Learning Cultures in Online Education (Continuum Studies in Education)

Learning Cultures in Online Education Robin Goodfellow and Marie-No¨elle Lamy

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Robin Goodfellow, Marie-No¨elle Lamy and Contributors 2009

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Robin Goodfellow, Marie-No¨elle Lamy and Contributors have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Authors of this work.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN: 978-18470-6062-4 (hardcover)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Learning cultures in online education / [edited by] Marie-No¨elle Lamy and Robin Goodfellow. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-84706-062-4 (hardcover) 1. Multicultural education. 2. Distance education–Social aspects. I. Goodfellow, Robin, 1947– II. Lamy, Marie-No¨elle, 1949– III. Title. LC1099.L38 2009 370.117–dc22 2008024038

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Contents

List of Contributors Foreword

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Professor Mark Warschauer, University of California, Irvine, USA Introduction: A Frame for the Discussion of Learning Cultures

1

Robin Goodfellow and Marie-No¨elle Lamy 1

When the Solution Becomes the Problem: Cultures and Individuals As Obstacles to Online Learning

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Charles Ess 2

Identity, Gender and Language in Synchronous Cybercultures: A Cross-Cultural Study

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Charlotte N. Gunawardena, Ahmed Idrissi Alami, Gayathri Jayatilleke and Fadwa Bouachrine 3

Entering the World of Online Foreign Language Education: Challenging and Developing Teacher Identities

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Robert O’Dowd 4

From Face-to-Face to Distance Learning: The Online Learner’s Emerging Identity

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Christine Develotte 5

Being and Learning in the Online Classroom: Linguistic Practices and Ritual Text Acts

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Leah P. Macfadyen 6

Technology As a ‘Cultural Player’ in Online Learning Environments Anne Hewling

113

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Contents Trouble and Autoethnography in Assessment Genre: A Case for Postnational Design in Online Internationalized Pedagogy

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Catherine Doherty 8

New Learning Cultures: Identities, Media and Networks

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Jay Lemke and Caspar van Helden Conclusion: New Directions for Research in Online Learning Cultures

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Robin Goodfellow and Marie-No¨elle Lamy References

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Internet References

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Author Index

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Subject Index

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Contributors

AHMED IDRISSI ALAMI received his PhD from Indiana University, USA. He has published articles on the issues of cross-cultural perception and representation as well as constructions of identity across national and cultural frontiers. He is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Foreign Languages & Literatures and the Director of the Arabic Program at Purdue University, USA. FADWA BOUACHRINE is a lecturer in the Center for Academic Development at Al Akhawayn University, in Ifrane, Morocco. Building on her engineering background, she is passionate about research areas such as culture, behaviour, and technology; the digital divide; internet freedom and technology use; and socio-economic trends and use of technology. CHRISTINE DEVELOTTE is Professor of Information Science at the Institut National de Recherche P´edagogique in Lyon and a member of the ICAR research laboratory. For the last 10 years her main research interests have been linked to computer-mediated communication (CMC). Her research includes two aspects: the semio-linguistic aspect of online communication and the social aspect (focusing on the analysis of human behaviour). CATHERINE DOHERTY lectures in the sociology of education and sociolinguistics in the Faculty of Education, Queensland University of Technology. She came to teacher education with experience in adult literacy and community education, migrant English programs and curriculum and policy roles. Her research focuses on how cultural identity interacts with pedagogy, curriculum design and globalization processes. CHARLES ESS is Professor of Philosophy and Religion and Distinguished Professor of Interdisciplinary Studies, Drury University (Springfield, MO, USA). He has received awards for teaching excellence and scholarship, and publishes in Computer-Mediated Communication (CMC) and crosscultural approaches to Information and Computing Ethics. With Fay Sudweeks, Dr. Ess co-founded and co-chairs the biennial conferences ‘Cultural Attitudes towards Technology and Communication’ (CATAC).

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ROBIN GOODFELLOW is a senior lecturer in Teaching with New Technology at the UK Open University. He currently directs an online Masters course in e-learning. His research interests are in the literacies and social and cultural practices of online learning. He is co-author of Challenging E-Learning in the University: A Literacies Perspective, published by McGraw Hill/Open University Press. CHARLOTTE NIRMALANI GUNAWARDENA is Professor of Distance Education and Instructional Technology in the Organizational Learning and Instructional Technology Program, University of New Mexico, USA, where she coordinates the online Master’s and certificate in e-learning. For the past 20 years she has published on distance education and currently researches the social construction of knowledge and the sociocultural context of online learning communities. ANNE HEWLING is the e-learning specialist at the UK Open University Library and Learning Resources Centre. She endeavours to bridge the cultural spaces presently occupied by new technologies, information professionals, learning developers and faculty through staff training events and case-by-case advice. She also facilitates culture change activities with colleagues in the Digilab – a hands-on university ‘play space’ for faculty and staff wanting to integrate new technologies into teaching and learning practice. In her spare time she teaches online courses in e-learning and international development. BUDDHINI GAYATHRI JAYATILLEKE is a Senior Lecturer in the Educational Technology Division at the Open University of Sri Lanka. She holds a BSc from the University of Colombo, Sri Lanka, an MA from the University of London and a PhD. from the Open University, UK. Her research interests are in media and student learning, online learning, instructional design and science communication. ¨ MARIE-NOELLE LAMY is Professor of Distance Language Learning at the UK Open University. She has 15 years of experience in designing language courses for online study, involving extensive use of e-tutorials, text-based as well as voice-based. Her research interests are in technology-mediated learning conversations, particularly in multimodal settings. She has recently co-authored Online Communication in Language Learning and Teaching , published by Palgrave MacMillan. JAY LEMKE is Professor of Educational Studies at the University of Michigan in the PhD programs for Learning Technologies and Literacy Language & Culture. He is the author of Textual Politics: Discourse and Social Theory and Talking Science: Language, Learning, and Values. Currently co-editor of Critical

Contributors

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Discourse Studies, he was formerly co-editor of Linguistics and Education (for 10 years). LEAH P. MACFADYEN is a research associate in Skylight – the Science Centre for Learning and Teaching – in the Faculty of Science at The University of British Columbia in Vancouver, Canada. Formerly a researcher in UBC’s Distance Education and Technology unit, she developed the interdisciplinary online undergraduate course ‘Perspectives on Global Citizenship’ in 2005, and now co-teaches it through UBC’s Faculty of Arts. Her research interests include the uses of the internet and communication technologies in science education and international education initiatives. ROBERT O’DOWD is a teacher of EFL and Foreign Language Methodology at the University of Le´on in Spain. He has a PhD from the University of Duisburg-Essen in Germany on the use of network-based language teaching. Some of his recent publications include Telecollaboration and the Development of Intercultural Communicative Competence (Langenscheidt, 2006) and the edited volume Online Intercultural Exchange: An Introduction for Foreign Language Teachers (Multilingual Matters, 2007). His current research interests include the role of online technologies in foreign language teacher education. CASPAR VAN HELDEN is a PhD candidate at the University of Michigan’s School of Education. His research is in (multimodal) discourse studies, and he focuses on the influence of popular culture on learning biographies, identities and identification. Currently working with video ethnography and experimental methodologies, he was formerly the producer of European media for young people.

Foreword

The concept of culture has a long and inglorious history in educational policy and practice. Racist interpretations of culture have led to entire nations being written off as uneducable. In some ethnically diverse yet highly stratified countries, students from marginalized groups have long been taught in ways that fail to recognize and nourish ways of making meaning valued in their communities. And in the United States and elsewhere, language minority students found themselves ridiculed, expelled or beaten merely for speaking their native language in school, during parts of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In recent decades, we think ourselves more enlightened, and indeed we are. Schools of Education offer courses in multicultural education, where teachers learn to be respectful of diverse groups. Insensitive portrayals of ethnic minorities are barred from the classroom and school library. Posters of ethnically diverse leaders and scholars adorn school walls. Yet, our approaches to culture too often veer into the simplistic, as in a university class I observed where the teacher informed the students that culture consisted of ‘ “(1) climate, (2) food/clothing, (3) music/dance/entertainment, (4) school/education, [and] (5) family values,” and instructed students to write cultural comparison essays that contrasted these topics in two countries’ (Warschauer 1998: 74). If ever a more complex and nuanced understanding of culture were needed, that time is now. The postindustrial era has brought a global cross-mingling of people as never before in human history. Migrants are pouring into not only traditional immigrant countries such as the United States and Australia, but also into heretofore ethnically defined nations such as Germany. Large countries such as China, India and Brazil also face unprecedented internal migration, as people stream into mega-cities looking for work. Not only labour, but also capital, production, management, markets technology and information are organized across national boundaries. These demographic, social and economic trends are problematizing the traditional view of culture as a reified set of unitary beliefs and practices for a given community.

Foreword

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Of course the most revolutionary new medium for cross-cultural contact and communication is the internet. The number of internet users worldwide has increased from about 16 million in 1995 to more than 1.3 billion in 2008 (Miniwatts Marketing Research, 2008). The fastest growth rates in internet use are occurring in the Middle East, Africa, Latin America and Asia. Billions more people have mobile phones, which are increasingly able to access the internet as well. Online communication is affecting virtually every walk of modern life, from politics to entertainment to dating to education. In the latter realm, we must consider not only the rapidly growing number of online courses around the world, but also the even larger number of courses that combine traditional in-person meetings with some forms of online interaction. It is the intersection of these two phenomena – the changing notion of culture in today’s world, and the vastly expanding amount of online interaction in education – that this book addresses. This represents a complex terrain, precisely because understandings of culture vary so dramatically. The editors have rightly settled on the term ‘learning cultures’, which narrows the field substantially. Specifically, they focus on four interrelated areas of cultural contact and change: transnational and cross-border education, the take-up of computer-mediated interaction by previously marginalized populations, the growth of new forms of knowledge production, and the spread of social networking phenomena and their use in education. Each of these four topics is itself worthy of a book. Bakhtin (1986) pointed out the value of transnational exchange for education decades ago, noting that It is only in the eyes of another culture that foreign culture reveals itself fully and profoundly [. . .] A meaning only reveals its depths once it has encountered and come into contact with another, foreign meaning: they engage in a kind of dialogue which surmounts the closedness and one-sidedness of these particular meanings, these cultures. We raise new questions for a foreign culture, ones that it did not raise for itself; we seek answers to our own questions in it; and the foreign culture responds to us by revealing to us its new aspects and new semantic depths. (1986: 7) Several chapters in this book address how this phenomenon plays out in online learning, which, in contrast to pre-internet forms of long-distance educational exchange, potentially brings together students from many countries in fast-paced interaction, thus accelerating the dialogic learning process. Similarly, the inclusion of marginalized populations is a major purported goal of online education efforts, but one that is not so easily reached, due

