilitate teaching and learning. This is because teachers’ own uses are overridden by district technical policies that control the utilization of networks as well as whether and how file sharing is to occur between networked computers. The tensions between district technology policy and practical, everyday school use of technologies in this district were elaborated for us by Bill, a curriculum and technology support person whose job was to provide curriculum and integration support to teachers. In our discussion, Bill talked about how, in one of the elementary schools that he visited, he and the district “techie” (a person who was hired to maintain machines and networks) were engaged in a “silent tug-of-war” over the configuration of the school network. Bill was adamant that teachers and students be able to make use of the lab’s “file-sharing”

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capabilities because the lab was equipped with only one scanner and students needed to be able to move their files from it to other machines in the lab. Because the lab was equipped with iMacs, which do not have floppy-disk drives, it was not possible to move the scanned files on disk to other computers. Bill’s solution was to enable file sharing so that the files could be moved around locally, over the network. This allowed students to work on their scanned files on other machines, thereby freeing up the scanning machine for other students. It also meant that students did not have to sit at the same machine each time they came into the lab, which allowed for more flexibility as there were not enough machines for each student in a class to have one to him/ herself. However, according to Bill, when the district technology support person was called to the school to fix a “broken” machine in the lab, he disabled the file-sharing option and told the teacher who was in the lab at the time that she was in “violation” of district policy. Bill saw this as an example of district technology policies that not only misunderstood school-based application and use of computers but also directly interfered with teachers’ use of the machines. In both of the above examples, the implementation of district technology policies occurred with little or no consultation with instructional support specialists. As a result, these district policies not only hindered but, in some cases, actually prevented teachers from using computers with their students. While teachers are frequently “blamed” for not making more and/or better use of computers with their students (see, for example, Harris and Grangenett 1999; Honey and Moeller 1990), it is clear that technology policies whose interpretation and endorsement is uninformed by and insensitive to the practical curricular/instructional requirements of teachers in classrooms constitute significant barriers to technology use, legitimating a continuous erosion of educators’ needs and priorities and replacing them with technical ones.

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disconnecting teaching and technology The previous examples illustrate the ways in which the tensions between instructional concerns (mainly school-based) and it concerns (mainly at the district level) are played out between teachers and front-line it support staff. What becomes clear in the following example is that these tensions cannot simply be set aside as individual conflicts or grievances but, rather, must be seen as a direct result of larger policy initiatives and decisions made at the school district level. In the Pineview District, an urban community near Toronto, where we spent a great deal of time interviewing staff at both the district offices and at individual schools, we were able to observe the impact of district-wide policies on the kinds of itrelated professional development initiated, on the type of onsite support made available, and on the actual practices of teachers in a number of different schools. In this section, we focus on how Pineview contended with two of the most important areas of technology policy for school districts – funding and training – to illustrate how technology policies can produce (yet be structurally blind to) the tensions between educational values and priorities and technical ones. Funding instruction or technology? The Pineview school district “Computer Plan,” a written policy document, clearly states that the “vision for support” for technology integration in the district involves a “cooperative effort”: program services (the department responsible for curriculum and instruction), information technology services, financial services, and facilities services are envisioned as working collectively, “all providing support for schools.” Like most plans for the future, this district computing plan articulates a practical

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ideal in which all of the district’s service departments would be able to come together to train and support teachers using technology. Unfortunately, the ability of these various departments to conduct this collaborative work is largely constrained by those areas of district policy that control funding. In the Pineview District, there is a startling inequity in funding between departments, the most direct effect of which is a significant difference in numbers and kinds of support staff available to schools from each department. William, a district staff person in the Pineview information technology services (its), explained that his department is responsible for servicing all the it in the school district, including administrative offices and over 185 elementary and secondary schools. That fall, Pineview its field technicians numbered forty-six. The curriculum department, by contrast, had three people who were able to support technology use by teachers, with one curriculum branch-based technician per secondary school and twenty to cover all district elementary schools. Notably, the previous year Pineview’s information technology team had consisted of just ten technicians. William told us the goal behind this sharp increase in numbers was to provide help to teachers “even when things aren’t broken.” Asked how this huge increase in computer technicians was possible, he explained that these positions were “bought” through cut-backs in the neighbouring media services department, where many media technicians had been laid off. Significantly, media services is the department responsible for supporting all the – mostly analog – audio-visual equipment in the district (i.e., those media and technologies teachers use most often as curriculum resources and for instructional support). As well, the district had diverted some of its increased funding for new technicians from the budget for hardware. This increase in its staff makes sense when one considers that the Pineview District had made large purchases of computer

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hardware over the preceding five years, with a predictable compounding increase in technical support needs. William’s figures indicate that there are fifteen times more it support staff for schools than curricular support staff. The responsibilities of these two district departments (its and curriculum), as outlined in Pineview’s computer plan, are remarkably similar: they are both seen to be key players in the district’s technology implementation and integration efforts. However, as in the other cases we have discussed, the policy that governs funding does not reflect, and so effectively undermines, the district policy emphasis on integration. Far more funding is allocated to technical support and maintenance of machines than is allocated to support teachers in retooling their curriculum and instruction. The resulting imbalance makes technology integration very difficult for teachers and schools as, if they are to engage new technologies for educational ends, instructional support is a more fundamental requirement than is technical support. In pointing out the obvious numerical gap between departments in terms of the amount of funding and support staff they have available, we are by no means suggesting there should be fewer technicians to fix machines: one of the most commonly mentioned impediments to teachers’ making effective use of technology is that all too often their machines do not work. However, while the maintenance of machines is certainly an important consideration, district policies (implemented and supported in the form of funding priorities) might be too narrowly focused on the problem of “fixing machines” rather than on the larger educational problem of getting teachers to make use of them.1 Most significantly, increasing technical support while overlooking questions of curriculum and instruction allows school districts to commit to the increased technology resourcing promised in the policy discourses handed down by provincial politicians without ever carefully

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considering what educational role these technologies could or should play in the classroom. In other words, notwithstanding the explicit policy shift away from “skills” and towards “integration,” policies focused on the acquisition and technical support of computers have done very little to advance their practical and educative application in actual classroom settings. This substantial burden has fallen on teachers, and its solution has, most typically, been framed regressively, in terms of teachers’ acquiring technical skills rather than in terms of the need to provide technical support for a retooling of curricular content and methods and instructional practices. It is teachers, not technicians, who are uniquely qualified and well skilled for this type of specialized educational work. Starting, as it does, with educational means and ends rather than with technical ones, such a shift in the locus of support might better (and with far less “teacher-resistance” [see Ungerleider 1997]) accomplish the stated goals of technology infusion and integration. Understanding this distinction, we would argue, would be a productive first step towards understanding what might constitute properly educational uses of technology (de Castell, Bryson, and Jenson 2002). Professional development The difference in numbers of support staff for technical versus instructional help significantly affects the kinds of training and support available to teachers. While it is unclear how three program services staff members can realistically provide curriculum and instruction support to 187 schools, Pineview it services does offer technical training and support to district staff and teachers in the form of hardware/software workshops and a help desk. The team running the workshops and staffing the help desk is comprised of ten to twelve technicians who use three computer labs/classrooms at the district’s

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education centre. In our interview, William acknowledged that the workshops “could be more relevant” to teacher classroom practice and indicated that he wants the training program to improve in this area. One significant factor, William noted, that makes improving the “training” services they offer to teachers difficult is that staff hired by it services are not chosen based on their qualifications as educators and curriculum developers. Two of the Pineview it staff members with whom we spoke were particularly frank about making the distinction between the technically qualified its staff and “educators.” One staff member, having just given a workshop to a group of elementary teachers, said: “I can’t teach teachers. They don’t understand me and I don’t understand teacher-talk.” Another staff person, also an it workshop leader, insisted: “I don’t know anything about the curriculum and I have no interest in learning about curriculum design.” These it services staff saw themselves primarily as technicians who had been hired to maintain and fix machines, not to offer teachers curricular or instructional support. As a result of this, the workshops they offered mirrored the software manuals they developed. Here again we see the contradiction within district policies that espouse educative goals while at the same time materially promoting the displacement of resources to technical staff who have little or no curricular experience, knowledge, or interest. The contradiction between a political mandate that emphasizes technology integration and a practical mandate that puts technology before teaching is reflected in matters of professional development, even when it is executed and led by curriculum specialists and teachers themselves. In our observations of an ongoing professional development day for teachers, which took place once a month over a period of four months and included a workshop that was designed to help them integrate technology into their classes, the focus was to be on their

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technological and pedagogical skills. However, like the skillsbased professional development offered by it staff, we found that these teacher-led days on technology integration failed to make a strong connection between the acquisition of technology skills and their practical application within an instructional setting. The workshop segments on pedagogy and technology were kept separate from one another so that advice on instructional techniques was never directly linked to the participants’ acquisition of technical skills. For example, the key session on instructional techniques, which was meant to encourage the integration of units of study and the implementation of technology, offered a presentation of general pedagogical strategies (such as student-directed inquiry) but made no specific mention of it or the computer technology teachers are supposed to implement.2 This absence had the effect of reproducing the split between discussions about instruction and discussions about it. And it reinforced beliefs about the irrelevance of pedagogical theory (which deals with questions of curriculum and instruction) within the new technological context – a novel reinstatement of the traditional theory/practice gap in education in general and in teacher training in particular. That these contradictions between teaching and technology produce a perception of pedagogical theory as irrelevant means that teachers, who are pedagogical professionals, may understandably come to see their own training and knowledge as irrelevant to technology implementation. Unfortunately, this same elision is often made in the context of professional development, where teachers are not engaged in the same “student-centred” pedagogies they themselves are encouraged to use; instead, they are asked to sit and listen as though they have nothing to offer. During these professional development days, much of the technical knowledge offered to teachers – including how to use a printer and scanner and how to search the world wide web – was relayed using a lecture and

