This @Chronicle piece is a good opportunity for a conversation on how we as profs manage recording in the classroom. chronicle.com/article/What-H…
Should I go first? Okay. I'll go first.
For a bunch of reasons—ESL students, an unfortunate affinity for spiralling digression, extensive coverage of non-textbook material, etc—I allow, and in fact encourage, the use of recording devices in my classroom.
But the issues raised in that @chronicle piece are real, and they may not be intuitive to all students, so we do a brief discussion of principles and groundrules for recording on the first day of class.
I begin by saying that I encourage recording, and why. Then I say that there are three things I'd like them to agree to before turning on their devices. (It's really two rules and a request, but we'll get to that in a minute.)
First: No video. I had a student hold up their phone a few semesters ago and start recording, and it was completely discombobulating. I tell them that story, and close with a flummoxed "DON'T DO THAT!"
There's no way I can keep my concentration up when I'm being unexpectedly videotaped, and it's a violation of social norms in a way that audio isn't. Straightforward rule, never had any pushback.
Second, I remind them that I'm not the only one who's going to be talking, and that they need to respect each other as much as (more than, really) they respect me.
(Eagle-eyed readers will have sussed out that this discussion isn't actually only, or even primarily, about recording devices—I'm laying out what they can expect the classroom space to be like, giving them a sense of what our collective project is going to be.)
I say that there may be moments when they want to ask an uncomfortable question or make a delicate argument, and that if at any time anyone wants recording devices turned off while they're speaking, all they need to do is say so and their request will be honored.
I also say that if anyone has a strong preference for never being recorded at any time during the semester, they can see me privately and we'll figure out a way to accommodate that somehow. (Nobody has made such a request yet.)
At this point I pause and ask if everyone is comfortable with the rules so far, and willing to abide by them, or if they have any questions they haven't raised yet. If we have consensus on the first two rules, I move on.
The third request is a bit more difficult to explain starting from square one—it's about the classroom being for them, not for the world at large.
I tell them that the way I approach a classroom discussion is different from how I prepare for a public speech or a television or radio appearance, and discuss why and how.
A college class isn't a stand-alone thing. It's something we build together as a group. What we discuss in week six is shaped by what we've discussed in the previous ten classes. It's something we're doing together on an ongoing basis.
I tell them that if there was a camera in the back of the room broadcasting each class to the internet, I'd teach differently, and they'd participate differently too. I tell them that when I'm teaching, I'm working for them—specifically and exclusively. Not for the world.
Recently I've been using an analogy that seems to work pretty well—I tell them about @mariescrisis.
Marie's Crisis is a showtunes bar in the Village. There's a piano player there, and the crowd requests songs all night. It's a giant ongoing sing-along. It's been around forever, and it's wonderful.
Marie's has a rule: No video. If you're at Marie's, you're making something with the crowd there that night. It's not for YouTube. It's for the community you're making.
A movie star can show up at Marie's in jeans and a tee shirt and belt a bunch of songs from Hair as part of the crowd without worrying that she's going to be on TMZ in three hours. Without that rule, Marie's would be fundamentally altered.
The reason I find the Marie's analogy so useful is that it's a way of talking about different circles of public space—and about separating out privacy from secrecy.
I tell them I'm happy to stand behind (or apologize for, as the case may be) anything I say in the classroom, and that if they ask permission to post audio of something I say, I'll probably give it.
But my classroom is a particular kind of space, a particular kind of community, and I want us all to be on the same page from the start about what we're building and how it works.
At that point I ask if there are any more questions or any objections, and if there aren't, I ask if we're all in agreement. Then we move on. The whole thing takes maybe five or ten minutes.
This discussion comes a few minutes before my discussion of my syllabus content note, btw, so it helps lay the groundwork for that conversation about ways in which they are welcome to question or challenge what I say in class. I find the two segments work really well together.
(Almost none of this is in the syllabus, by the way. The syllabus just says something like "audio recording of class discussions is welcome, subject to conditions we will discuss in class.")
If you found this helpful, BTW, here's a similar, much shorter, thread about my rules on students bringing their kids to class.
And one on my absence and excusal policies.
And here's a blogpost on my content note/trigger warning policy. studentactivism.net/2015/08/25/tri…