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Foreword

in part to the somewhat limited affordances of online communication compared to symbolically richer forms of face-to-face interaction (Warschauer 2003). Again, the potential of new forms of online communication to both include and exclude students on the margins is critically assessed throughout this book. New forms of knowledge production (Gibbons et al. 1994) and social networking (Warschauer & Grimes 2007) flow from both the organization of the information society and the tools available to it. Both address the ways that people interact and learn through networked communication, and how this overlaps with issues of identity and media. These topics, too, are well covered throughout the book, with the relationship to gender, language and genre thrown in for good measure. That editors and authors have successfully addressed such a wide range of topics in a single compact book is a testament to the selection of chapters, the quality of authors’ contributions, and the editors’ thoughtful framing of the issues in the Introduction and the Conclusion. As a result, the empirical breadth of the book, based on case studies in diverse international contexts, is matched by a rich theoretical perspective capturing the essence of these studies. The many aspects of learning cultures presented in the book are thus brought together in a way that enhances our multifaceted understanding of how new and engrained ways of believing, valuing, communicating and producing knowledge co-occur in online education. Mark Warschauer University of California Irvine, USA

Introduction: A Frame for the Discussion of Learning Cultures Robin Goodfellow and Marie-No¨elle Lamy The Open University, UK

It would be customary to begin discussion of a topic like ‘learning cultures in online education’, with a definition of terms. However, in the case of a concept like ‘culture’ we feel justified in sidestepping this task, because, as some of the authors who have contributed to this book, and many of those in the literature they refer to, have pointed out, it is simply too complex an idea to do justice to in a single definition. Why then, address it at all, when there are so many other less theoretically problematic aspects of teaching and learning in online environments waiting to be investigated? Well, in a sense, the whole project of this book is about answering that question. As editors, we have, through our shared background in the use of technology for distance teaching across languages and other domains of social difference, become convinced that cultural issues are inseparable from educational, linguistic and technological ones. Indeed, a review of past research that is focused on the cultural dimensions of learning with technology suggests to us that the cultural perspective necessarily incorporates consideration of other areas such as curriculum, interaction, collaboration, pedagogy, language or assessment, albeit it can be argued that these are more readily definable. In our view, discussions of theory and practice in all these areas usually leave implicit questions that a ‘cultural’ perspective throws up explicitly: who the participants are, what determines how they relate to each other, who values what and why, who has power and who has not. Further, our attention has sharply focused on these issues because of the international, multilingual and increasingly ‘global’ context in which we now work. Increasingly the technologies of online education are being used to extend teaching and learning policies and practices developed by

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and for universities in the Anglophone world (Britain, North America and Australasia), to nontraditional and transnational audiences. This is a process in which issues of culture and cultural identity, however defined, are inevitably raised, but as the research literature also shows, are not often satisfactorily addressed.

Defining a new ‘gap’ for research on culture in online learning Several observers have suggested that there is a dearth of research in the field of culture in online learning (e.g. Edmundson 2007: ix; Mason 2007; Rogers et al., 2007). It may be the case that there is not much empirical research, at least by comparison to some of the aforementioned areas (see, for example, the very considerable research literatures on ‘collaboration’ and ‘community’). However there has been a reasonable amount of discussion of issues and observation of effects over the past two decades, going back to Henderson’s cultural critique of the design of multimedia (Henderson 1996), then two seminal special journal editions on culture: the British Journal of Educational Technology (1999, volume 30, number 3), and Distance Education (2001, volume 22, number 1), and more recently Edmundson’s edited book on globalized e-learning (Edmundson 2007). And there has also been discussion and empirical work on culture-related issues in other disciplines – including the sociology of communication, organizational studies, foreign language learning and intercultural studies, the social-psychology of the internet – much of which is relevant to online education. The scope of this discussion and the cross-disciplinary dimension of the research are two other reasons why we hesitate to attempt a definition of culture in the early part of this book. Better, we think, to let the range of approaches to its problematization adopted by the contributors to this book tell the story. In compiling ‘Learning Cultures in Online Education’, therefore, we are not looking primarily to fill a gap in existing empirical research, but instead to draw together perspectives that problematize the workings of culture in online education from a range of theoretical and disciplinary positions. This, we hope, will help define a gap that we ourselves, and others, may be motivated to try to fill empirically in our future research. We are also, in the interests of cross-disciplinarity in educational research, setting out to draw attention to drivers of educational change other than the purely instructional or pedagogical. In particular, we consider the following general educational and sociotechnical developments to be significant for our work: r The growth of multiculturality and ‘widening participation’ policies in national systems of higher education, which are intended to address the

Introduction: A Frame for the Discussion of Learning Cultures

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increasing diversity of learners and their family, community, educational and work backgrounds. r The rapid expansion of transnational e-learning, including enrolments of ‘foreign students’ and staff development of corporate, governmental, agency and other ‘noneducational’ providers. r The spread of new media communication practices (i.e. internet community, socializing and informal learning practices), which are beginning to influence educational development through the incorporation of Web 2.0 technologies into course design.

Developments driving the need to problematize ‘learning cultures’ – the growth of multiculturality Many nations now have governmental policies on widening participation in tertiary level or higher education in order to increase the numbers of students from sections of society that traditionally do not continue their education beyond school-leaving age. In the United Kingdom this includes people from economically poorer areas, and those who have been out of formal education for some time, as well as those from identifiable ethnic backgrounds under-represented in university populations (Bowl 2001). Globally, there are additional groups that have found themselves excluded from educational opportunity at any level. For example, in India: the disabled, women, ethnic minorities, castes and tribes, prison inmates, senior citizens, nomads and migrants, the geographically isolated (Sharma Sen 2002). As a development of ‘open learning’ systems, which have espoused the educational cause of these marginalized sections of society (Singha Roy 2002: 269), online learning is now seen as one of the instruments of national policies of inclusion. However, for many of these nontraditional learners, formal education at university level itself represents a cultural challenge, further compounded by the ‘digital gap’ and the constraints of low IT literacy and unfamiliarity with online systems and pedagogies. A ‘widening participation’ approach to multiculturalism – which aims either at ‘assimilation’ or the celebrating of superficial aspects of ‘diversity’ – without acknowledging aspects of cultural difference that identify and separate minority groups from the dominant cultural mainstream – has been criticized by cultural studies researchers (e.g. Hall 2000; Eriksen 2006) who question the individualistic and neo-liberal perspective from which it emanates. In one sense societies and communities may be considered to be enriched by multiculturalism, a view that prevailed in ‘the West’ at the end of the twentieth century, as typified by a UNESCO report on ‘Our Creative Diversity’ (World Commission on Culture and Development 1995). Yet, in another

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sense they could be thought to be divided by it, as is increasingly felt to be the case in the contemporary context of globalization, economic migration and religious and ideological intolerance (Eriksen 2006). We will develop this point further below in a discussion of essentialist frameworks and their association with ‘Western’ online learning practices. Research in online learning in multicultural contexts has reflected these tensions around multiculturalism, and the meanings of cultural diversity (e.g. Goodfellow et al. 2001; Chase et al. 2002; Gunawardena et al. 2003; Goold et al. 2007). Henderson (1996), commenting on the design of interactive multimedia for use by groups including indigenous learners, critiqued three common attitudes of designers: an ‘inclusive’ approach, which incorporates cultural perspectives from minority groups but does not challenge the dominant model; an ‘inverted’ model, which designs from the minority cultural perspective but does not provide admittance into the mainstream culture; and a ‘unidimensional’ model, which simply denies diversity and treats everyone the same (Henderson 1996: 86). Henderson’s work has informed researchers contributing to each of the special editions and the edited book mentioned above, in particular the work of McLoughlin (1999, 2001, 2007) who argues for a pluralistic approach to designing for multicultural learners, using constructivist online teaching techniques, which she considers are capable of adaptation to the degree of cultural inclusivity required. Others, however, taking the view that neither online learning technologies nor their associated pedagogies are themselves culturally neutral (Doherty 2004; Reeder et al. 2004; Hannon & D’Netto 2005) highlight the role that ‘institutional needs, structures and strategies of implementation play in shaping learning experiences’ (Hannon et al. op. cit.), and cast doubt on the feasibility even of pluralistic design as a solution to the problems of difference in multicultural learning communities. As a further aspect of the institutional shaping of learning that is currently driving practice in higher education, we can point to the growing focus on ‘mode two’ knowledge production in the curriculum (Gibbons et al. 1994), which responds to employability agendas and the developing interdependence between academic, professional and work-based learning contexts, especially in the ‘new professions’ such as Business, Education, Healthcare, Engineering, etc. While this is not usually seen as a cultural issue, it qualifies for consideration here, in our view, because of the differences that arise in expectations, pedagogies, and literacies between traditional disciplinebased academic practices and work-based and professionalized ones (see Goodfellow & Lea 2007, for a more developed discussion of this). In the context of online learning, some research has suggested that not only do ‘academic’ and ‘business’ values inflect learner approaches to online communication differently (Goodfellow 2004), but that differing institutional

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values relating to the purpose and conduct of online communication can inflect patterns of participation differently in learner populations with otherwise similar ‘cultural’ profiles (Goodfellow & Hewling 2005). As workbased and professional development practices penetrate further into the traditional subject-based curriculum of the university, collisions of different value systems in the conduct of online learning are likely to become more frequent. We would also incorporate, within this overview of ‘multiculturality’ as a driver of research into learning cultures, the kinds of issues that have been addressed by researchers in the fields of language learning and intercultural communication, particularly those who have worked in the context of the European Community’s notions of ‘cultural’ and ‘intercultural competence’. Europe is keen to educate its citizens in mutual tolerance (because of the trauma of World War II), and through the Council of Europe (set up in 1949) it has funded much educational research into interculturality. However, the notion of intercultural communicative ‘competence’ that has emerged is a problematic one. Within applied linguistics and language learning and teaching research, intercultural communication has been not only an aspiration, but also an obstacle, to theoretical and pedagogical progress, because of a lack of problematization of the notion of culture itself. For instance, in research where a major component of culture has been ascribed to individuals’ psychobiographies, Sealey and Carter (2004) found that: ‘some of the key concepts used in mainstream studies of intercultural communication are vulnerable to criticism’, in particular those that present culture ‘as though it were an attribute of the individual, a property of – or possession held by – people as a result of where they live, the religion they practice, the colour of their skin and so on’ (2004: 153). In the practice of telecollaboration (putting pairs of language learners in different countries in contact via e-mail, so that they may learn each others’ languages) that has grown up in the last few years, the construct of culture has been reinterpreted in social terms, leading to a preoccupation with ‘intercultural’, ‘cross-cultural’ or ‘inter-discourse’ communication, depending on school of thought (see Piller 2007). However, research into telecollaborative projects for language learning carries many stories of full or partial failure, not in the use of the code (French, Spanish, Japanese, etc.) but in the partners’ understandings of each others’ cultures. Such failures of intercultural communication are described through the rhetoric of ‘styles’ and ‘genres’, assumptions of ‘culturally-contingent conversational styles’ (Belz 2003: 82), or typified by observations such as: ‘When computer users from different cultures communicate online with one another, they may have different views on what genre (discourse type and discourse style) is appropriate for the exchange’ (Ware & Kramsch 2005: 191). In this

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literature, even when cultural conflicts are welcomed as learning opportunities, the assumption that a coherent ‘genre’ or ‘style’ is characteristic of national cohorts is rarely interrogated. Robert O’Dowd, one of the contributors to this book, has faced up to the pedagogical implications of this problem by drawing attention to the frequency of ‘Failed Communication’ in telecollaborative exchanges (O’Dowd & Ritter 2006) and proposing a detailed remedial scheme for practitioners faced with intercultural communication failure. Yet O’Dowd and Ritter’s notions of ‘intercultural communicative competence’ at the individual level, and ‘communicative style’ at the socioinstitutional level, are themselves problematic. As Cameron (2002) shows, through an examination of communication in service industries, of increasing importance in neo-liberal economies primarily in the Anglophone world since the 1960s, the culture of ‘effective communication’, bears ‘a noncoincidental resemblance to the preferred speech-habits of educated middle-class and predominantly white people brought up in the USA’ (2002: 70). In this more critical understanding of culture, a socioeconomic view of intercultural communication, focused on the commodification of languages, is emphasized over the interpersonal.