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demonstration format, with the result that participants did not have the opportunity to initiate their own learning or to put these “technical skills” into practice, even in the lab setting. For example, one of the teachers presenting in the second month offered a demonstration of the curriculum planning software that was, at the time, becoming mandatory in the district and possibly throughout the province. As is often the case with demonstrations, it was apparent that many of the teachers present felt overwhelmed by talk without any opportunity for hands-on learning. After the final demonstration, those teachers “who weren’t yet comfortable” with the curriculum planner could use pen and paper when designing their own curriculum units. Thus, when teachers were unable (and sometimes unwilling) to “get their hands on the machine/s” – in a particularly literal case of the divide between teaching and technology – they were positioned, much like their concerns about curriculum and instruction, in opposition to the technology rather than in any productive relation to it. A further and even more poignant example of the reproduction of this divide between teaching and technology occurred when teachers were invited to ask questions regarding their own technology integration. For us, this was one of the most provocative sessions as teachers asked questions such as: “How do you help students share computers effectively?” “How do you best utilize your time with the technology (which may be limited)?” “How do you cope with a lack of technology (e.g., one or two computers for thirty students)?” and “How do you best use the little technology you have?” What was clear from these questions was that all of the teachers had some very key concerns about the fundamentals of ict integration. Unfortunately, those facilitating the session did not seem to treat these questions as important. In response to the teachers’ questions, for example, one leader commented, “Good, now let’s move on.” The complex relation between instruction and it

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was once again neglected for a more simple discussion of one or the other. Thus, even when teachers attempt to forge a relationship between a pedagogical epistemology and a technological one, they are often silenced.

a pa r e n t h e t i c a l s o l u t i o n As our above examples indicate, there are inherent contradictions between (1) large-scale “guiding” policies meant to direct whether and how technologies are used in schools and (2) policy and policy practices at the school district level, which delimit teachers’ actual classroom use of technologies. These contradictions between policies, policy practices, and everyday, lived classroom conditions and needs are neither new nor the result of wide-scale efforts to implement technologies in schools. Unlike other policy/practice “gaps,” however, this one has, as so many have pointed out (Becker 2000; de Castell, Bryson, and Jenson 2002; Zhao, Byers, et al. 2002; Loveless 1996), very real implications for schooling. How, for example, are teaching and technology implementation circumscribed and redefined by technology’s capacities for restructuring and reshaping relations of power and, indeed, the nature of learning, of learners, and of knowledge itself? These are questions with which curriculum and instruction specialists must contend, but they are completely outside the realm of what technicians could or should know. Technology, as Ursula Franklin (1990, 12) points out, is “not the sum of the artifacts, of the wheels and gears, of the rails and electronic transmitters. Technology is a system … [which] involves organization, procedures, symbols, new words, equations, and most of all a mind set.” In schools, this “technological mind set” is often uninformed by the practical pedagogical and curricular demands of teachers and students or, indeed, by larger educative purposes and goals. One result

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of this unproblematic technological embrace is precisely the conflicts we noted between curriculum and technology in all of the districts we visited, where, all too often, technology’s “systems,” with little regard for or consideration of educative ends, structured and indeed defined technology’s uses for learning and teaching. The case studies discussed in this chapter illustrate some of the many the ways in which teachers’ technological practices were directly shaped by the policy-mandated organizational structures of individual schools and districts, which often had conflicting views about how computer technologies should be organized and used. The conflicts surrounding technology implementation are in many cases a result of adopting new technologies without recognizing how they reshape and reorganize structural relations of power within districts and schools, creating new systems of authority in which it managers and specialists control educational decision making. This social and epistemological reorganization means that the specific, skillsbased knowledge of technicians, upon which school technology use is dependent, frequently undermines and usurps the pedagogical knowledge of teachers. Where policy can go dangerously awry is in creating structural imbalances that prevent communication between knowledge communities, those everyday enactments of policy-driven practices that configure the actual impacts and consequences of decisions on education’s “front lines.” Policy intended to support teachers’ uses of new technologies cannot succeed by expanding technical staff whose “support” to teachers is carried out in terms (i.e., in language, acts, and concepts, and for reasons and purposes) that lie entirely outside of teachers’ curricular and instructional frames of reference. As technology restructures relations of power in schools and districts it also restructures knowledge. And, in the case of schools, this has meant that, through the implementation of a fiscally driven restructuring of material and human

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resources, technology has displaced both curricular and instructional decisions. Bluntly put, the best way for policy to support teachers’ and technologists’ co-production of educational technological practices is not to create a new quasi-managerial class of technicians who effectively control teachers’ work. As Marshall McLuhan (1964) has argued, technological change can produce dramatic, unexpected, and unwanted changes in practice, and this is particularly so where prior authority structures are altered, as they are when judgments about what and how to teach – formally the domain of teachers – are shifted to the jurisdiction of technology specialists.3 Part of what we have failed to consider in technology implementation efforts at the classroom level is the capacities and constraints of these technologies in their “front-line” educational deployments. For teachers this has meant, as we have demonstrated in the above examples, that the ways in which they could use technology in their classrooms was often not only constrained but very literally dictated by policies at the district level, which did not consider whether and how they might conflict with daily possibilities for using technologies. And teachers, being increasingly regarded (and increasingly regarding themselves) as lacking technical expertise and, accordingly, being stripped of their institutional authority, have been largely unable to re-mediate centrally mandated decisions about their own technology use. What has resulted is the kind of dysfunction that McLuhan anticipated – one that is precipitated by a shift in what district and provincial policies are indicating that teachers should know not only about curriculum and instruction (including whether and how technologies might best be used to support it) but also about technological systems.

re-fusing the great divide Although it might seem that the everyday conflicts, inconsistencies, and even chaos generated by the wide-scale acquisition of computers by schools (only a small fraction of which have been

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touched on here) are irreconcilable, we would like to suggest that one potential means for rethinking these issues involves paying more attention to what we already know. We know that technological “solutions” are all too often not educative ones and that singular, large-scale solutions cannot possibly solve the myriad small, local issues around technology’s mis- and disuses. In the districts and schools we visited, centrally decided funding priorities enabled technology and technical staff to supplant curriculum and instruction departments and, in effect, to determine – in technological rather than curricular/pedagogical terms – what teachers could and could not accomplish using computer-based tools in their classes. Instead of technology integration in schools, what we are seeing is technology taking a very real stranglehold on teachers and curriculum. While technology implementation policies have insisted that teachers learn technical skills, they have not insisted that technicians working on machines in schools should be knowledgeable about curriculum and instruction. Why are technical support staff not being required to take, for example, curriculum and pedagogy workshops when we know very well from economic models that the people who manage the computers (i.e., the means of production) control how those tools are used? We suggest that teachers’ curricular knowledge and classroom pedagogies should be repositioned within the context of technology implementation as governing concerns in education. In other words, teachers should literally be given control of these technologies in order to support what they already know about curriculum and pedagogy as well as to develop, sustain, and doubtless also alter their current classroom practices. One other productive possibility might be, as we indicated above, to reconsider the roles and responsibilities of technical support staff, including curricular/instructional support as an explicit part of their mandate. Technology policies (and their resulting interpretations and practices) can and do effect the everyday practices of teachers.

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One significantly overlooked aspect of new technologies in schools is their transformative effect on knowledge and power, which results in both a deskilling of teachers (with curriculum and instruction being displaced as central components of a their knowledge base) and a disempowering of them (with new technologically supported authority structures determining whether and how they can learn, gain access to, and use technologies with their classes). We argue that, as researchers and practitioners, we must begin not only to recognize but also to more fully and critically articulate the (dis)connections between everyday practices and their often conflicting and delimiting policies and policy practices. We must do this in order to begin to make better and more appropriate uses of these tools for, rather than against, educational ends.

pa rt two Making Educational Technology Policy

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6 Making Better Policies for Learning Technologies p e n n y m i lt o n a n d r o b e r t k e n n e dy

As the preceding chapters have attempted to foreground, policies and policy practices in schools, and education more generally, are affected by the everyday experiences of administrators, teachers, students, and other stakeholders far more frequently than is documented either in the construction or application of wide-scale policies for information and communications technology (ict) implementation. Here, we attempt to describe the current context of policy making in Canada and argue that new processes are required to ensure better policy making and the effective implementation of computer-based technologies for educative ends.

a n e w e du c at i o na l i m p e r at i v e The integration of economic activity across regional and national boundaries – integration driven in large part by new technological advances – has given rise to the concept of the

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“knowledge economy,” or “knowledge society” (see, for example, oecd 2002). It is within this context that governments across Canada are pursuing education reform agendas that have several core themes: accountability, curriculum, assessment and improvement of student performance, financing, and governance. The demands of the new economy are replacing a long-standing commitment to equal educational opportunity, with an expectation of successful educational achievement for all. Such an expectation is not unrealistic. In the first round of the Program for International Student Assessment (pisa), Canada ranked among the top six of thirty countries when it came to the achievement of fifteen-year-olds in reading, science, and mathematics. The gap in performance between the highestscoring and lowest-scoring students in Canada was narrow compared to what it was in most other participating countries, as was the gap between students from higher socio-economic levels and those from lower socio-economic levels (Bussière et al. 2001). While the results of pisa are encouraging, it must be stressed that the lowest-achieving students, in Canada as elsewhere, continue to be at greatest risk for limited futures. Efforts to raise the level of overall achievement and to even further narrow these gaps are essential to both social and economic development (Williams 1997). A recent comparative analysis of fourteen industrial nations indicates that a 1 per cent increase in literacy would give rise to a permanent 1.5 per cent increase in gross domestic product, which, in Canada’s case, translates into $15 to $18 billion (Coulombe, Tremblay, and Marchand 2004). As promising as these statistics are for future social and economic development, they are only part of the picture. Policies to raise literacy and numeracy levels must be accompanied by a greater emphasis on other skills required within a knowledge society – collaboration, critical analysis, and problem

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solving (Conference Board of Canada 2000) – and they must be developed to take full advantage of information and communication technologies, which support the advanced literacy skills required in the knowledge society.