Developments driving the need to problematize ‘learning cultures’ – the expansion of transnational e-learning Socioeconomic development is to the fore in the second of the developments motivating our interest in online learning cultures at this point in time; that is, the growing use of online and distance learning by educational institutions to increase enrolments of ‘foreign students’ on programmes developed primarily for domestic use (Garrett & Verbik 2003), and by corporations and other organizations to support the learning of their staff around the world (Dunn 2007: 257). Garrett and Verbik’s analysis of data from the UK Higher Education Statistics Agency shows, for example, that there were over 101,000 students from all over the world taking courses from UK universities outside the United Kingdom in 2003. These student numbers are outstripped by those of corporations, many of the largest of which originate from the United States. According to Rogers et al. (2007), the Cisco Corporation has 400,000 students in 10,000 academies in 150 countries (figures taken from Dennis et al. 2005), and the Global University of Springfield has 600,000 students in 178 countries, teaching in more than 145 languages. Rogers et al. also draw attention to the global instructional programmes of international agencies such as UNESCO and the World Bank, which may be assumed to have more broadly social aims. Many of the students on these programmes are currently being taught face-to-face,

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but it is clear that the deployment of online technologies and pedagogies is seen by these organizations as a key strategy for future development. Research that focuses on the cultural implications of transnational online learning in these contexts has gathered momentum in recent years, as evidenced by Edmundson’s edited book (Edmundson 2007), which has nineteen chapters on accounts and discussion under the heading ‘Globalized E-Learning Cultural Challenges’. Much of this research is motivated by a concern for what Wild called, in his 1999 editorial for the special issue of the British Journal of Educational Technology (1999) ‘appropriate’ design for cultural diversity. This perspective puts a clear focus on the problem of learning designs that originate in ‘single cultural identities’ (Wild 1999: 198) being imposed on culturally diverse learners, and incorporates an awareness that the ‘reach’ of dominant cultures is being extended via electronic media. However, the approach tends not to concern itself with the institutional context of the learning, be it personal/professional development, employment training or basic education, but instead concentrates on the effect of differences between the learners, or between the cultural assumptions of the learners and those embedded in the design of materials. The understanding of the notion of cultural difference that underpins most current research arises from a view of culture as the manifestation in individuals of all the values, beliefs and ways of thinking and doing things that come with the membership of particular national, tribal, ethnic, civic or religious communities. Culture, in this view, is a consequence of geographical, historical, climatic, religious, political, linguistic and other behaviour and attitude-shaping influences that are assumed to act on everyone who shares the same physical and social environment. It implies that individuals are habituated, or have their minds ‘hard wired’, through upbringing, schooling and the acquisition of language and social customs, and that they can be characterized by ways of behaving and interacting that are typical to people of that nationality or ethnic group. Much of the research into cultural issues in transnational e-learning contexts is framed by this kind of conceptualisation, often referring to the work of Hofstede and others who have developed categorizations of national cultural characteristics (e.g. Hall & Hall 1990; Hofstede 2001). These accounts determine differences between nationalities and ethnic groups by the use of categories such as: ‘individualism’ (focused on self interest) and ‘collectivism’ (centred on the interests of family and the wider community); or ‘high-context ‘ (using the entire social context of an interaction: physical location, status of participants, body language, etc. to interpret its meaning), and ‘low-context’ (focusing on the direct content of messages, seeking specific information and/or expecting particular responses).

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Essentialist frameworks such as these (descriptions of individuals in terms of cultural attributes) have proved highly useful to researchers wishing to tailor the design of online learning to the assumed cultural preferences of individuals or groups. For example, Gunawardena et al. (2001) used the power-distance categorization initially to distinguish between US and Mexican students, before showing that online textual communications can equalize differences in status between the groups. Kim and Bonk’s (2002) study of collaboration between US, Korean and Finnish university students drew attention to differences between the three groups in terms of individualism and collectivism, high and low context and task and relationship focus. Morse (2003) used the low-context/high-context categories to distinguish between the attitudes to online collaborative learning of students from the United States, the United Kingdom, Australia and New Zealand on the one hand, and Pakistan, China, Singapore, Sri Lanka and Thailand on the other. Several of the contributors to Edmundson’s edited book (2007) discuss these frameworks, and indeed Hofstede himself provides the Foreword to the book. As Edmundson notes (2007: ix–x), much of the research on culture in e-learning has been conducted by Westerners, and critics such as Fougere and Moulettes (2007) and Kim (2007) have pointed to the ethnocentricism implied by this. Fougere and Moulettes, for example, observe that so-called ‘individualistic’ societies identified in the research literature are implicitly presented as ‘more technological, more legal, more urban, more educated, more literate, more wealthy, more democratic, more equal, more questioning, more socially mobile, etc.’ (2007: 11). These are, of course, the same societies of the Anglo/North American/Australasian, English-speaking, ICT-intensive cultural paradigm whose economic and educational ideology and technology has framed the development of globalized e-learning. We will take up this discussion in our Conclusion chapter.

Developments driving the need to problematize ‘learning cultures’ – new media communication practices The third development driving our interest in online learning cultures is the emergence of ‘new’ cultural and social identities in virtual learning communities, which draw on contemporary cybercultures of the internet as well as systems of cultural relations inherited from conventional educational or corporate settings. Whereas the phenomenon of community in online settings has been widely discussed in terms of its ability to generate human feelings and behaviours closely analogous to those experienced in physically located communities (see, for example, the collection of sociological accounts of virtual community in Smith and Kollock (1999), or

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the more learning-oriented collection in Renninger and Shumar (2002), it is only relatively recently that internet cultures started to be theorized on their own terms (Gibbs & Krause 2000). Examples of such theorization related to learning can be found in social-psychological studies of virtual identity, which draw in the notion of culture, for example, Conoscenti’s (2004) study of cross-cultural interactions in an online military training context. Yet currently there is, to our knowledge, little research that relates what might be called learner cyberidentities to cultures in online learning. Reeder et al. (2004) explored some of the implications of Western/Anglo ‘values’ embedded in cyberculture; Goodfellow and Hewling (2005) examined the role of ‘cultural narratives of participation in online communities’ in shaping learner behaviour; Bayne (2005) has discussed ‘modes of identity formation’ by learners and teachers online and the anxiety generated in the former by the multiple ‘selves’ that were available to be taken up. More recently, theorizations of new learner identities have to take account of new communication practices developing around technologies such as web logs (blogs), wikis (e.g. wikipedia), social networking sites (e.g. MySpace), usergenerated content sites (e.g. YouTube) and other tools and environments collectively known as Web 2.0 (O’Reilly 2005). These are being explored in relation to younger learners and conventional school contexts (see Lemke & van Helden’s contribution to this book), but have yet to surface in a significant way in research on the cultural dimensions of online learning.

New configurations of users We believe these trends point to the likelihood of increasingly unpredictable configurations of learners, teachers, employers, content-producers, managers, administrators, technologists, researchers and others coming together in online networks for educational purposes in the not-so-distant future. However, as the dominant cultural influence in both the designing and the researching of these diverse configurations, is likely to be an Anglo/North American, English-speaking, ICT-intensive, pedagogically constructivist educational paradigm, we wished to produce a more reflective and critical perspective on the nature of culture in online education than is currently to be found in the literature on online learning. We were aware that there are a number of writers and researchers who are exploring the idea that there is more to the issue of culture in the online classroom than simply that which is brought in by individual learners from their national backgrounds. These writers try to reflect the fact that constructions of difference between groups of learners, whether framed as ‘cultural’ or more broadly social, are always ideological; that is, they are always part of wider

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discourses of power and social identity. Asking the authors whose work is represented in this book to help us develop the concept of ‘learning cultures’ was a step towards such a perspective, one which we hope will help ensure that the social and pedagogical benefits from the trends and developments listed above will keep pace with the corporate and institutional ones.

Conceptualising ‘learning cultures’ – the structure of the book A theoretical introduction to the complex concept of culture in online education is undertaken by Charles Ess. Ess is one of the founders of the Cultural Attitudes to Technology and Communication conference (CATAC) and has written widely on the subjects of culture, education and technology (e.g. Ess 2002a, 2002b; Ess & Sudweeks 2005). His opening chapter provides a framing for the concept that is built on throughout the book. He rehearses a critique of essentialist perspectives, arguing that cultural identity is hybrid and has many more dimensions than nationality or mother tongue, making it too complex to be adequately circumscribed by systems of categorization such as Hofstede and his followers have developed. Ess develops the argument that online scenarios are themselves culturally coded spaces, inviting the formation of ‘third cultures’ (from Raybourn et al. 2003) in which individuals combine elements from the different cultural traditions in which they were socialized to form their own, new, self-created identity. His view that there are no ‘well-grounded theory/theories sufficiently comprehensive to do justice to the multiple dimensions of “culture”’ leads him to challenge the very idea of online ‘learning cultures’. Instead, he concludes with a challenge to the designers of online learning spaces to recognize that face-to-face contact is essential to significant learning, since it is only when we encounter one another face-to-face that we ‘recognize that we are dealing with one another as distinctive human beings first – not simply as tokens for overly simple and overly generalized accounts of cultures and subcultures’. The theme of online cultural hybridity is taken up by Charlotte Gunawardena and her co-writers – Gayathri Jayatilleke, Ahmed Idrissi Alami and Fadwa Bouachrine. Gunawardena was one of the contributors to the 2001 special edition of Distance Education mentioned above, and also to CATAC 2002, and has researched into culture and other dimensions of online communication (e.g. Gunawardena et al. 2003). In this chapter the authors address aspects of the playing out of cultural identity in internationalized internet chat spaces, via an empirical study. Although they are reporting on research with men and women of Moroccan and Sri Lankan nationality,

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and the discussion takes account of the indirectness that they claim is characteristic of personal communication patterns in both these national cultures, their findings emphasize the possibility for hybrid cultural identities to emerge out of local systems of activity such as internet chat. In particular, they stress the role of the medium of interaction, the cyberculture, rather than the specific national cultural characteristics of the participants, in constructing the shared knowledge, beliefs and behaviours that make up an online group’s reality. This lays a basis for discussion of the ways that participants’ identities, including gender and religious identities, are enacted and/or concealed as part of the process of negotiating norms of communication online. The implications of the emergence of ‘unique online cultures’ for designers of online learning spaces are clearly drawn. Other contributors address the concept of learning culture directly, drawing on this wider understanding of culture as an ongoing process of identityconstruction through interaction, and relating it to different online learning contexts, including ones in which face-to-face teachers and learners are moving online for the first time as part of new institutional e-learning policies. Robert O’Dowd has published extensively in the field of language and intercultural learning, and is responsible for the ideas about ‘failed’ intercultural communication mentioned earlier. In his chapter he discusses the implementation of online learning in a Spanish campus-based university, and shows how the professional identities of teachers are implicated in the attempt both to adapt new media to existing practices, and to develop the new social constructivist practices which the tools claim to promote. For example, teachers who take up online practices may regard themselves as ‘progressive’ in the sense of having a commitment to learner-centred teaching. However, in the early stages, at least, they may use the environment to reconstruct conventional teacher-centred approaches, such as exercising covert control through the facility for student monitoring that the online environment affords. Through three case studies he demonstrates how learning cultures operate at several levels, including at the level of the community of practitioners (the faculty), the policy initiatives of the institution, and the wider discourses of educational professionalism, as well as in the self-positioning of the teachers themselves. Christine Develotte addresses the same theme of induction into online learning cultures as O’Dowd does, but with a focus on learners, and on what she sees as ‘significant moments’ of pedagogical socialization, when there is a break between the kind of behaviour associated with on-site (face-toface) learning, and that which is appropriate to online interaction. She uses a study of student reflections on the experience of taking an online in a course in Teaching French As a Foreign Language to analyze the characteristics of the ‘discursive space’, which the online learning environment has

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represented for these learners, and to track their emotional and cognitive adaptation to the new ‘job’ of being an online learner. In her analysis, while learners may view themselves as emancipated from their ‘student’ roles through online social interaction, at the same time they experience online textual activity as socially demanding because it involves the production of writing, which is subject to critique by teachers and more capable peers. Nevertheless, she argues that the learning culture which is constructed in the process is capable of being more convivial, less competitive, having more connections between students and between students and teachers and having a different relationship to knowledge, than the more familiar, but less dynamic, on-site condition. The textuality of online learning environments is further explored by Leah Macfadyen, in particular the relation of ‘textual reality’ to the idea (introduced by Ess) that significant learning necessitates physical embodiment. Macfadyen has been involved in the production of two seminal texts exploring postessentialist views of culture in online learning (Chase et al. 2002 and Reeder et al. 2004) and here she discusses online learning cultures as communities in which the ‘rules of engagement’ have to be coconstructed. This is a process that involves the performing of aspects of normally embodied identities, including age, status and racial or ethnic origins, via online textual rituals during which self-identity is necessarily reconstructed. She contextualizes this view of online learning cultures as constructed in context through an account of interactions between participants on an online course in global citizenship, some of whom came to realize that by participating in such a course they were indeed reconstructing themselves as global citizens. Like Macfadyen, Anne Hewling explores the nature of ‘textualized’ interaction, and its role in the negotiation of culture in the online environment, taking up the concept of ‘third culture’ introduced by Ess, to describe the social reality that emerges out of interaction between online learners from different cultural, and indeed multicultural, backgrounds. Her argument is informed by observations from a study of students on an online Masters course in open and distance learning. Like O’Dowd and Develotte, she focuses on the appearance and functionality of the virtual learning environments in which online learning takes place, but she goes on to criticize the functional efficiency of the systems in practice, describing a number of ways in which the technology of a virtual learning environment can appear to be functioning autonomously, sometimes taking on a role as the site of institutional authority in place of the university itself. Unpredictable system functionality, when distributed over space and time, she argues, leads to a situation where, from the human participants’ point of view, the technology appears to behave as a cultural actor. The combination of the unpredictable

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technology and, for some learners, the unfamiliar pedagogy based on collaborative learning principles, proved to be a cultural challenge even when the learners’ own national cultural backgrounds were the same as that of the host institution. The variability and unpredictability of system behaviour within the current generation of virtual learning environment platforms is now further amplified by recent developments in networking and mobile technologies, creating an even wider range of communicative possibilities for online learners, and an even greater impression of the technology as proactive in the interaction. Hewling’s approach to theorizing these observations is to introduce the notion of cultural ecology as a metaphor for the ways in which the identities of the human participants in online education are in negotiation as much with the technology as with each other. Some of the wider implications of ‘new’ cultural configurations in online education are discussed from the perspectives of social theory in a chapter on postnational pedagogical genres by Cathie Doherty. Doherty’s most recent work has focused on the wider social phenomenon of internationalized education, and in this chapter the online learners are characterized not by assumed national characteristics but by their relation to the providing institution, either as ‘domestic’ or as ‘international’ students depending on the extent to which they share familiarity with the procedures and text genres that frame teaching and learning practices in this particular institution. Her study comes from an Australian university’s online Masters in Business Administration course, and focuses on the ‘troubling’ of assessment procedures, and the rhetoric of self-description by students who are distanced from the local pedagogical conventions of the course by their ‘transnational’ life worlds rather than by their national cultural characteristics. Doherty argues that truly postnational learning cultures should position all students as international, regardless of the provenance of the learning material or the national identity of the participants. Jay Lemke and Caspar van Helden’s position on learning cultures is expressed as a critique of schooling reminiscent of Ivan Illich’s (1971) well-known attack on formal education systems. Lemke has written extensively on new media and education and also on virtual culture (e.g. Lemke 2005a). Here, he argues that contemporary culture reflects an unstable mix of identities drawing on marketing and popular media as well as the traditional resources of ethnicity and nationality, class and age, gender and sexuality, etc. They argue that younger learners who live a ‘globalized, individualized, lifelong-learning biography’ find their formal education to be an obstruction to their development. For many of these learners and other users of internet-based resources, popular culture media and personal social networks (including online communities) have become key sources of identity models and cultural resources for affiliation and identification. This

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addresses what education does not, and is meaningful for students in ways the curriculum is not. The authors go on to argue that although we may believe there is an imbalance of power between corporate media producers and distributors, and individual consumers, research on ‘fan communities’ around television programs, computer games and movies, suggests a different picture. Individuals and their informal communities transform and re-appropriate media to fashion identities and subcultures that are often subversive of marketing messages and dominant economic interests. The implications of this for online learning follow from the need to ‘go beyond both the offline culture of schools and the online culture of media’ and investigate how young people learn successfully outside the school and curriculum, including the role of passion, affect and emotion in learning, and the processes by which learners are motivated to identify with particular elements of popular culture, affinity groups and personal and social projects and agendas.

Summary To sum up our approach to this book, then, we offer a frame for the discussion of learning cultures, by opening with a critique of the best-known frameworks available for cultural analysis outside the online world, coupled with a challenge to the very possibility of developing a notion of online culture. We go on to provide counterpoints to this, by showcasing six studies that claim that the online situation allows people to construct identities that would not be available to them in face-to-face situations, as men or women, as professionals (continuing and initial teachers) and as citizens partaking in the discourses of globalization, or trying to gain some purchase over the unpredictable, changeable semiotic effects generated by their interaction with IT systems. The range of learner types and data discussed allows multiple perspectives on the online learning experience (affective, cognitive, semiotic, symbolic, ergonomic, political) to emerge, suggesting ways through which the nature of ‘learning cultures’ can begin to be understood. Finally, while the first frame of the book showed how traditional theories of culture faced up to the social practices of the online life, through our final frame we turn towards the future, no longer asking what we know about online learning cultures but what the traditional guardians of learning do not know about the ever-expanding learning cultures of tomorrow’s learners.

Chapter 1

When the Solution Becomes the Problem: Cultures and Individuals As Obstacles to Online Learning Charles Ess Drury University, USA

Introduction In keeping with and reflecting the then-prevailing views of computermediated communication (CMC), the first bloom of enthusiasm in the 1990s for the seemingly unlimited possibilities of online learning was marked by the rhetoric of ‘revolution’. This rhetoric rested on especially two sets of assumptions. The first were those articulated by the French philosopher Ren´e Descartes, whose notions of mind and body have deeply shaped the modern West (e.g. 1637, 1641). For Descartes, the split between thinking mind and unthinking body is so radical that whatever takes place in the material and bodily domain has no real effect on the person as essentially mind (Slater 2002: 538; Ess 2004; Cavanagh 2007: 120–125). Known as Cartesian dualism, this assumption then played into a second set of assumptions driving the then-dominant postmodernism. Echoing Descartes’ radical split between mind and body, many postmodernists argued for an equally radical split between modernity and postmodernity. (Broadly construed, ‘modernity’ was taken in these contexts to be defined by Enlightenment understandings of emancipation through reason, science and technology – emancipation further tied to the communication technologies of literacy and print. Postmodernity, in contrast, begins with a radical rejection of such Enlightenment notions). Out of the modernity/postmodernity dichotomy emerged visions of Information and Communication Technologies (ICTs) as instantiating postmodern rejections of ostensibly ‘linear’ Enlightenment reason and logic

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(seen to be tied to the communication technologies of literacy and print): specifically, these technologies made possible nonlinear hypertexts and, more broadly, a radically free space of play, creativity and interconnectivity widely referred to in terms of ‘cyberspace’ (first used by the science-fiction novelist William Gibson, 1984). In particular, the text-based communication facilitated in cyberspace was widely characterized, following the work of Ong (1982), as a ‘secondary orality’, one that moves beyond literacy and print to recover something of an earlier, primary orality – the communication technology of pre-literate peoples that emphasizes association, repetition, rhyme, the emotional, the particular and other aspects of narrative as techniques of memory. To be sure, Ong himself emphasized that secondary orality rested on and incorporated both literacy and print. As a simple example: exchanges in a chat room or through an instant messaging service closely resemble early orality insofar as these exchanges are relatively quick and spontaneous, often more emotive, and nonlinear (i.e. easily taking different, not always obviously connected paths). At the same time, however, literacy is apparent in the exchanges themselves as primarily text-based: and, insofar as such exchanges may be recorded and archived, they thereby move towards the functionality of print, which makes words into objects, removed from their authors. But where secondary orality for Ong was thus more of a synthesis of current and earlier communication technologies, postmodern theorists characteristically applied the distinction between secondary orality, on the one hand, and print and literacy, on the other, in a dualistic fashion: the result was (again) the radical split between modernity (literacy-print) and postmodernity (secondary orality). These two sets of dualisms then made it possible to believe that an emerging cyberspace would quickly and completely replace the practices and institutions associated with Enlightenment reason, literacy and print. (For more detailed accounts of this brief overview, see Slater 2002, Cavanagh 2007). If we are, in fact, simply disembodied minds inhabiting a virtual cyberspace radically divorced from what enthusiasts contemptuously referred to as ‘meatspace’ (Gibson 1984: 239; Barlow 1996), then education would indeed be most ideally carried out in an exclusively virtual online environment as well. Hence, at least within the US context, along with the imminent end of ‘meatspace’ in general, 1990s enthusiasts proclaimed the impending end of the book, along with the disappearance of ‘bricks-and-mortar’ schools and so-called ‘seated’ (in contrast with online or virtual) classrooms: all of this unpleasant materiality would be replaced instead by communication in the form of information processed and exchanged exclusively through electronic media. These early visions of revolution, however, quickly crashed upon a range of both theoretical and real-world problems. To begin with, the Cartesian