i m p l i c a t i o n s f o r ict p o l i c y With the overall policy shift to educational attainment, technology must become a means rather than an end in itself – a tool for learning rather than a subject to learn. Because the objective of this policy shift is improved student learning in both quantitative and qualitative terms, teachers and students are expected to use ict to focus on many curriculum objectives, including communication, collaboration, and creative problem solving. Those who cling to educational approaches that view curriculum as exclusively subject matter are being challenged to understand the role of learning experiences and environments in building durable skills for problem solving, creativity, and innovation – skills that might be better thought of as habits of mind rather than as pieces of information. Policy directed at ict should provide support not only for classroom technologies but also for the classroom practices that require technology as a tool for learning. Many policy areas are implicated in this change: curriculum, learning resources, student assessment, and professional development and pre-service teacher education as well as technical standards, technical support, student safety and security on the Internet, and, of course, the large financial investments required to provide technology-enabled classrooms. A further – and likely more significant – challenge to policy makers is the change new technologies have wrought in the students themselves. Marc Prensky adopts the metaphor of “Digital Native, Digital Immigrant” to distinguish technologically literate youth from their less literate elders, concluding

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that “the single biggest problem facing education today is that Digital Immigrant instructors, who speak an outdated language (that of the pre-digital age) are struggling to teach a generation that speaks an entirely new language” (Prensky 2001). Against the backdrop of the focus on literacy and numeracy comes the real possibility that dramatic gains in student learning will elude us because policy makers, educators, and many among the public retain outdated ideas about how children learn and about the pedagogies that support the emergence of advanced literacy-dependent skills (de Castell and Jenson 2005). Coherent policy development will depend on recognition of both the interrelated issues that move ict beyond the curriculum and the changes that have redefined literacy for the current generation (Lankshear and Knobel 2003, 2006).

framing the policy issues How we choose to define an issue inevitably affects how we respond to the policy demands it places on us: the more complex the issue, the greater the number of alternative policy approaches we are likely to consider. According to Ralph Stacey’s agreement and certainty matrix, as modified by Brenda Zimmerman (1998), issues about which there is a high degree of both certainty and agreement present a relatively simple policy problem. Consider, for example, class size. Parents and teachers almost universally agree that reducing class sizes will have beneficial results. Claims of improved instruction and improved outcomes are simply assumed to be true. Class size reduction policy produces technical challenges in terms of availability of teachers and classrooms, but implementation is straightforward because it can draw on previous experience. However, when issues are complicated by lack of agreement on desired outcomes or by lack of certainty about how to achieve them, policy development requires a number

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of crucial steps that may include coalition or consensus building, examination of alternatives, and development of effective responses to stakeholder concerns. Consider the introduction of province-wide assessment schemes or the amalgamation of school districts: in cases like these, collection of available evidence and consultations with stakeholders are required to guide both policy development and policy implementation. The integration of ict into instructional practice to enhance learning provides a good example of the paradoxes inherent in policy making and policy implementation in the K-12 systems. There is general agreement that any large-scale introduction of ict into learning environments (in school and out of school) should have a positive impact on learning outcomes. If we are to achieve that objective, technical innovation must be accompanied by social innovations that bring change in human capabilities, opportunities, and/or relationships. Technical innovation on its own, unaccompanied by social innovation, leads to learning about the technology. Technology assists teachers and students in doing what they always did – and getting the outcomes they always got. They may be competent users of technology, but are they more expert learners? This focus on technology rather than on social innovation offers a plausible explanation for the lack of correlation between technology use and largescale assessments of achievement. Current policy processes, which see the issue as acquisition and deployment of technologies, oversimplify the problem and, in so doing, lead decision makers to think about technology from a procurement perspective: how many machines for what price? The high cost of procurement leads to calls for new revenues, invariably in the form of increased provincial funding. If, instead, decision makers asked the more complex question – what are the social and technical innovations that permit students to become more responsible for their own learning, to be more independent learners who are more likely to attend classes

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with increased attention to learning activities, with reduced disruptive behaviour, and with higher student achievement – they would take a serious look at the experiences of jurisdictions that have implemented one-to-one laptop programs (Donovan 2006; Jeroski 2004; Silvernail and Lane 2004; Metri Group 2006). The focus of the policy conversation would then shift from costs to desired educational ends and the resource allocation required to achieve them, including the professional development requirements of principals and teachers, implications for curriculum resources, and the involvement of parents and the larger community. This policy conversation in Canada is also likely to address the issues of the adequacy of the projected supply of new teachers, the difficulty of providing rich program choices in small and remote jurisdictions, and the need for pedagogical changes that reflect new knowledge about learning. Although it may seem counter-intuitive, if instead of trying to simplify policy problems we purposefully make them more complex, then new solutions start to emerge. Imagine a jurisdiction with 30,000 grade 9 students, between 40 per cent and 60 per cent of whom, under present conditions, seem unlikely to pursue education after high school, and 20 per cent of whom may not even complete high school. Imagine, now, that we decide to change their learning environments and the nature of their learning experiences with a networked one-to-one laptop deployment. The policy would include machines, professional development, technical support and services, and related infrastructure requirements. Further, if we decided to deal with the estimated shortfall in available teachers by allowing students with laptops to take one credit online, if we reconsidered the learning resource needs of grade 9 students with laptops, and if we looked at alternative models of professional development, the social and economic equation would begin to look quite different.

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ict: a c o m p l e x p o l i c y q u e s t i o n Early policies for the introduction of information and communications technologies were, like class size policies, relatively simple to develop and implement: curriculum described what should be learned about computers, and resources were allocated for computers in schools. As networks and the Internet complicated matters, higher levels of coordination and partnerships in pursuit of “the connectivity agenda” were required, and, as the medium has continued to change, new issues have arisen about the role and importance of technology in the curriculum. In our attempts to address these complex issues through policy, we are finding that past experience and traditional consultation processes are not the best sources of inspiration for charting a future course. Past experience and evidence have been particularly inadequate tools for developing communication technologies policy. First, we have a limited body of past practice available. Although effective practice in the use of ict in classrooms is evolving, it is not yet common. We find effective practice primarily in the work of the “early adopters” of technology – teachers who mastered the machine early and who have seen its potential to change learning. Second, few ict policies have identified intended educational outcomes, so meaningful educational impact has not been measured in any coherent way. Finally, because ict is relatively new in schools, research has tended to follow practice rather than inform it; hence, the measurable evidence of technology’s potential impact is limited. As the earlier chapters in this book attempt to illustrate, getting a “clear picture” of technology integration/implementation in schools is difficult, political, and often obfuscated by learning outcome discourses, which lack any kind of consensus on what it means to be educated.

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th e n e e d f o r n e w p o l i c y p r o c e s s e s The emergence of policy development for ict in schools takes place within the broader context of an educational policy development process in need of reform. Policy is the means by which governments translate their political visions into programs designed to deliver outcomes. But simply establishing educational policy as “direction to others” is insufficient since the desired outcomes will occur (or not occur) in the interaction between students and teachers in classrooms. Indeed, policy makers everywhere are beginning to find the traditional processes and frameworks for policy development inadequate. As a result, our understanding of what constitutes “good” policy making and effective policy has undergone significant change over the last fifteen years. There is an emerging consensus that characterizes good policy as defined in terms of outcomes: it is inclusive, fair, and evidence-based; it involves others in policy making; it is forward and outward looking; and it reflects learning from experience. Consistent with this consensus, policy makers generally acknowledge the need to foster conversation between decision makers and practitioners as well as with the broader community. However, public policy in education often seems more concerned about citizen (or taxpayer) opinion than about professional opinion. Teacher organizations are often regarded as a self-interested and unreliable source of information about the public good (Manzer 1994). The interests of the public in general and parents in particular should be reflected in decisions about what students should learn, about obtaining value for money, and about judging the overall performance of the schools. By the same token, we should expect that policy intended to guide instruction and professional development should take into account professional experience and research evidence.

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In addition to recognizing the importance of input from a variety of sources, governments need to recognize the value of collaboration. Most commonly, professionals are invited to participate in a stakeholder consultation process. Typically, the government – in this case, provincial department or ministry of education or school board – has already developed a policy proposal, perhaps informed by the recommendations of a special purpose task force, committee, or commission. The role of stakeholder groups, including educators, is limited to submissions and presentations in response to the policy proposals. It often seems that these consultations have less to do with an expectation that stakeholders will actually contribute to the formulation of policy than it does with the recognition that they will ultimately be key to its implementation. Increasingly, this linear process, in which others interpret the experience of the classroom teacher, is seen as unsatisfactory. Those affected by policy directions expect to be involved in their creation. When they are not, their opposition to policy proposals themselves is often difficult to distinguish from their legitimate opposition to their exclusion from the process. The common experience of participants in policy development was summed up by the executive director of a national stakeholder association: “They take no notice of our input, and so we are seriously thinking about saying ‘no’ to the next invitation to participate” (Milton 2001, 6). If attempts at inclusion and stakeholder participation in policy making have been disappointing, attempts to develop policy based on evidence have been equally so. With respect to communication technologies, there is scant evidence of beneficial educational change resulting from the very large investments that have been made in technology for schools. This is hardly surprising. Evidence-based policy making in education is underdeveloped at best, and the widespread availability of icts in schools has been a recent and rapidly

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occurring phenomenon, so that, as mentioned above, practice precedes research. As a result, much of the available “data” is necessarily anecdotal. It is encouraging, however, to see policy makers and practitioners beginning to identify the research questions they see as important. Whether the emerging agenda for relevant research will be supported by the necessary funds remains to be seen. When governments are considering the allocation of research funds, it is important to keep in mind that the innovation model, in which research and development interact, is likely the most productive approach to understanding what difference technology as a classroom tool can make. Statistical correlations between computer use and student performance are meaningless without information about how and under what conditions computers and related technologies are being used for learning. As we look for ways to incorporate the growing body of knowledge about the use and impact of ict in schools into policy, we can turn to some emerging policy processes that show promise.