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mind-body dualism – itself long rejected by philosophers on various grounds – was dramatically countered in emerging research in such disciplines as learning theory and cognitive psychology. More contemporary understandings of the human being as a knowing subject now stress the essential role of embodiment to our processes of learning, recalling and then enacting our knowledge in the world (cf. Stuart forthcoming). Similarly, overly simple postmodernist dualisms fell by the wayside, including the dualistic (mis)reading of the secondary orality of cyberspace as opposed to print and literacy. Finally, while these developments were taking place at more theoretical levels, at the pragmatic level, initial efforts to develop online education in earnest began to demonstrate that the real costs of developing and implementing online educational materials far exceeded initial estimates. Finally, especially as institutions sought to cash in on a burgeoning global demand for online courses, online educators quickly encountered two sorts of stubborn obstacles. The first are the manifold problems created by the diverse, and oftentimes conflicting, cultures of online participants. To see how this is so, I begin with representative efforts to take up frameworks of cultural analysis – starting with those developed by Hall (1976) and Hofstede (1980, 1983, 1984, 1991) – first with regard to intercultural communication via ICTs in general, and then specifically with regard to online learning. While Hofstede and Hall are widely and, up to a point, effectively, used by researchers for such analyses, several important criticisms of these frameworks make clear two important limits to their usefulness. One is their inability to appropriately inform the design of online environments for participants of multiple cultures, including instructors. The other is their lack of interest in issues about how to ‘be’ in these environments, a dimension that I address next, and which has also been foregrounded by other chapters in this book. Indeed, once these serious limitations to Hall and Hofstede become clear, we are then faced with an embarrassing ‘theory gap’: while more sophisticated theories are emerging (e.g. Baumgartner 2003, Cantoni et al. 2006), there appears to be no well-grounded theory/theories sufficiently comprehensive to do justice to the multiple dimensions of ‘culture’ that have been demonstrated to impact cross-cultural online communication and learning. The second obstacle is nothing less than the individual learner as such, that is, the person who blends multiple cultures and subcultures in specific ways, unique to each individual, coupled with his or her own characteristic learning style. I highlight two levels of difficulty here, beginning with the individual as a member of multiple and shifting cultures, and who thereby represents a distinctive set of the multiple possible combinations of national and linguistic cultures, youth culture(s), ethnic and/or other subculture(s), etc. Such individuals may largely escape the relatively broad

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frameworks developed by Hall and Hofstede. Moreover, as Hewling (2005) has documented with particular force regarding online teaching environments, such individuals online create in collaboration with one another their own new cultural amalgams – distinctive syntheses of various elements drawn from diverse cultures that again escape even our limited models of cultural analysis as applied to online learning. As I emphasize in my concluding remarks, none of these observations are intended to pose fatal objections to the enterprise of online learning. Rather, I offer these in the conviction that only by recognizing both the strengths and limitations of our technologies – most especially, vis-`a-vis the central but still relatively neglected role of culture – will we be able to realize their best potentials for teaching and learning.

Revolution versus reality: The 1990s’ promises and the twenty-first century realities of online education As we have begun to see, English-language conceptions and enthusiasms for ‘cyberspace’ – the metaphorical place in which human beings and machines (such as artificial agents) may communicate with one another by way of networked ICTs – were marked early on by a presumed Cartesian, radical split between mind and body. In the terms made popular by William Gibson’s seminal novel, Neuromancer , the body belongs to an openly despised ‘meatspace’ – while the mind can enjoy god-like freedom in ‘cyberspace’ (e.g. Gibson 1984: 239). The peak of techno-utopian optimism regarding such liberation in cyberspace is represented in Barlow’s ‘Declaration of the independence of cyberspace’ – a declaration that likewise calls for ‘liberation’, largely in the form of escape from ‘meatspace’ (Barlow 1996). The 1990s rhetoric of ‘revolution’ via ICTs was further fuelled by a prominent theory of communication – one affiliated with the work of Innis (1951), McLuhan (1962, 1964), Ong (1982) and Eisenstein (1983) and for discussion, see Chesebro and Bertelsen 1996). Taking diverse forms of communication as (at least necessary) conditions of culture, this framework argued that modern institutions (e.g. democratic polity, natural science, the liberal state, etc.) were closely wedded to the communication technologies of print and literacy. As we have seen, Ong famously argued that an emerging cyberspace would be marked by a ‘secondary orality’. While for Ong, secondary orality of necessity rested on and incorporated both literacy and print, for postmodern enthusiasts caught in the spell of simple dualisms between modernity (as affiliated with literacy and print) and postmodernity (affiliated with secondary orality), Ong’s contrast, when (mis)understood dualistically, nicely supported the larger vision of an imminent and revolutionary overturning of modern institutions.

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It is also the case (at least in the West) that ‘revolution’ sells, and so it is not an accident that more or less every new technology and technological development, ranging from personal computers to blogs, is introduced into the marketplace with breathless claims that technology X is ‘revolutionary’ (‘Join the blog revolution!’ etc.). Given this matrix of economic, political and theoretical factors, it is not surprising that higher education likewise jumped on the ostensibly revolutionary bandwagon inaugurated by networked ICTs and prevailing conceptions of ‘cyberspace’. At least within the US context, proponents of distance education – now migrating from its primarily paper-based correspondence models and early efforts to exploit radio and TV into the online world – hailed the imminent end of the book, and with it, ‘bricks-and-mortar’ schools and their ‘seated’ classrooms (both pejorative terms defining traditional higher education from the standpoint of the purely ‘virtual’). But as symbolized by the (in)famous dot.com collapse at the beginning of the twenty-first century, 1990s ‘proponents’ visions and claims of imminent revolution, whether in the political or educational orders, soon ran aground on several stubborn realities. In addition to emerging insights regarding the essential role of embodiment for the learning, knowing and enacting self, additional empirical research began to demonstrate that Cartesian assumptions regarding a radical mind-body split fail to materialize, so to speak, in a ‘cyberspace’ radically distinct from an ostensible ‘meatspace’ (cf. chap. 9: 120–131). So, for example, while ‘virtual communities’ certainly offer unique facilities and advantages, in large measure, such communities remain closely connected with their participants’ real-world bodies, and thereby their real-world histories, values, traditions, etc. (e.g. Baym 2002; Slater 2002; Cavanagh 2007, ch. 8: 102–119). Similarly, what we may call the postmodernist (mis)reading of the Innis-Ong schema began to fray in the face of several challenges, beginning with a criticism of its tendency towards an overly simple technological determinism that is likewise no longer supported by empirical evidence (Ess 1999; Slater 2002: 534). Perhaps most persuasively, emerging economic realities likewise confounded 1990s enthusiasms. In particular, contrary to hopes that distance education would serve as a lucrative cash cow for universities facing continuously increasing costs (Carr 2001), experience and a number of hard-nosed analyses demonstrated that the costs of designing, producing and implementing computer-mediated distance education far exceeded original assumptions and estimates (e.g. Rumble 2001; Trucano 2005; cf. Ess 2006). Finally, as institutions understandably sought to profit from a burgeoning global demand for online courses, two sorts of additional obstacles emerged, beginning with the manifold problems created by the diverse, and oftentimes conflicting, cultures of online participants. As educators attempted to come to grips with the role of culture in shaping online interaction and

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communication by taking up a number of frameworks for cultural analysis – primarily, those developed by Hall (1976) and Hofstede (1980, 1983, 1984, 1991) – a second difficulty emerged: namely, that of the individual learner who, for a variety of important reasons, confounded the cultural analyses initially sought by online educators as ways of resolving the problems and conflicts, ostensibly rooted in culture, which appeared in the online classroom.

Transnational online learning: ‘culture’ as a solution – ‘culture’ as a problem ‘Culture’ interacts with online learning in a range of ways, beginning with a characteristic effort to ignore it altogether. Despite the fact that ICTs now connect more than one-sixth of the world’s population, thereby facilitating cross-cultural contact with astonishing speed and scope, there remains a remarkable assumption among many ICT designers (including those in the field of online education) that ‘culture’ is largely irrelevant to their efforts. So, for example, in their interviews with instructional designers, Rogers et al. quote an interviewee they refer to pseudonymously as ‘Derek’: I believe that good instructional design principles and techniques are universal, cross-cultural. It doesn’t matter where in the world they are coming from [. . .]. (Rogers et al. 2007: 210) The available evidence suggests exactly the contrary. As with every other dimension of human activity, so with ICTs: their design, usages and effects are deeply shaped by culture. Broadly, this can be seen in a wide range of examples of failures of ICT design and implementation. Such failures can be traced to, and thereby bring to the foreground, fatal contrasts and conflicts between the cultural values and communicative preferences embedded in ICTs (i.e. their design, implementation and intended outcomes), and the communicative preferences and cultural values of the ‘target’ cultures in which specific users are located. (For a representative overview of this literature, see: Ess 2001; Ess & Sudweeks 2001a and b, 2003, 2005). But this means more specifically that online learning technologies and techniques grounded in one’s culture/s will likewise reflect the cultural values and communicative preferences of that culture, including basic assumptions regarding what sorts of knowledge(s) are of value (and hence to be learned) and how those knowledges are to be acquired. As we shall soon see, when taken up by students in cultures shaped by different assumptions and values, including different understandings of what counts as valuable knowledge and how such knowledge is to be acquired, such implementations generally fail.

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So, for example, Postma has documented how South African Learning Centres – as designed by whites for use by indigenous South Africans – fail to accomplish their well-intended goals of helping indigenous peoples acquire the skills and literacy needed to successfully engage in the ‘information society’. In particular, Postma notes a sharp cultural conflict between the pedagogical and epistemological assumptions of the ICT designers, and those of their indigenous clients. Briefly, white designers follow the European ‘quiet library’ model (my term), one that emphasizes individual and silent study of texts – thereby requiring high literacy skills. In contrast, for many indigenous peoples, knowledge and learning are usually collective activities – and these are indeed often noisy, in part as they emphasize group oral discussion and/or performative expression of important knowledge in song and dance as technologies of memory appropriate to oral societies (Postma 2001; cf. Addison and Sirkissoon 2004; Snyman and Hulbert 2004). Similar contrasts have been documented with regard to efforts to work with the Maori people of New Zealand (Duncker 2002; Keegan et al. 2004). In both instances, the not-so-surprising result is that these Learning Centres largely fail to accomplish their intended goals. Of course, there have been efforts to analyze ‘culture’, both with regard to intercultural communication online more generally, and within online learning in particular, in order to avoid these sorts of culturally rooted failures (e.g. Williams 2000; Chambers 2003). As mentioned earlier, within the larger literature, briefly, a number of important analyses begin with the work of Hall (1976) and Hofstede (1980, 1983, 1984, 1991). Three of the five cultural axes developed by Hofstede have emerged as especially salient to online analyses of culture: Individualism vis-`a-vis Collectivism: more collective cultures (indigenous cultures, classical China, Panama, Ecuador) stress the importance of cooperation and group harmony, while more individualist cultures (United States, Australia) stress individual initiative, competition and recognition. Uncertainty Avoidance: high uncertainty avoidance cultures (Greece, Portugal) avoid uncertainty, including change, while low uncertainty cultures (Jamaica, Singapore) tend to embrace change. Power Distance: high power distance cultures (e.g. Malaysia, Guatemala, Mexico) accept hierarchies and affiliated disparities between power, wealth and status, while low power distance cultures (Austria, Israel, New Zealand) emphasize greater equality. (Callahan 2005; Hermeking 2005) The remaining two axes – Long-Term Orientation (the ‘Confucian’ axis) and Masculinity (emphasizing traditional gender roles) – generally

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Learning Cultures in Online Education seem to have little impact on online communication: but see Baumgartner (2003).

To be sure, numerous researchers have made good use of these first three axes as frameworks for analyzing cross-cultural communication online (e.g. ¨ Callahan 2005; Hermeking 2005; Wurtz 2005). At the same time, however, Hall and Hofstede have shown themselves to be vulnerable to both theoretical critique and empirical limitations. To begin with, L¨ubcke (2006) has documented how Hofstede’s work assumed a national culture as something largely fixed and shared in equal degrees by all its members. This approach misses, however, equally critical elements of regional cultures within a national culture (e.g. between northern and southern France: see Deyrich & Matas-Runquist 2006). Moreover, Hofstede assumed that ‘culture’ was something largely fixed and homogenous – whereas ‘culture’ appears rather to be fluid and in a constant process (whether slowly or quickly) of interacting with and thereby hybridizing with other cultures. Also, specific individuals can vary significantly in terms of how far they reflect Hofstedian cultural characteristics such as Uncertainty Avoidance, Individualism-Collectivism, Power Distance, etc. (L¨ubcke 2006: 536–539). Moreover, the relatively small number of cultural dimensions identified by Hofstede (as well as Hall), while useful up to a point, clearly fail to encompass ‘culture’ as more broadly implicating some fifty to seventy elements as identified by anthropologists and linguists (e.g. the widely used ‘iceberg’ model of culture, Roche 2008: 230.) For his part, Hall developed the distinction between high context/low content (HC) and low context/high content (LC) cultures (1976). As the term suggests, communication in HC cultures depends more on context, including the rich milieu of specific social and family relationships, and as conveyed at least as much by nonverbal forms of communication such as gaze, gesture, body distance, etc., as by explicit verbal/textual statements. HC communication tends to be more indirect than direct: in HC cultures, the responsibility for understanding a message lies more with the receiver than the sender (W¨urtz 2005). LC cultures, in contrast, stress the content of a message and a correlative emphasis on explicitness and clarity as the responsibility of the sender. Broadly, the Germanic cultures (the Netherlands, Germany, Austria and the Scandinavian countries) are strongly LC, while Arabic and Japanese cultures are strongly HC. Between these two poles, Anglo-American cultures are moderately LC, while Latin cultures (French, Italian and Latin-American, respectively) are increasingly HC (see Hermeking 2005: Figure 3). While more recent research and frameworks find that Hall and Hofstede remain salient and useful, it appears that at least twenty-two cultural factors affect the design and appropriation of new technologies (Baumgartner

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2003). Hence, while Hall and Hofstede remain useful starting points for analyzing cross-cultural communication online, it is increasingly clear that their frameworks must be expanded and refined (Ess & Sudweeks 2005). A similar pattern of development may be discerned in the domain of online education – what Koch has called ‘intercultural e-learning’ (2006: 218). To begin with, Rogers et al. observe that, just as in CMC and HumanComputer-Interaction (HCI) literature more broadly, there is a limited but growing awareness of the role of culture and cultural differences in online instructional design (2007: 198). Nonetheless, they identify three major obstacles to attending to culture – beyond, that is, the sort of na¨ıve ethnocentrism at work in designers such as ‘Derek’ who appear to believe that their understanding of things is universal. These obstacles are: (1) primary attention to content development; (2) lack of evaluation in real-world practice; and (3) organizational structures – including economic limitations – that work against attending to culture (Rogers et al. 2007: 207ff.) For her part, Koch agrees that there has been relatively little attention paid to ‘culture’ in the literature and research relevant to online education – even though the influence of social constructivism in both traditional and online pedagogical theory and research inevitably points to the role of culture (2006: 218ff.). Nonetheless, Koch identifies three different conceptions of ‘culture’ in an emerging literature in intercultural e-learning: culture as structure (including the approaches associated with Hofstede); culture as text (e.g. approaches shaped by cultural anthropology, including the seminal figures of Geertz 1973, and Hannerz 1992); and culture as practice and community (affiliated especially with Lave & Wenger 2002). While all three offer advantages, the second approach – culture as text – begins with a critical assumption regarding culture, one that overcomes one of the main weaknesses we have seen in Hofstede: rather than viewing ‘culture’ as homogenous, static and hermetically sealed off from other cultures, this approach rather begins with: [. . .] a more flexible understanding of culture in which the adaptability, flexibility and creativity of cultural communities are emphasized. Cultural belonging is then understood as the result of a self-portrayal, or rather the construction of an individual identity, which is actively produced and performed situationally, in order to create differences between one group and others or to differentiate oneself. (Koch 2006: 220) This approach further recognizes that ‘technology itself [is] a culturally produced and thus also culturally shaped ‘artifact’ (sic) – in contrast, that is, with the technological instrumentalism that predominates in much HCI and CMC literature; that is, the view that technology is somehow culturally neutral (‘just a tool’) and hence that its design and implementation require

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no attention to its cultural origins, etc. More broadly, this approach means that: Digital communication environments are seen here as places in which identity can be constructed and negotiated through interaction with other participants. Online scenarios are therefore relatively open, only slightly culturally coded spaces, which, because of this openness, invite the formation of a so-called ‘third culture’. (Raybourn et al. 2003) In this ‘third culture’, individuals combine elements from the different cultural traditions in which they were socialized to form their own, new, self-created identity. In doing so, they transcend their own traditionally, nationally or ethnically influenced cultural ties in favour of constructs in which elements from different traditions are recombined to form a new cultural self-perception. (Koch 2006: 220). Such ‘third cultures’ are increasingly manifest – in part, precisely, as artefacts of the rapidly expanding cross-cultural encounters online made possible by the internet and the web. For example, Japan, China and Thailand have – until recently – viewed anything resembling individual privacy as strongly negative (e.g. Nakada & Tamura 2005; Lu¨ 2005; Rananand, 2007, for the respective countries above). This characteristic suspicion of, and contempt for, individual ‘privacy’ rests on assumptions central to each culture – assumptions sharply contrasting with those undergirding modern Western notions of the individual and of the correlative importance of personal privacy as a primary good and essential right. It is hence striking that in these countries, young people – as influenced by their extensive exposure to Western cultures through diverse media – increasingly insist upon Western-like notions of individual privacy. These notions, however, remain shaded and limited by their specific contexts in societies still deeply shaped by Confucian and Buddhist traditions. What is emerging here, then, is a ‘third culture’ notion of privacy, one that conjoins both Western and Asian values and views (see Ess 2005, for further discussion). Hence, the ‘culture as text’ approach seems especially well-suited to online classrooms involving participants from more than one culture, precisely as practitioners here point towards just the emergence of ‘third identities’ as part and parcel of the online educational experience, an emergence that frequently eludes the broad cultural frameworks (e.g. as affiliated with Hofstede) that educators have sought to apply to the online environment. So, for example, in addition to Raybourn et al. (2003), Rodrigues (2004) documents the emergence of a hybridization between (North) American formality and Brazilian informality in an internet-based learning project.

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Individuals as the problem: cultures, subcultures and learning styles Hybridization in online classrooms thus evades extant frameworks of cultural analysis: moreover, the individual learner likewise escapes such frameworks – first, as we have seen, as the individual is more than simply a token for a presumptively monolithic national culture. In addition, individuals represent a constantly shifting intersection of multiple cultures and subcultures, which in turn alter over time at varying rates, that is, from national/linguistic cultures that change relatively slowly, to youth cultures, which change very quickly (e.g. as we have seen, with regard to such fundamental notions as privacy and the nature of the self). A given individual may further reflect some number of ethnic and/or other subcultures, including those shaped by economic and social class. Insofar as each individual may be thought of as a distinctive construction and inflection of each of these diverse levels of ‘culture’, she or he may inhabit a near-infinite continuum of possibilities that are only poorly and incompletely captured by the five cultural dimensions articulated by Hall and Hofstede. More radically, as we have seen, the cross-cultural online learning environment facilitates such individuals’ creation of distinctive new syntheses and amalgams of diverse cultural elements that again escape overly simple frameworks of cultural analyses. Hewling (2005), for example, documents forcefully how students in one of her intercultural online classrooms repeatedly exhibited communicative behaviours and values that (a) either could not have been predicted by using Hofstede or, worse yet (b), directly contradicted whatever predictions one might have made on the basis of those schema. So Hewling finds that among her students – Canadians, a North American, and a Sudanese – concerns about authority are expressed primarily by the (North) Americans. But according to Hofstede’s framework, (North) Americans, as members of a low-power distant country, should be least concerned about issues of authority. Rather, as members of an individualist country, according to Hofstede, these students should be most likely to express their opinions directly and without hesitation. Hewling (2005), however, shows that this was not the case. For her part, Hewling proposes a content analysis methodology that she argues is more appropriate for analyzing the intercultural communication that takes place in online classrooms (2005) – a methodology that we can understand to incorporate both Koch’s second approach (‘culture as text’) and third approach (‘culture as community and practice’) to cultural analysis (Koch 2006: 221ff.). Additional frameworks for cultural analysis have also been proposed. One of the most notable has been developed by Cantoni and his colleagues. Their frameworks take up Baumgartner’s much

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more complex matrix of cultural dimensions, one that adds to Hall and Hofstede an additional seventeen cultural factors developed in part from the theoretical work of Gould (2005). The resulting framework is then applied to a project involving ICTs for teacher-training in Brazil (Cantoni et al. 2006). But again, this sophisticated enhancement of Hall and Hofstede as a framework for cultural analysis of intercultural online learning reiterates the point already made regarding intercultural communication online: while Hall and Hofstede (among others) may be used in initial ways, these frameworks provide only limited, and sometimes profoundly misleading, approaches to the realities of intercultural communication online. While new, more comprehensive frameworks and approaches are being developed (e.g. by Cantoni et al.) that promise to offer us better understanding of online intercultural communication – and thus, of how we can shape both our technologies and their uses to foster the most effective intercultural communication and e-learning. We have only just begun.

Conclusion: ‘culture’ betwixt and between We have seen that with regard to intercultural communication online in general, and intercultural learning online in particular, the role of culture is both central (contrary to ethnocentric assumptions that one’s own views, principles, etc., may be universal) and profoundly challenging. Some initial frameworks – such as Hall and Hofstede – can help at least up to a point. But they are also limited in important ways: in particular, as providing us with perhaps five useful cultural dimensions, they thereby omit an extensive range of additional factors that have been demonstrated to affect implementation and use of ICTs across diverse cultures. While more recent approaches (e.g. Cantoni et al.) take up more sophisticated frameworks, we are nonetheless left with a remarkable ‘theory gap’: despite the clear role and centrality of cultural factors in intercultural communication online, including intercultural e-learning. As yet, we cannot point to a theory or set of theories regarding culture, communication and ICTs that is sufficiently sophisticated to adequately (much less completely) capture ‘culture’ in ways that would help us design still more effective online learning environments and approaches. In addition, we have seen that the individual learner confounds even the best efforts at cultural analysis, both because she or he represents a m´elange of diverse cultural and subcultural elements, in varying degrees and at various times, and because she or he, precisely as facilitated by the communicative venues of online learning, is able to construct in, collaboration with her or his cohorts distinctive new syntheses of diverse cultural elements.