po l i c y p ro c e s s e s w i t h p ro m i s e : s e t t i n g d i r e c t i o n a m i d s t u n c e r ta i n t y Participants attending the Education Technology Summit in eight cities at the end of 2001 repeatedly voiced the need for an explicit and shared vision for the use of technology in education. It was their view that explicit policy goals would lessen the resistance of many teachers to the use of technology in their classrooms (Canadian Education Association 2001). Their concerns emphasize that policy for ict is needed to address a wide range of issues, including teacher development needs, integration with curriculum, curricular resources, technical support, and issues such as student use of the Internet. Above

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all, we must be able to describe what good teaching with technology looks like. But the vision is only the beginning. In the area of technology, as in all areas of education, we cannot create change in practice simply by espousing vague or utopian notions and expectations of effective practice. We must engage those with whom we seek change by encouraging that common beliefs and values be shaken loose so that we may be able to see alternatives to traditional practices. Most policy development does not fully involve those who will carry out the change, except at upper levels or through stakeholder group representation. And yet, the need to engage stakeholders in the process is acute, not primarily because they are increasingly demanding a meaningful role but, rather, because improved practice depends on deconstructing and reconstructing shared knowledge. The process cannot be captured in a policy manual because it requires those involved to re-examine what they know and what they believe about learning and about teaching. This is essentially a values-based discussion informed by professional experience, by the learning that comes from doing. Policy that sets out the desired outcomes, while providing maximum flexibility about the ways of achieving them, is the policy that is most likely to move us forward. Within the current policy context, federal and some provincial governments have turned their attention to policy-making capacity. Most call for broader and more meaningful participation of stakeholders in the policy development processes. New Brunswick, for example, calls for “fostering a more responsive public policy process through inclusion and collaboration among partners” (http://www.policylink.org). The Government of Canada echoes the call: “Sound public policies require the coming together of two complex sets of assessments – political judgment about the capacity to marshal the necessary

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public support, and professional judgment as to the best way of achieving success” (Bourgon 1998). These statements appear to propose dialogue as a means of engaging many different stakeholders with a range of interests. But what is dialogue? The term has been used so widely in the past several years it is at risk of losing its distinctive meaning. Daniel Yankelovitch (1990, 180) describes it as “the means through which people can reach mutual understanding even when their interests and points of view conflict.” Dialogue allows us “to comprehend each other well enough so that common goals and understandings are possible” (181). This form of discourse is gaining currency as we come to see the limitations of the common forms of consultation, debate, and problem solving. Dialogue is not about decision making; rather, it gives rise to shared frameworks, shared expectations, and a language understood by a wide variety of stakeholders. It is a technique for uncovering new possibilities rather than for recovering past practices. Properly facilitated dialogue can “make subsequent decision-making both more coherent and productive” (Rosell 2000). Policy makers and researchers need to extend the use of dialogue to engage teachers and other stakeholders in building shared knowledge about policy issues and useful policy directions. Advocates of dialogue as a component of public policy making distinguish between the roles of citizens, experts, and stakeholders: the role of the citizen is to participate in the formation of a kind of “public judgment”; the role of the expert is to provide technical knowledge; and the role of stakeholder groups is to provide the benefit of their experience and values. But public debate about education reforms in Canada shows little evidence of agreement with regard to who the experts are or what knowledge we should expect them to contribute. An expert can be found to support every proposition, and the positions of stakeholders can be as diverse as those of the public

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more generally. In setting policy directions for technology in education, in particular, we must be aware of the fact that expertise may be found in unexpected places – keeping in mind Prensky’s “Digital Natives” and “Digital Immigrants.” Exploring the range of beliefs and knowledge held by experts, professionals, and the general public in order to find common ground would almost certainly give rise to policy that sets more appropriate and attainable objectives than we have now. Recognition of the explicatory value of dialogue has resulted in a number of distinct new processes for engagement, each of which is designed to open new possibilities for action. Several school districts in Canada have entered into a process known as “future search” with their communities in order to generate a commitment to shared action on issues that include district mergers, healing of racial divisions, curriculum reform, development of community partnerships, and the creation of districtwide strategic plans (Schweitz and Martens 2005). The process invites multi-stakeholder groups to imagine a preferred future and to take action to realize it. Another process, known as “appreciative inquiry” and originally developed by David Cooperrider, has several applications to organizational change and, potentially, to social change as well. An action research method, it helps groups shift from traditional approaches, which define problems, to approaches that discover new possibilities by examining positive experiences (Bushe 1998). The Canadian Policy Research Network (cprn) has also developed frameworks and tools for involving citizens in the policy process, with several projects that examine public values in relation to selected policy issues. cprn advocates public engagement in the public policy discourse as key to the development of sustainable policy. Finally, Schooling for Tomorrow, a project of the oecd’s Centre for Education Research and Innovation, is a more radical approach to developing and learning from innovations in education. By using future scenarios

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to assess policy issues and options, the project is encouraging participant jurisdictions to develop an “operational toolbox for innovation, forward thinking and school system change” (oecd 2002). Canada is participating in this work with two Ontario projects that look at the future of the teaching profession and the governance of French language education. These new approaches all tend to use “appreciative” modes of inquiry rather than problem solving in order to gain insight into new possibilities in the present. While they are unlikely to gain prominence in policy development at the provincial level, they could give rise to exciting visions for learning with technology. Although these new approaches offer promise, examples of successful public engagement in education policy development are few and far between. The lack of a shared or agreed upon body of knowledge about effective educational practice or effective policy makes the policy development process vulnerable to special interest advocacy, to political ideologies, and to superficial consensus building. If we are to develop policy that will deliver substantially better outcomes, we need to adopt new ways of seeing and understanding the possibilities for the future.

th i n k i n g t o wa r d s t h e f u t u r e Over a four-year period, Rob Tierney (1996), dean of the Faculty of Education at the University of British Columbia, observed students who participated in technology-rich secondary classrooms in the Apple Classrooms of Tomorrow initiative (acot). In engaging the students in reflecting on their own learning, Tierney’s research describes what students learned to do and to know as well as how they learned to be with the technology in ways that extended their human capacities for problem solving, analysis, and presentation of knowledge. The students appropriated the technology for their own use in learning. Tierney

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describes the learning environments created by the students using technology as “classrooms [that] assumed the feel of studios and think-tanks where artists and scientists work together on various projects” (170). Classrooms with a similar sense of purpose and engagement can be seen, among others, in the work of the Institute for Knowledge, Innovation and Technology; in the Galileo Network; in Writers in Electronic Residence; and in the Peace River North wireless writing program. High school students who gathered in a workshop to explore the conditions for their own learning described what learning is: “I have learned when I don’t need to memorize.” Another student’s experience of learning: “I understand and it becomes a part of me” (Vancouver School Board 2004). The “knowledge society” requires that all students learn more deeply, not for the immediate purpose of curriculum requirements and assessment regimes but to ensure a foundation for learning in all contexts and throughout their lives. Information and communications technologies are tools for learning. Whether or not we exploit the potential of information and communications technologies in order to engage students in meaningful “work to learn” may, in the end, depend on our willingness and capacity to enable parents, students, teachers, policy makers, and researchers to see this potential for themselves.

7 Bridging Policy Gaps between Teaching and Technology s ta n s h a p s o n

Canada’s Innovation Strategy boldly states: “In the new knowledge economy of the 21st century prosperity depends on innovation, which, in turn, depends on the investments that we make in the creativity and talents of our people. Our overall goal is to move Canada to the top five innovative countries in the world” (Canada 2001). Applying new technologies effectively in education is a fundamental key to this strategy. It presents both a challenge and an opportunity to reassess and broaden our policies for schools and to transform teaching and learning in ways that will improve educational outcomes as well as Canada’s standing in the knowledge society. We have not yet fully delivered on the promise of technology in our classrooms. Over the past decade, various levels of government and communities in Canada have invested over $1 billion in technology for schools. Yet, the studies presented in this book and the policy discourse accompanying it contribute to a growing body of research that shows very little change to educational practices resulting from computers in schools.

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In 2002, the Ontario Knowledge Network for Learning (oknl) reported on results of a survey that suggested that teachers and administrators were optimistic about the potential of ict. At the same time, they felt that further deliberate action is urgently needed if that potential is to be realized. We have gathered new equipment and technology, but we are watching them rust. Despite our willingness to invest in equipment, we seem to lack a sense of urgency about developing the capacity of individuals and institutions to change practice and to integrate technology fully into instruction. We are still lacking a unified approach and a clear and compelling vision. To exploit our investments, we must develop policies that will ensure a better return on investment through improved student achievement. But what will this look like? It is time to move from an initial phase of technical infrastructure investment focused on quantitative benchmarks (such as ratios of students to networked computer stations) to policies focused on change in teaching practice, institutional policies, and student outcomes. These policies will be driven by the needs of organizations and individuals rather than by technical specifications, and they will be informed by authentic practices. These policies will deal not only with improved technologies but also with related needs such as allocation of staff, professional development, and curriculum innovation – all of which will be focused on addressing the needs and interests of learners and teachers. The next phase of policy will incorporate research and evaluation processes, especially formative processes that promote and validate innovative and effective practice and that support collaboration and partnerships to leverage resources in the private and public sectors.

po l i c y c h a n g e Very simply, we need more flexible policies that enable teachers in schools to embrace both virtual and traditional learning

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environments. We need to address policy disconnects between the needs of central bureaucracies for standardization and the needs of teachers and learners for open, flexible learning environments. Policies that facilitate inter-institutional and interjurisdictional cooperation are needed to make the most of our national, provincial, and local expertise and resources. This will not be easy. The information age is creating a new policy environment in which competition, mobility, and globalization reward adaptability, interoperability, and flexibility. In the networked society, where everyone has much greater access to information and collaboration, the forces of centralization give way to innovation within regional community clusters. As earlier chapters illustrate, the role of government is unclear. The studies presented in Policy Unplugged indicate a kind of shell shock among teachers, principals, boards, and bureaucrats involved in education policy making across Canada and the United States today. Given these realities, how do we translate good ideas and innovative practice into good policy? First, we need to understand how the various layers of policy and practice are related at the federal and provincial levels, at the district school board level, at the postsecondary level, and at the level of the school. At the provincial level, existing policies typically offer a mixture of broad generalities and specific directives. As pointed out in earlier chapters, the province is a policy maker and, therefore, cannot and should not be a micromanager. This statement is applicable to all educational policy areas, including technology in education. A progressive policy role would change from policing to promoting and providing guidelines for action and decision making on the part of individuals and organizations. While detailed prescriptions are inadvisable, clarity is important so that policy and practice can be aligned at various levels. This can be particularly difficult at the provincial level, where there

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are widespread priorities and approaches to policies for technology and learning. But the consequence of not getting on board now, when the federal government is providing incentives and while other jurisdictions are moving forward, is to jeopardize our students’ opportunities for learning and success. Unlike those of most other countries, Canada’s national policy initiatives have been hindered by constitutional wrangling. Some provinces have rejected federal funding opportunities that could benefit education simply because of federal-provincial jurisdictional concerns. This is unfortunate because, in some jurisdictions, cooperative programs between federal and provincial governments have been successful. For example, Industry Canada’s now-defunct GrassRoots program was a very beneficial and flexible source of funding for online projects that were developed by teachers and students to build Canadian content. These projects not only supplemented scarce provincial resources but also developed student skills and provided a very rewarding professional learning experience for teachers. GrassRoots worked extremely well in situations where there was cooperation between provincial and federal governments. A few years ago, all provinces, through the Council of Ministers of Education Canada (cmec), agreed to set up a panCanadian portal that meets the needs and expectations of diverse K-12 and postsecondary learning communities. The portal is being planned to offer links to provincial and territorial ministry web sites. But will it develop to meet the needs of educators in K-12 classrooms? What are the underlying policies and standards for cooperation and sharing that would avoid a fragmented collection of resources and duplication of effort? Policy disconnects are also a problem for boards and schools. As was found in the case studies undertaken for this book, many school boards have policies that provide technical support for machines while giving short shrift to curricular

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support and training for teachers. Board policies require teachers to be knowledgeable about technology but do not require technicians working on machines in schools to be knowledgeable about curriculum and instruction. Also, because some board network policies are driven by security needs, classroom computers are “locked down” so that teachers and students often find it very difficult to gain access to them to support their learning objectives. In schools, there are policy debates about where to locate computers: should they be concentrated in labs or distributed in classrooms? When policy fails, our ideal image of technology as a transparent, enabling tool may be replaced by that of technology as a cumbersome, unfriendly add-on that requires too much time and effort to be useful. It is time to change the perception and realities of our policies and policy-making processes to connect more closely with users and their needs. To accomplish this vision, policy makers must work closely with teachers and researchers in an atmosphere of informed debate and consultation. Current network technologies and collaboration tools will facilitate this process locally, nationally, and internationally. We need to look at models such as the European SchoolNet, in which twenty-six European countries are sharing policy insights and reports, conducting policy research, and supporting research and development projects in several languages. By collaborating across the continent, they are overcoming inter-jurisdictional issues and maximizing research and development resources.

po l i c y g a p s t h at n e e d t o b e a d d r e s s e d In each of our own organizations, we can point with some satisfaction to progressive trends in the use of ict for teaching and learning. Why are these ideas and models not being implemented more widely? The policy issues that need to be

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addressed in order to enable us to achieve more effective links between technology and teaching include: •

preparedness of teachers, by which I mean the necessary skills to use technology fully as a learning and teaching tool;

•

outdated policies on the role and allocation of teachers and the organization of the school day that get in the way of developing blended learning environments (i.e., with traditional and virtual components);

•

cultures within schools that I would characterize as resistant to change, innovation, and collaboration, thereby thwarting the adoption of new teaching practices;

•

lack of pedagogical research that keeps pace with the rapid pace of technological change;

•

policy disconnects between the needs of central bureaucracies (ministry, board, or school) and the needs of teachers and learners for open, flexible learning environments;

•

inter-institutional barriers to new cooperative relationships;

•

achievement of inter-jurisdictional cooperation provincially and federally, which would maximize and leverage our national, provincial, and local resources.

po l i c y a r e a s a n d r e l at e d p r ac t i c e s Policies do not exist in a vacuum. To get a better sense of this, I consider a few specific examples of policies and practice that illustrate how technology can enhance teaching and learning, and how we may manage future possibilities for ict in education. I also indicate some of the hurdles we face as we try to implement these ideas systematically. Finally, I reflect on how we might begin to reshape policies at various levels – national, provincial, and local. These policy options will catalyze planning and decision making in five related areas: classroom

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learning environments, professional learning, learning resources, research and evaluation, and partnerships. Classroom learning environments: Access and infrastructure To begin, let us look at how integration of technology is changing some classroom learning environments. In 1998, Thérèse Laferrière, one of the pre-eminent researchers in this area, described the ideal situation as one in which “learners engage in authentic investigations using a variety of resources and people inside and outside the learning environment” (Bracewell, Breuleux, Laferrière, et al. 1998, n.p.). The teacher role shifts from dispensing knowledge to designing a learning environment that includes networked technology as an integral learning tool. Laferrière (and colleagues) also emphasized the need for collaboration among teachers and students in order to create professional as well as learner communities. In Canada, this vision is entering only a limited number of classrooms, where there is a combination of access to technology and teachers who have the skills and the confidence to convey it. Technology is opening up possibilities, but only in a thin band of classrooms where teachers have discovered the value it has for teaching and learning and have developed the skills to use it. So how do we make these possibilities more widespread? Although priorities must shift from building infrastructures to building competencies, schools need to stay in touch with emerging technologies. In Britain, Tony Blair has introduced policies in which technology plays a big part in the strategy to raise educational standards and to improve schools. Research reports in the ict in Schools Programme (formally the National Grid for Learning) show that, to improve their learning, students are using laptops and other portable devices, including cell phones, in classrooms, during field studies, and at home.

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Schools need to have the flexibility to blend leading edge and older technologies. Using a blend of old and new computers – networked in various configurations to match levels of technology to the particular needs of individual teachers and students and freed from school board policies that require standardized networks and standardized technical support – it becomes possible to find and implement solutions designed for individual schools and classrooms by leapfrogging over debates about concentrating computers in labs or distributing them in classrooms. Other innovations, enabled by flexible policies at the school level, include mobile computer systems or multimedia centres, which can be shared easily and efficiently by several teachers. Equipment mobility helps to facilitate a collaborative culture among teachers. Some schools are beginning to experiment with videoconferencing, which adds a new dimension to professional learning and classroom activities. An example is a recent virtual field trip to the Ontario Science Centre as part of the Advanced Broadband Enabled Learning Project (abel), an applied research initiative housed at York University. In the abel example, students from Ontario and Alberta schools conducted simulations in space travel guided by experts at the Science Centre. As part of the same project, York University faculty are using interactive videoconferencing to share their research with students and teachers in Alberta and Ontario schools. These innovative examples illustrate the need for flexible infrastructure and for policies that are attuned to teachers and students rather than for policies that are centralized at the school district level and driven by technology. Of course, some degree of standardization is necessary if we are to have efficient, secure, and affordable networks. But where the needs of administrative networks are applied to curriculum networks, the result is fairly predictable: teachers and students, frustrated by locked down desktops with limited software, will

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continue with older practices. In addition, provincial policies regulating use of space in schools (inherent in funding formulas) obstruct innovative ways of locating computers that can be easily shared. Professional learning: Competency building We have seen several examples of how the integration of technology can transform the nature of learning and the role of teachers. Successful transformation, however, depends on teachers’ developing the skills and confidence to match the technology to the demands of the curriculum and the learning needs of their students. How can all teachers develop the skills to operate successfully within this environment, which is radically different from a conventional classroom-teaching situation? As noted in chapter 4, one interesting model for professional development for teachers is the Teaching and Learning in an Information Technology Environment (tlite) in British Columbia, designed specifically to aid teachers in using technology effectively in their classrooms. Over two years, teachers meet face-to-face and online with peer mentors, as well as occasionally with university-based mentors, to design their courses, learn new skills, and develop projects. They also meet as a large group in the summer for collaborative skill building. As a result, these teachers are now using computers with their classes more often and in more meaningful ways than they were before. Their colleagues now call on them for advice and support. Unlike traditional one-shot workshops, tlite offers teachers the opportunity to experiment with computers and to share experiences and results with peers, thus holding them more accountable for their own learning. York University’s Advanced Broadband Enhanced Learning (abel) project offers another

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example of professional development possibilities. abel is using broadband networks to create a research-based community of practice among educators in school boards, colleges, and universities. Like tlite, abel provides a variety of individualized and group professional learning opportunities for teachers, faculty, and student teachers. All have access to a variety of streamed and digital learning resources, and teachers are sharing curriculum resources and taking professional development online. Overcoming barriers within and between institutions and creating conditions for meaningful collaboration is not easy. But in abel, teams are documenting what does and does not work as part of their research on many of the implementation barriers that exist in K-12 schools or postsecondary institutions. Much of the literature on technology and learning calls into question current organizational models of schooling (Milton 2003). The key to changing these models is enlightened school leadership as well as competence building among teachers. In addition to incentives, the support described in earlier examples, policy tools such as standards of practice, and competency requirements for teachers and school administrators can be developed to guide and strengthen professional and leadership development programs (both accredited and unaccredited). We need broad policies that support the development and implementation of “blended” professional learning models (i.e., an appropriate combination of online and face-to-face experience). In consultation with appropriate stakeholders, provincial governments, teacher and faculty organizations, school boards, and postsecondary institutions can work together to develop well-researched and sustainable policies that include standards of practice for the integration of ict into the process of learning the changing role of teachers and learners in technology-enhanced learning environments.