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Metaphorically, these new syntheses and amalgams – each a unique permutation of an expansive range of diverse cultural and subcultural elements (themselves also in flux) – pop up like mushrooms after a spring rain: each one theoretically predictable as the outcome of a limited set of known factors, but wildly prolific in reality, exploding out of our simple coordinate grids into nearly infinite possible combinations that confound even the best efforts at analysis. As Spivak has said, ‘No langue-parole or system-process distinction can catch this play, culture at work. Culture alive is always on the run, always changeful’ (1999: 356ff.). But Spivak goes on to say that ‘[t]here is no reason to throw up one’s hands over this’ (ibid). As the work of Cantoni et al. (2006) and Rogers et al. (2007) suggest, new and promising approaches to analyzing cultural dimensions of online communication and learning are emerging. But clearly, much remains to be done, starting with overcoming the prevailing and stubborn ethnocentric belief that the technologies, pedagogies and instructional design techniques of one’s own culture are somehow ‘universal’. As an increasing number of researchers are starting to make very clear, such an assumption is simply na¨ıve and inevitably fatal to efforts to exploit ICTs for effective cross-cultural communication. So, for example, in his study of Chinese vis-`a-vis German website design and user responses, Bucher has pointed out that ‘. . . design indeed is highly culturally specific and [. . .] universal principles – for example of website usability – are implausible’ (2004: 425). At the same time, within the domain of online learning, Chen and Mashhadi point out that some are beginning to realize that ‘culture itself cannot be objectified as just another factor to be programmed into designing a distance learning course’ (Chen & Mashhadi 1998: 10; cited in Rogers et al. 2007: 214). Online education clearly offers important pedagogical advantages and opportunities – including the opportunity to engage with ‘the Other’ – that is, the other human being in the manifold ways in which she or he is not simply like us, but also irreducibly different from us (e.g. Levinas 1963). But if we are to successfully exploit these advantages and possibilities, we must learn to avoid the sorts of failures resulting from na¨ıve ethnocentrism, including what I have called ‘computer-mediated colonization’ (Ess 2002a). Such colonization of ‘the Other’ is a matter of attempting to eliminate the irreducible differences that define the Other as radically distinct from oneself. We attempt to eliminate these differences by foisting our own values, beliefs, practices, etc., upon the Other, and thereby remaking him or her in our image. Such colonization – whether in its well-known historical forms or its more recent instantiations in online environments, including in the very design of online learning tools – follows from the ethnocentric insistence (especially on the part of those already politically, economically and

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culturally dominant in our world) that our own approaches are universal rather than culturally relative. Since the time of the ancient Greeks, people in diverse cultures have recognized precisely the dangers of such colonization and its affiliated ethnocentrism. To overcome ethnocentrism and thereby avoid colonization requires us to know the Other as ‘the Other’; that is, in ways that recognize, respect and foster the irreducible differences that define us as distinct from one another. So far, at least, this is done more easily and directly by encountering the Other face-to-face – ideally, within his or her cultural context, rather than our own – so as to minimize the temptation to impose our own cultural values and practices, as ostensibly ‘universal’ upon the Other. The critical value of such direct encounters is only reinforced by our increasing recognition of the role of embodiment in our learning, knowing and enacting our knowledge: from this perspective, we come to know the Other as a complete human being only by experiencing one another as embodied human beings who are members of specific communities, marked by specific cultures and subcultures, etc. (cf. Dreyfus 2001). At the same time, however, our encounters with one another online – at least with current technologies and applications – often miss much of the elements of our face-to-face encounters with one another that most powerfully convey our irreducible differences from one another. That is, in our offline encounters with one another as embodied beings, the full difference of the Other is on display, so to speak, for example, through dress, actions, voice, gesture and the whole suite of behaviours that both define much of our sense of who we are – and at the same time are culturally relative. But many, sometimes most, of these elements are eliminated in the online context, making it easy to presume that ‘the Other’ is indeed more or less just like us, and hence we need not worry about ethnocentrism and its attendant dangers. In this light, we can now see that the 1990s dualisms and enthusiasms for the disembodied mind in cyberspace raised the dangers of computermediated colonization in two ways. Again, insofar as we ignore culture in the design and implementation of ICTs and online-learning environments, and thereby simply assume in a na¨ıve ethnocentrism that our ways are universal, we will almost inevitably colonize ‘other’ cultures by imposing our ways. Moreover, insofar as our engagements with one another online mask or suppress the many ways we represent ourselves as embodied beings and thereby as irreducibly different from one another, these engagements thus reduce our sense of the irreducible differences between ourselves and the Other: in doing so, they make it all the easier to presume, again, that our ways are universal. That is, this presumption is not as readily or dramatically challenged in online environments that minimize the forceful

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representation of radical difference by the Other as an embodied being: such interactions thus reinforce the temptation of na¨ıve ethnocentrism to assume that our ways are indeed universal. Happily, more recent developments in our understanding of embodiment further underline the importance of face-to-face encounters to the learning experience – and thereby promise to help offset the dangers of na¨ıve ethnocentrism in an immaterial cyberspace. This importance is recognized in praxis, for example, in the hybrid models of online education that are increasingly preferred in those contexts where at least one or two face-to-face meetings per course can be arranged; (Ess 2006; cf. Slater 2002’s discussion of businesses moving to similar hybrids, so-called ‘clicks and mortar’ companies – in sharp contrast with the 1990s promised elimination of ‘bricks and mortar’ [2002: 544]). Moreover, when meeting face-to-face is not an option, the central importance of encountering the Other as an embodied being is further apparent, for example, in online learners’ efforts to ‘write the body back in’ in their virtual encounters with one another (Macfadyen, this book). Similarly, Lamy has described how online learners find ways to coconstruct with one another ‘perceptual spaces’ that include possibilities of re-presenting aspects of their embodied selves (forthcoming: 399; cf. 2006, 85ff.). These observations and developments thus speak powerfully against the Cartesian belief that all we need to know about one another is contained within a disembodied mind as manifested in a virtual reality. Rather, when we encounter one another face-to-face – or, absent that option, when we seek to recreate our embodied selves online – we recognize that dealing with one another in strong ways is to deal with one another as embodied beings. And most importantly for our purposes: when we deal with one another as embodied beings – whether face-to-face and/or in online encounters that seek in various ways to write in at least some of the sensual elements of face-to-face meetings – we engage with one another as distinctive human beings first, not simply as tokens for overly simple and overly generalized accounts of cultures and subcultures.

Chapter 2

Identity, Gender and Language in Synchronous Cybercultures: A Cross-Cultural Study Charlotte N. Gunawardena University of New Mexico, USA

Ahmed Idrissi Alami Purdue University, USA

Gayathri Jayatilleke Open University of Sri Lanka, Sri Lanka

Fadwa Bouachrine Al Akhawayn University, Morocco

Introduction The integration of the internet into contemporary society worldwide has had a profound impact on the way we communicate, relate to ourselves and to each other. Different users, depending on various characteristics such as age, gender, education and sociocultural background, access the internet for various communication needs such as exchanging e-mails, making new friends or engaging in a serious discussion. Whatever the goal, users need to adjust to this new computer-mediated interactive environment, and they do so either in ways that reveal native cultural values, or reflect the creation of new cultural norms and conventions. The nature of the tool that mediates communication impacts and alters their perceptions of the communication process as well, and how they perceive their social roles. As Joinson (2003) observes ‘tools are more than just something to make a task easier. They change your way of thinking, of approaching a task (and indeed the nature

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of the task itself) and can reap unimagined wider social changes’ (2003: 2–3). The development of tools from the early alphabetic and numbering systems to the new communication technologies has transformed not only the tasks performed by interacting with them, but also human capabilities. Vygotsky (1978) referred to this as ‘mediation’ and argued that tools as well as other people allow for the extension of human capabilities. Cole and Engestr¨om (2007) observe that artefacts that mediate human activity have changed. So, how does computer-mediated communication (CMC) with its ability to provide for both synchronous and asynchronous, text-based interaction between individuals or groups, across geographical distances and cultures, impact the communication process? Ellerman (2007) describes three main approaches to understanding the impact of CMC on society: (1) the technological determinism approach (McLuhan 1967), which examines the ways in which technology shapes society, but takes little account of social context or individual action; (2) the ‘uses and gratifications’ approach adopted by social psychologists who examined human needs first and how technology was adopted to satisfy these needs, an approach later developed into social information processing perspectives (Walther & Parks 2002) that attempted to understand interpersonal communication on the internet; and (3) the historical context approach, which examines the various contexts in which the technology is introduced and employed, and how technology affects and is, in turn, affected by the social, technological, and political context (Rowland 1997). The second and third approaches enable us to examine the psychological and sociocultural processes that underpin mediated communication online from the standpoint of the native cultures of the participants. This chapter aims at developing our understanding of the sociocultural processes of synchronous online communication from the perspective of two different cultural contexts, Morocco and Sri Lanka, in order to draw implications for the development of learning cultures within online communities. To better understand the sociocultural processes that play a role in CMC, it is important to examine the informal use of the medium in different cultural contexts to determine the communication conventions naturally developed by internet users; in this way, we can begin to understand how various communities adapt their media-rich communication styles to the text-oriented medium of the internet. People, when communicating in person, automatically generate meaning through different ways such as dress, nonverbal behaviour, spatial distance, manner of speaking, etc. However, in cyberspace, users must depend on other means of creating such nuanced presentations of themselves, their ideas and even their personalities. We have chosen, then, to look at two communities, which have high-context cultures, namely, Morocco and Sri Lanka.

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The purpose of the preliminary study discussed in this chapter was to explore what happens when individuals whose self-images are characterized by a sense of group identity based on factors such as nationality, ethnicity, religion, gender, language and socioeconomic status, use the culturally heterogeneous and technically ephemeral forums of the internet to pursue personal communication goals. We undertook the study with the intention of developing a conceptual framework for the sociocultural environment of an online community based on the factors that emerge from the communication conventions and processes employed by internet chat users in Morocco and Sri Lanka. Such a framework would enable us to suggest implications about the role of learning cultures in the activity of such a community. In addition, it could provide insight in to how we can design online environments or learning spaces, which encourage the types of communication we are striving to support, especially when we may be addressing participants from high-context and/or multilingual cultures.