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Learning resources The lack of educationally appropriate learning resources is a major area of concern. Although content on the Internet is growing rapidly, there are concerns about the educational value of much of it. Education portals are considered one solution, whereby content is carefully selected and catalogued according to curriculum categories. The development of these and growing access to real data from public institutions, including Statistics Canada, scientific agencies, and museums, all provide striking opportunities for classroom access. However, policies that ensure digital copyright in the educational context as well as resources to maintain and build these content repositories are essential for long-term success. Although teachers and students might be the authors or reviewers of some of this content, we cannot expect that they will have sufficient time or incentive to develop and polish the material to the level needed to make it suitable for widespread educational use. To ensure quality, we need policies and standards for learning resources and learning resource facilities that reflect the needs and readiness of different users (i.e., teachers, faculty, students, parents). A collaborative and strategic approach that combines the research and practical experience of educational institutions with content resources, along with the production expertise of institutions like tvOntario (tvo) and the private sector, can accelerate the development of world-class digital content for learning. We also need to encourage the development of software that has been designed for educational, rather than general or business, use. For this, we can look to software producers and digital content publishers (e.g., Dreamworks and Bytes of Learning) who create computer games and education software. Their products are highly engaging for young people, but they are not getting into our schools. Ontario, for example, is a difficult market compared with other jurisdictions as the province’s

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major investment in learning resources is biased towards textbooks (oknl 2000). Although the current policy delivers lowcost software to schools, it does not provide incentives to many companies, especially small- and medium-sized businesses, to create innovations for Ontario schools. tvo is also in a position to play a more meaningful role in developing digital content of educational value that can be shared with the education community. Its Curriculum Resource Bank consists of approximately one hundred hours of video, in English and French. Key segments could be streamed to desktops in Ontario schools. A collaborative and strategic approach that combines the research and practical experience of educational institutions with the content resources and production expertise of institutions like tvo and the private sector can accelerate the development of world-class digital content for learning. We need to develop policies and incentives for consortia of researchers and teachers to work together with publishers and software companies to participate in the development of world-class content and eLearning tools. Research and evaluation: Accountability During the early stages of implementation of ict, there were very few policy requirements for systematic research and the evaluation of new initiatives pertaining to the educational use of technology. Although provinces often direct schools and school districts to submit annual plans for the use of technology in teaching and learning, little follow-up is evident. In recent SchoolNet studies, it was impossible to get accurate data regarding numbers of computers or levels of spending for implementation of technology at district or provincial levels. Levels of accountability are relatively weak in the area, if they exist at all, leading sceptics to question the return on what appears to be a large investment in technology for classrooms.

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Provinces, schools, and universities need to work together to develop policies and processes for gathering formal data through research so that the impact of technology can be properly evaluated and decision making can be better informed. It might be useful to include, as part of accountability frameworks and planning processes for schools and boards, specific performance indicators and targets for the integration of technology in learning. These frameworks, reviewed in consultation with stakeholders at five-year intervals, would allow us to keep pace with changes in technology and pedagogy. In addition, policies in this area would require annual reporting processes that provide data to inform policy development, planning, and resource allocation at local, district, and provincial levels. Partnerships Since they maximize and add complementary assets to the efforts put forth by each other, partnerships play an important role in complex educational areas in which each partner possesses highly specialized knowledge or access to authority. The synergy – produced by working together on specific projects and building trust through well thought out processes (such as consultation, shared experience, and timely delivery) – provides huge gains for each individual partner as well as for the consortium or alliance. In essence, partnerships draw unashamedly on the individual partners’ experience and expertise, infrastructure and resources, influence and leadership. If we are to unleash the potential of technology in reforming teaching and learning, then policy needs to recognize and encourage partnerships. Through matched-dollar policies, federal and provincial governments can attract public and private partners to design programs that foster research and innovation in technology-enhanced learning. If judiciously selected to

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achieve targeted priorities, these dollars may produce deliverables that reach well beyond initial expectations. Government policy may deliberately pull the right partners together. In the case of content development and professional learning programs, policies may encourage partnerships between the private sector and provincial departments of education, school boards, and universities. Through the process of delivering suitable resources for classroom use, thus equipping teachers and students to fulfil their learning intentions, the working relationships between individual teachers, administrators, boards, and governments may improve. In fact, a signal product of the partnership activity is bound to be heightened respect for other sectors, innovative solutions beyond the scope of any one partner, and harmonious relationships that encourage renewed energy for further activity.

images of the future What will the future look like for education? Other countries are focusing on emerging technologies. To help shape its new National Educational Technology Plan, the United States Department of Education commissioned fourteen researchers and industry experts to forecast what education will look like in the year 2020. One idea from the report, entitled “2020 Vision: Transforming Education and Training through Advanced Technologies,” involves computing devices embedded in everything from furniture to clothing that will assess, track, and monitor students’ progress and interest in various subjects. Students could have their own “constant school-time companion” – a wearable robot that provides them with information, instructions, and guidance. Certainly, some aspects of the scenarios in this report sound far-fetched, scary, and/or undesirable. But others are already starting to appear in some of our schools and classrooms. One

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thing is certain, the next generation of students will adapt to advanced technologies much more quickly than will our schools and institutions. Will we respond to these pressures to change? Will we allow new images of schools and teaching and learning to emerge?

po l i c y p r i n c i p l e s Although there is a wide range of considerations, the following policy-making principles are particularly important if Canada is to be a leader in the knowledge society: •

Focus on people rather than technology. In our report to the Ontario government, we recommended that, for every dollar spent on infrastructure, the province invest three dollars in developing human capital, content, and research and development (oknl 2000).

•

Ensure equity of access and aim for equity of outcomes for the diverse groups of students in all parts of the province.

•

Enable decision making at the point of implementation. For example, provide guidelines for institutions to design their own procedures, governance models, and structures to accomplish their goals, while empowering teachers and other front-line staff to do what is best for their students.

•

Encourage teachers to work with one another and leaders in their institutions to accomplish goals for improved student achievement and professional growth.

•

Reinvent and build capacity in existing institutions rather than starting new technology agencies.

•

Foster creativity and innovation. For example, provide rewards and incentives for the development of community clusters of universities, boards, and private-sector institutions that support experimentation and innovation.

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Think in the long term, guided by a solid foundation of research at the operational level, and connect policy with the strategic interests of society as well as grassroots needs and conditions.

•

Develop broad-based and flexible designs that will endure changing practices, priorities, and emerging technologies.

•

Encourage private-sector investment to help achieve important learning needs.

•

Build in measures of research and accountability to gauge appropriate educational returns on investment.

conclusion Canada’s Innovation Strategy presents a vision of world-class learning achievement enabled by technology, and it presents Canada as a leader in the global knowledge-based economy. This is not happening. We must act now to regain some of the momentum lost through years of inactivity. To stand pat because of uncertainty is to risk losing the advantages Canada has in the knowledge economy. We have a window of opportunity, and we have a vision that will enable us to develop goals and policies that can move us forward, maximize learning opportunities for all our students, and situate us as leaders in a global knowledge society. This window is closing fast; the time to act is now.

7 Conclusion: Learning from Local Needs jennifer jenson and chloë brushwood rose

As we noted in chapter 4, research that has focused on technology use in schools has been dominated by “best-practice” discourses. These discourses have tried to describe what the most appropriate, or “best,” uses of computer technologies might be and to suggest ways that schools, administrators, and teachers might be supported in providing these uses. Often these best practices are reduced to unproblematic and highly generalized “to-do” lists that ignore the importance of local contexts and conditions for technology use by teachers. For example, in a recent report based on a quantitative, nation-wide survey of us teachers’ uses of computers in elementary and secondary schools, Henry Becker (2000) admits that the implementation of computers in schools has done little to change teaching practices. His report concludes by listing the conditions under which teachers might be able to best implement technologies in their classrooms:

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Under the right conditions – where teachers are personally comfortable and at least moderately skilled in using computers themselves, where the school’s daily class schedule permits allocating time for students to use computers as part of class assignments, where enough equipment is available and where teachers’ personal philosophies support a student-centered, constructivist pedagogy that incorporates collaborative projects defined partly by student interest – computers are clearly becoming a valuable and wellfunctioning instructional tool. (29) While certainly not a typical best-practice list, we have quoted it at length because of its suggestions regarding the general conditions under which teachers might make use of new technologies – suggestions that have changed little in nearly three decades of research in this area (Bangert-Drowns, Kulik, and Kulik 1985; Becker 1985, 2000; Cuban 2001). Perhaps the fact that most best-practice lists have not undergone much in the way of significant change, despite ongoing research in the area, indicates their limitations. Because their primary aim is to be generalizable, best-practice lists cannot address the local problems and conditions that are key factors in subverting and supporting technology use by teachers. The work we describe in Policy Unplugged pays particular attention to the everyday practices in schools – practices that both enable and disable the technology integration/implementation efforts of teachers, principals, and policy makers. Through our study, which relies heavily on intimate case studies, we have been able to articulate what best-practice lists so often fail to – those instances when things did not or could not work, and the local practices that had a direct impact on technology use in each particular context. When we study technology implementation in schools, a topic that is particularly timely and politically charged, educational

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researchers seem to forget what we have learned in other contexts – that every school, district, and province has different needs and priorities and that, as a result, it is difficult, if not impossible, to find general solutions that will meet local needs. As much of our research suggests, it is impossible to find singular answers to the socially complex and culturally contingent questions of schools facing barriers to technology integration/implementation. While best-practice lists certainly could be useful for signalling what, given the correct conditions, “can be done,” we argue strongly that the prevalence of these discourses has distracted us from the more difficult work of carefully documenting local conditions and issues, both negative and positive, and developing solutions tailored to local needs. Best-practice lists focus on just that, “best practices,” and often ignore a whole range of possibilities, from work that fails to that which is exemplary. By employing a case study methodology and by attempting not to reduce to list form what we have learned from the research presented here, we hope to provide a rich and provocative account of computer use in schools. In order to circumvent the pitfalls of a list of general recommendations, we now present an example that we believe highlights the connections and disconnections between technology policy, theories of pedagogy, and the everyday practices they are meant to guide and shape. Following this, we outline the key issues that our research, as described in Policy Unplugged, signals. Finally, we conclude by redirecting the focus of research in the area of educational technology implementation away from counting the ratio of students to computers, and/ or articulating lists of recommendations for how teachers and students should use technology, and towards grounded, local studies whose interventionist component benefits both teachers and students.

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te c h n o l o g y a n d p e d a g o g y As we have already indicated, professional development is a central concern for school districts and schools trying to implement new technologies (see chapter 4). Teachers must be trained, the argument goes, to ensure that they will use the computers that governments are spending large sums of money to place in schools. Schools and teachers feel pressure not only from parents and industry, who insist on the necessity of computer literacy instruction in schools, but also from students, whose facility with these new media far surpasses the expectations that most schools could hope to set in place. Schools are told to keep up with societal and economic trends, and teachers are told to keep up with the changing needs of their students. A series of books have only reiterated this “digital divide” between children of the “net generation,” or “cyber revolution,” and everyone else (Coupland 2006; Furger 1998; Johnson 2004; Rushkoff 1996; Tapscott 1997). These differences between teachers and their students, and the changing culture that instigates them, is one of the starting points for a professional development strategy that encourages teachers to employ what is characterized by many policies as a “studentcentred” and “project-based” pedagogy. Thus, while teachers are offered professional development with a technical, skillsbased focus, they are simultaneously encouraged and instructed in how to adopt more “interactive” instructional strategies. “New” technologies are seen as complementing and even instigating a “new” pedagogy that is constructivist in nature (Wallis 1995; Bracewell et al. 1996, 1998; Becker 2000). But that very pedagogy remains illusive: implementation of computer-based technologies in classrooms does not necessarily bring with it changes in pedagogy, and the challenges of

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implementation do not in themselves necessitate such a shift. Indeed, throughout our visits to classrooms across the country, we observed innovative teaching strategies only as often as we observed those that were clearly stale. What remained consistent, however, was the clear absence of policy “effects” in everyday classroom practices. So while teachers and administrators could recite and pay lip service to policies related to technological integration, in practice, there was little in the way of a “trickle-down effect.” A policy emphasis on pedagogical change, like the others we have discussed throughout this book, does not always translate into practical application on the part of teachers. In fact, teachers often become unwitting critics of policies that just do not seem to make sense when viewed through their own experience in the classroom. In the following example, we look at the policy/practice disjuncture evident in the confusion and ambivalence of teachers participating in a professional development day on technology integration at an inner-city school just outside of Toronto. At this professional development day, teachers were encouraged to imagine and adopt new pedagogical strategies that might better suit their use of computer technologies in the classroom. The emphasis was on the necessity of adopting “progressive,” or constructivist, student-centred and interactive instructional strategies when integrating computer technologies. It was clear that using icts demanded a student-centred approach rather than one that derived from traditional “stand-anddeliver” pedagogies. The day began with the principal giving a lecture on how the nature of the classroom was changing due to the technological affordances of icts. While the focus was to be on integrating icts into existing curricula, she emphasized that “technology is not a subject in this school, it’s a tool.” She then read a passage from Don Tapscott’s Growing Up Digital (1997), in

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which he descries the qualities and strategies required by “a new generation of educators” who are aware of the importance of the shift from the teacher as transmitter to the teacher as facilitator of “teams” of students who use digital resources to direct their own computer-mediated learning. Referring to Tapscott’s article, the principal declared, in conclusion: “This is our school’s vision.” What is important here, we think, is the fact that she framed the work that was going to be the focus of the day not in terms of the tools but, rather, in terms of a shift in pedagogy. In the presentation that followed that given by the principal, the teacher spoke about curriculum, which, she suggested, has “three key ingredients”: expectations, assessment, and instructional strategies. Like the principal, she emphasized that technology integration signals a move away from thinking about instructional strategies and a move towards thinking about learning strategies. She stressed that this reflects a shift in the teacher’s role from teacher to mentor, and she referred to the Tapscott article as a “best-practice” model. At the end of her talk, the audience was given an exercise: to identify the three key ingredients of curriculum – expectations, assessment, and instructional strategies – in terms of their own classroom practices when using technology. In one of the groups we observed, the teachers quickly determined that the three curriculum “ingredients” the presenting teacher had described seemed, and indeed were, interchangeable. For example, they argued, giving a digital presentation such as a power point can be thought of not only as an expectation (in that it fulfils part of the curriculum), but also as an assessment tool (in that it constitutes a presentation of knowledge and what was learned) and an instructional strategy (in that it is a group presentation as well as being visual and auditory learner enabled). In part because they were grappling with this kind of overlap, the teachers found the exercise confusing.

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Their confusion reappeared when the presenting teacher then asked each group of teachers to share their “results.” In fact, it appeared that none of the teachers was able to “get it right” or find the answers for which the principal and presenting teacher were looking. In the confusion that followed, the principal tried to clarify the exercise by emphasizing that expectations are about curricular content (e.g., topics in science or history), whereas the technology-based activities (e.g., web page development, power point presentation) are not expectations but, rather, activities used to assess student knowledge. However, as the principal continued, it became clear that she was hoping the teachers present would identify most of Tapscott’s instructional strategies as falling into the categories of “interactive learning” and “indirect instruction” rather than “direct instruction” or “independent study.” This was evident in the way both the principal and presenting teacher corrected each teacher who completed the exercise based on her/his own knowledge of and experience with the curriculum. Rather than being an opportunity for teachers to explore new instructional strategies in a way that drew upon their existing knowledge, the exercise became one in reiterating the belief that seems to dominate educational technology research and policy: the presence of computer technology in schools instigates a very particular shift in pedagogy, making it more student-centred. The confusion and complexity of teachers’ answers during the exercise indicated that the instructional and curricular issues surrounding technology integration are anything but simple. Their difficulty “successfully” completing their task illustrates the limitations of a generalized approach to pedagogy that employs a list of “key ingredients.” While teachers know that their work is not easily categorized or quantified, the policies that instigate these sorts of professional development experiences encourage them to worry about modifying their practices to fit all the right categories

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instead of finding their own directions for integration and developing practices that suit the needs of their students. This brief example illustrates the challenges facing administrators and teachers in this time of educational technology policy development. In particular, there are significant tensions between the technical requirements of schools, the instructional demands on teachers, and the pedagogical assumptions that accompany technology implementation in educational contexts. As Jean Françios Lyotard (1984) has argued, changes in technology, specifically the computerization of society, have resulted in changes to what and how we know. For teachers, and, indeed, their students, this means that a shift from traditional literate forms (like paper and pencil) to screen-based, digitally encoded media re-mediates and, thereby, transforms both teaching and learning (de Castell and Jenson 2005). At the same time, there is a disconnect between the experiences of teachers and the way these larger cultural changes are reflected and supported by policy.

revisiting the local As we indicate throughout this book, the most enduring and least well-articulated aspects of research on teachers’ use of computers in schools are the everyday, small but not insignificant impediments to both thinking about and actually making use of these new digital tools. Everyday practices, discourses, power structures, written and unwritten policies and, more generally, school cultures shape, delimit, and make it both more and less possible for teachers to integrate technology into their classrooms. What we hope this work signals, then, is the importance of research on educational technology that provides a complex and nuanced understanding of the significance of local and contextually contingent factors for teachers’ use of technology. We must pay particular attention to how

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power structures both inside and outside school walls have explicit and implicit implications for whether and how educational technologies are used in classrooms. It is difficult, if not impossible, to adequately and accurately characterize, in general terms, technology implementation in Canadian schools. What did stand out for us in our travels, from the technologically “rich” schools to the schools struggling to support and maintain a small computer lab, was the commitment by teachers and administrators on all levels to making appropriate use of new digital tools not only to improve the vocational futures of their students but also to better support and understand what they (and we) characterize as a “cultural shift” brought on by the prevalence of these technologies in the daily lives of teachers, students, parents, administrators, and researchers. But the distance between understanding and doing was too often made wider by seemingly banal, everyday occurrences that functioned as barriers to technology use – like too many computers left idle in a lab, or unique login ids and passwords that were too complicated for kindergarten or grade 1 students, or simply not enough flexibility in scheduling access to school equipment to support curricular and pedagogical needs. In each of the chapters in Policy Unplugged we have attempted to describe often overlooked but nevertheless highly significant issues that affected teachers’ use of technology in their classrooms. In chapter 2, we show how the institutional allocation and organization of the spaces that these new technologies occupy explicitly delimits how teachers and students use them. In chapter 3, we argue that the masculinized culture of computing and the gendered dynamics of computer use by teachers in schools regulate the degree and nature of technology implementation/integration. In chapters 4 and 5, we indicate how the disjuncture between policies and practices, specifically in the areas of professional development and support, contribute to teachers’

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ongoing misunderstandings, miscommunications, and dis/ misuses of technologies in the classroom. And in chapters 6 and 7, we broadly outline processes for institutional change from a policy perspective as well as the macro-political climate within which education policy and policy practices emerge. In each chapter, we conclude by signalling how the complex and often unacknowledged social relations of power in schools and school districts, which manifest themselves in everyday practices and experiences, shape (and in some cases prevent) teachers’ use of technologies. While educational technology policy has often been used to drive broader efforts by politicians for school reform, as Larry Cuban argues in Oversold and Underused: Computers in the Classroom (2001), these policy efforts have historically made little impact on the actual practice of teachers in their classrooms. Macro policies rarely affect the kinds of practices they seek to regulate – the everyday and mundane – because they cannot and do not reflect how everyday experiences are formed, mediated, and reconstructed by the continuously shifting social, cultural, and institutional backdrop of schools and districts. As long as we continue to seek singular answers to the current questions faced by politicians in the United States and Canada who worry about whether or not “investing” in technology for schools has “paid off” for education, our understandings of technology use by teachers and students within the culture of schools will be partial at best. What is needed is not another list of recommendations that are “unplugged” from their local contexts but, rather, a rich and nuanced accounting of the ways in which teachers, principals, and district administrators make and invoke the technology policies that then support or hinder the classroom practices of teachers and students. Such an account begins to reconnect teachers with the things that they do best, such as creating and implementing curriculum, not fixing machines,

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policing students’ Internet use, or making web pages. Perhaps most significantly, research that addresses local experiences and needs allows us to develop understandings about how the social, cultural, and institutional conditions of schools, their relations of power and control, and their everyday workings delimit teachers’ and students’ access to and use of technologies. And this means recognizing how and where teachers are sometimes literally “unplugged” from these digital tools.

Notes

introduction 1 While many might argue that “a lot” has changed since 2002, we would caution that, in education, very little has changed. As our brief policy overviews show in chapter 1, public schools in Canada are only piecemeal beginning to realize the technological affordances of laptop and wireless technology, and they continue to struggle with the same, pervasive problem: how to get teachers to use the technology already available to them in schools in a way that enhances and/or supports their curricular endeavours.

chapter one 1 An earlier version of this chapter was previously published in the International Electronic Journal for Leadership in Learning 7, 10 (2003): n.p. Available at . Viewed 4 February 2007.

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c h a p t e r tw o 1 An earlier version of this chapter was previously published in the Canadian Journal of Learning and Technology 32, 1 (2006): n.p. Available at . Viewed 8 February 2007. 2 The structural demands for cabling could dramatically change, of course, with the increased use of wireless networks, just as the physical special demands could decrease with the increased use of laptops. 3 All names of participants and schools involved in this study have been changed in order to protect their identities. 4 The Luther staff’s choice to call their computer lab the Advanced Technology Centre also indicates a different kind of commitment to the location and use of technology. The atc is discursively located in contrast to the everyday practices of keyboarding and computerized assessment as a space for advanced, project-based work. Thus, even the discourse at the school seems to reflect and reinforce the kinds of choices that have been made about what kinds of space the technology will take up.

c h a p t e r th r e e 1 An earlier version of this chapter was previously published in Gender and Education 15. Available at . Viewed 9 February 2007. 2 In Canada, a teacher librarian’s work includes both the teaching of regular classes and typical librarian duties. The position was created primarily in response to a funding crisis that made cuts to all but those services pronounced “essential,” thereby prioritizing classroom teachers’ skills over those of librarians. 3 In an elementary school we visited in Nova Scotia, the viceprincipal claimed that 80 per cent of its students had computers in their homes.

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chapter four 1 An earlier version of this chapter was previously published by the Association for the Advancement of Computing in Education (www.aace.org) in Journal of Technology and Teacher Education 11 (2002): 481–96.

chapter five 1 While district technology support staff might argue that they don’t simply “fix machines,” this is the most obvious and often the only support teachers view as having an impact on their work. 2 It is interesting to note that, of the four workshop facilitators, the one female facilitator offered a presentation on pedagogy while the three male facilitators offered sessions on technology. We explore these gendered perceptions of expertise and division of labour in chapter 3. 3 McLuhan’s example, drawn from defence testimony at the Nuremburg trials, tells of the then-new technology of the field telephone, which, for the first time, enabled Second World War officers to communicate directly with soldiers at the front. Orders formulated by high-ranking commanders quite out of touch with the actual conditions in the field lost the benefit of a chain of command, which functioned also as a chain of interpretation of orders, while front-line soldiers lost the ability to question or challenge the decisions of those only marginally superior in rank to themselves. In consequence, orders were given and carried out that were both more dangerous and more brutal than either would have permitted or accepted.

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About the Authors

c h l o ë b r u s h w o o d r o s e is assistant professor of curriculum theory in the Faculty of Education at York University. Her research interests include the relationship between technology, culture, and subjectivity, and the implications of digital media for curriculum theories and theories of learning, with a particular emphasis on aesthetic experience and object relations. Her scholarly work has appeared in several publications, including the Review of Education/Pedagogy/Cultural Studies, Gender and Education, and the Canadian Journal of Learning and Technology. Her current research projects consider digital storytelling as curricular practice and potential space and use digital storytelling to collect and explore women’s educational biographies. j e n n i f e r j e n s o n is associate professor of pedagogy and technology in the Faculty of Education at York University. Her

172

about the authors

research interests include the study of digital games for education, new media, digital literacies, and gender and technology. Working with Suzanne de Castell and a team of students, she is co-designing an educational game, Contagion, and completing a three-year study of gender and digital gameplay. She has published articles in Gender and Education; Education, Communication and Information; and, Educational Theory, among other journals, and has co-edited a collection of papers on digital games entitled Worlds in Play: International Perspectives on Digital Games Research (Forthcoming, Peter Lang). r o b e r t j . k e n n e d y, an educational consultant for Apple Canada, held the position of director of education for the Nippissing Board of Education, Ontario, for ten years and served terms as president of the Canadian Association of School Administrators and the Ontario Public Supervisory Officers Association. He was a minister’s appointee to the Professional Learning Program Committee for the Ontario College of Teachers and to the Secondary Education Reform project. He is a member of the Ontario Research and Innovation Optical Network Board of Directors and holds a PhD in curriculum and instruction from Pennsylvania State University. b r i a n l e w i s is professor of communication and dean of the Faculty of Applied Sciences at Simon Fraser University. He is interested in technology and the management of change, tracking emerging innovations in broadband and wireless applications from technology (network and computational) as well as end-user perspectives. He is particularly interested in new technologies in education: the policy contexts in which they are implemented, how institutions manage their use, and the impact of these technologies on society and public institutions. An earlier book, Tower under Siege: Technology, Power and Education (McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2001) focuses on postsecondary education and technology.

about the authors

173

p e n n y m i l t o n is the chief executive officer of the Canadian Education Association. She has served as an elected trustee and chair of the Toronto Board of Education, a staff member of the former Federation of Women Teachers’ Associations of Ontario, and the executive director of the Ontario Public School Boards’ Association. She has served on numerous provincial and federal advisory committees, including the SchoolNet National Advisory Board, and a term as deputy minister of the Ontario Premier’s Council on Health, Well-Being and Social Justice. She holds a master’s degree in management from McGill University and a BSc (Hons.) from the University of Nottingham. s t a n s h a p s o n is vice-president of research and innovation and professor of education at York University. His research interests span the fields of technology-enhanced learning, bilingual and multicultural language education, and program evaluation/policy development. His research and publications have received awards from the American Educational Research Association and the Canadian Journal of Education. He currently serves as chair of the Optical Regional Advanced Network of Ontario Board, of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council Board, and of the Ontario Council of University Research. In his role as vice-president of research and development at York, his strategy has focused on building capacity with municipalities, community hospitals, and private-sector companies on economic cluster initiatives. He is the founding co-chair, with the Mayor of Markham, of the Innovation Synergy Centre in Markham and the founding chair of yorkbiotech. r i c h a r d s m i t h is an associate professor in, and the associate director of, the School of Communication at Simon Fraser University (sfu). He is also a member of the Centre for Policy Research on Science and Technology at sfu. His research focus is social inclusion (and exclusion) brought on by the introduction

174

about the authors

of new media. He has an ongoing interest in technology for education, privacy and surveillance in public spaces, online communities, and the wireless information society. Current research projects include: (1) civic engagement and surveillance environments, (2) privacy issues in the application of mobile technologies to learning and political action, (3) new applications for information technology in support of scholarly publishing, (4) “games” of innovation in the new media industry, and (5) the development of technologies for mobile media-rich urban shared experience – platforms for mobile social software.

Index

Becker, Henry, 138–9 best practices, xvi, 24, 82, 138–140, 143 classroom practice: barriers to, 71; impact of policy on, 88, 142, 147; impact of technology on, 103, 128; teacher innovation in, 77 class size, 110 computers: access to, 30–1, 38, 40–3, 54, 61; barriers to use of, 90, 92; in classroom versus lab, 34–5; diffusion and mobility of, 40; innovative uses of, 129; masculine culture of, 48, 53, 63, 66; organizational issues, 33; and pedagogy, 37, 46, 59, 98, 141–2; placement of, 42, 45, 76, 126; technical support for, 57, 94, 95, 103. See also technology Cuban, Larry, 147 curriculum and instruction, 88, 95, 103, 109, 143, 144; barriers to, 92; curriculum planning software, 99; learning resources for, 132–3; Ministry guidelines for, 50, 86

Franklin, Ursula, 100 gender and technology, xv, 53; underrepresentation of women, 54–5, 57; division of labour, 56, 59; barriers to access, 62, 64; social relations of power, 67; technicist discourse, 63 globalization, 5, 8, 25, 124. See also knowledge economy knowledge economy, ix, 10, 108; in Canadian government policy, 4, 122, 137; and federal initiatives, 13; and globalization, 25. See also globalization knowledge society, ix, 108; in Canadian government policy, 8, 122; policy principles for, 136–7; skills requirements for, 108–9, 121 literacy, 108, 110 McLuhan, Marshall, 102, 151n3 Murray, Janet, 46

176

index

online learning, 18, 21, 22, 70 organizational structure: of classrooms, 32, 40; of schools, 30–1, 42–3, 61, 131; and social relations of power, 67, 70, 147 policy, x–xi, 3–4, 6, 101, 109; development of, 7, 110, 114, 120; districtlevel, 87–8, 91–2, 95, 100; economic, xv, xvi, 5; on educational technology, 9, 22, 87, 113; federal, 11, 12, 117, 125; parental role in, 22, 114; policy-making process, 23; provincial, 13–22, 87, 90, 117, 124; role of teacher in, 22; school-level, 90, 99, 101, 126; stakeholder participation in, 115, 117, 118–19 Prensky, Marc, 109, 119 professional development: administrator perspectives on, 76–7, 81–2, 85, 143; barriers to, 74, 78, 81, 83; divergent perspectives on, 70; funding of, 69, 73, 74, 80, 81; provincial initiatives, 14, 18, 21; teacher perspectives on, 71–4,

84–5, 144; technical versus instructional, 98, 143–5; university-based, 130–1 Schofield, Janet, 52 school change, 22–4, 47 student achievement, 108, 111, 112 Tapscott, Don, 142–4 technology: curricular integration of, 15, 128–9; and economic disparity, 60; effects on social organization, 101, 103; federal funding of, 14; infrastructure, 14, 20, 123, 129; investment in, 10, 122; lack of implementation, 123; policy in schools, 52, 129; procurement perspective on, 111; provincial funding of, 16, 18, 20–1, 87; sociocultural context of, 53, 66–7, 84, 141, 145. See also computers; gender and technology Wajcman, Judith, 53