Study design and context We adopted a qualitative ethnographic perspective (Merriam 1998) to conduct interviews with participants and examine communication conventions, and grounded theory building (Glaser & Strauss 1967; Strauss & Corbin 1998; Charmaz 2003) to develop the conceptual framework for a sociocultural environment for online communities. Our collaborative study design involved four researchers who understood the cultural contexts studied and brought in an interdisciplinary perspective to the study. Interview questions addressing the purpose of the study were initially developed by the lead researcher and revised in collaboration with the co-researchers who also participated in data collection and analysis. Interview questions were translated into Moroccan Arabic, French, Sinhala and Tamil, and interviews were conducted in these languages and English. The interdisciplinary nature of the research team, the diverse expertise and cultural knowledge, enabled the conduct of culturally sensitive research, and culturally appropriate understanding of the issues. The study was conducted in the Middle Atlas region of Morocco between September and January 2004, and in small and large towns in Sri Lanka from February to July 2005. Morocco and Sri Lanka exemplify two very different cultural contexts. Morocco is an Arab, Berber, Muslim, Mediterranean African country, more recently colonized by the French, speaking standard Arabic, Moroccan Arabic and Berber and French. Sri Lanka is a Sinhalese, Tamil and Muslim country, predominantly Buddhist, more recently colonized by the English, speaking Sinhala, Tamil and English.

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Both countries are similar in that they have diverse minority groups with different languages and religions represented in the population. Interviews were conducted in internet caf´es or cybercaf´es and university computer labs in four different locations in the Middle Atlas region of Morocco, and in the western, southern and eastern part of Sri Lanka, which represented the ethnic and religious diversity in the population. Participants were predominantly the general public who used internet caf´es and university students who used the internet in campus labs. Although the internet is constantly growing in popularity in these two countries, many cannot afford computers and internet connections in their homes, and gather at internet caf´es to use the internet. We gathered data conducting individual and focus group interviews with fifty-five adults in Morocco, which included thirty-six males and nineteen females, and with fifty adults in Sri Lanka, which included thirty-three males and seventeen females. This study focused primarily on participants who used chat forums to engage in conversation and build relationships with people they did not know. In both these countries, fewer women frequented internet caf´es, reflecting social taboos. In Morocco, the caf´e was and still is the domain of men and this transferred to the concept of the internet caf´e as well. In Galle, a mid-size, fairly conservative town in Sri Lanka, only one in ten users was a female.

Culture online As we began this study, our major challenge was to arrive at a definition of culture. As Faiola and Matei (2005) have noted, there are two aspects to be considered: the computer as a mediator in the communication process, and the people engaged in the communication as persons influenced by a complex blend of cultural contexts. We wanted to look for a definition that would incorporate both these elements. Given the centrality of culture to human life (Vygotsky 1978; Shuter 1990) and subscribing to the view that culture is present in mediated communication in the language employed and the manner in which communication happens, we felt that it was necessary to adopt an encompassing definition of culture for describing the two cultural perspectives (Moroccan and Sri Lankan) in our study. While we will refer to participants in our study as Moroccan or Sri Lankan, indicating a national context, we believe that these individuals do not subscribe to a specific, fixed, national culture in the online context. The bipolar dimensions of nationally held cultural values put forward by Hofstede (1980, 2001) individualism-collectivism, power distance, uncertainty avoidance, masculinity-femininity and long-term

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orientation, while a useful explanatory framework despite criticisms leveled at it (Carbaugh 2007; Fougere & Moulettes 2007; Kim 2007) is not an appropriate framework to describe communication processes in the online context. For example, although Sri Lankan and Moroccan societies would be classified in Hofstede’s framework as high-power distance societies, participants from these countries look to the online medium as a liberating medium that equalizes status differences, thereby providing them with a level playing field. Cultural indicators such as social position, age and authority, personal appearance are relatively weak in the CMC context (Reid 1995). Therefore, their interactions online will not necessarily reflect high-power distance communication. Graiouid (2005) takes this point further by stating that internet chat and discussions are dismantling the traditional power structures in Morocco by allowing previously disenfranchised groups to publicize their concerns. Ess and Sudweeks (2005) and Ess (this book) support this view by providing a considered critique of the applicability of Hofstede’s framework to the online context. The authors note that what interests CMC researchers is how national, as well as other cultural identities such as ethnicity, youth culture, gender, etc., interact with intercultural communication online; that is, removed from the face-to-face setting. Very often those who communicate online identify with multiple frames of reference. The authors note that Hofstede’s framework and to a lesser extent Hall’s (1976, 1984) conceptualization of culture appear to be limited to national cultural differences and thus less well-suited for understanding and researching the multiple cultural differences within nation-states, including the ‘third’ or hybrid identities that are themselves fostered by the cultural flows facilitated by the internet and the web. Despite the criticism, we found Hall’s (1976, 1984) conceptualization of high context and low context communication styles, and implied indirect and direct communication styles, useful for analyzing cultural differences in communication online. In both Moroccan and Sri Lankan cultures, context is important to understanding a message and its connotations. Many Moroccans and Sri Lankans adopt indirect communication styles in face-to-face communication. Therefore, Hall’s conceptualization helped us to analyze if there were changes in communication styles when participants interacted online, or whether they were using the same communication styles online as they would use face-to-face. As we explore how cultural variability plays a role in online communication, ‘the variation within a culture in terms of situations, individuals and socioeconomic status may account for as much or more of the variation in intercultural interpretations of messages as does the difference between the cultures of the individuals involved’ (Rogers & Steinfatt 1999: 96). Kincaid

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(1987) has shown the shortcomings of Western approaches to understanding cultural differences in communication processes. Miike (2000) points out three important themes that emerge in establishing an Asian paradigm of communication: relationality, circularity and harmony, with the underlying assumptions that (a) communication takes place in ‘contexts’ of various relationships; (b) the communicator is both active and passive in multiple contexts; and (c) mutual adaptation is of central importance as adaptation is the key to harmonious communication and relationships. In this regard, it is worthwhile to consider the model developed by Shaw and Barret-Power (1998), which provides a detailed and precise mapping of the elements that constitute cultural differences by stressing the importance of considering the impact of both apparent and less visible aspects of cultural differences. The model differentiates between two sources of cultural differences – readily detectable attributes such as age, gender or national/ethnic origin, and underlying attributes, such as values, perspectives, attitudes, beliefs, conflict resolution styles, socioeconomic and personal status, education, human capital assets, past work experiences and personal expectations. With this understanding of the myriad ways in which cultural variability can be observed, and interpreted, we tried to come to terms with the complexity of culture online, by defining it from the perspective of the internet as a culture in its own right, blurring the boundaries between the real and virtual worlds. Creating and participating in new communities is one of the primary pleasures people are taking in CMC (Baym 1995). Reid (1995) notes that the conventions of CMC enable users to weave a web of communication that ties each person into a sociocultural context. ‘This web of verbal and textual significances that are substitutes for and yet distinct from the networks of meaning of the wider community binds users into a common culture whose specialized meanings allow the sharing of imagined realities’ (1995: 183). Therefore, we adopted the definition of ‘idioculture’ developed by Gary Alan Fine and cited by Cole and Engestr¨om (2007) as our definition of culture online: An idioculture is a system of knowledge, beliefs, behaviors, and customs shared by members of an interacting group to which members can refer and that serve as the basis of further interaction. Members recognize that they share experiences, and these experiences can be referred to with the expectation they will be understood by other members, thus being used to construct a reality for the participants. (Fine 1987: 125) This definition accommodates the idea of culture as a locally emerging activity system involving a briefer stretch of history (Cole & Engestr¨om

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2007), and includes multiple cultural selves and hybrid identities on the internet that interact with each other cross-culturally to form unique cultures of their own. The definition fits well with the ephemeral, fluid nature of the internet, which fuels the development of cybercultures, cultures that emerge among those who use the internet to communicate, developing its own etiquette, norms, customs, ethics and mythology, just as an idioculture does. Along with this definition of culture online, we used frameworks for understanding cultural patterns developed by Sri Lankan researchers (Disanayaka 1998; Wickramasinghe 1997, 2004), and Moroccan researchers (Mernissi 1975; Sadiqi 2003; Graiouid 2005; to explore to what extent the larger sociocultural context of the participants in our study were reflected in their internet communication.

Emerging conceptual framework Through the qualitative ethnographic perspective and the inductive theory generation process employed in the preliminary data analysis, three major themes were identified to constitute a conceptual framework to explain the sociocultural context of internet chat users in Morocco and Sri Lanka. The three themes were identity, gender and language, interacting with each other in their expression in synchronous chat. Identity is expressed through language reflecting the gender roles, either real or assumed, in the online sociocultural context. Three properties emerged related to the expression of identity. They were trust building, self-disclosure and face negotiation. Gender differences were observed in the expression of identity, trust building, self-disclosure and face negotiation. The following sections discuss these themes in detail.

Identity online In chat sessions, identity is expressed by asking for the communicator’s ASL (Age, Sex and Location). Depending on the context, chatters either reveal their true identity, create a different identity, blend or communicate their identity using a pseudonym (referred to as an ID) that expresses their true or imagined character. The chatter uses this information to create an image about his/her interlocutor. Ahmed stated that the revelation of his identity depends on the first question. If he feels the chatter is truthful he would give his real name. On the other hand, Javad noted that it depends if he wants to play, amuse himself and have fun or attempt a serious communication. He usually does not give his real identity. Joinson (2003) has observed that constructing identity through text provides opportunity for people to craft

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an identity that exists quite apart from the usual pressures of real life and impression management. In both countries, chat is perceived as a playful activity, a form of entertainment, a therapeutic agent and a game that does not require the disclosure of true identity from the beginning. It is also perceived as an addiction as many were described as ‘chat addicts’. A participant from Sri Lanka describes the therapeutic nature of chat: One of my females advised me to use Chat when I was undergoing a bad period. She said that chat would help me to boost myself. She told me how to login and how to reply. She advised me to give a false name. But I gave my true name; only the first name. I found that most of them use false names. Chat addiction is also reported by Graiouid (2005), whose study participants indicated that chat has become an essential part of life, and like morning coffee a chat session is necessary to start the day. Others reported parental concern for the amount of time and money spent in the cybercaf´es. For cybercaf´e owners, chat addicts are good clients since they generally spend more for their cybernetic journey. Asynchronous forum discussions on a topic of interest, on the other hand, are regarded as more serious, since they represent an arena for debating ideas and defending opinions. Therefore, respondents would feel more comfortable divulging their true credentials in a forum discussion. The sociocultural context influences online communication as well as gets affected by communication in cyberspace and virtual environments. ‘Whereas the Western concept of “self” is based on the individual, the Moroccan concept of self is based on the Islamic notion of jamac¸ah “community/group” and is, thus inherently plural’ (Sadiqi 2003: 65). One aspect of the collective self is the difficulty that Moroccans have in talking about themselves in public because it is generally considered in Moroccan society as ‘lack of modesty’ (2003: 67). Sadiqi notes that the language of introductions reveals many aspects of a Moroccan’s self. Introductions involve interplay of cultural, social, situational and identity variables, which range from sex, local geographical origin, class, setting, participants’ age and selfinterest. Given this sociocultural context it was interesting to observe the freedom with which many Moroccans played with their identity online. It appears that of the three elements, age and sex are more important than location. Hamid gives his real age and sex. ‘If the other person is not interested in your location, you do not tell’. Giving the location can sometimes hinder access to chatters. Lal, a Sri Lankan male, noted that although he wanted to chat with Western females, they would not respond, only women from the Philippines did.

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Cultural and social stereotyping occurs through names, nicknames and pseudonyms. Mohammed used to have an ID ‘Mohammed’, but decided to change it because when he entered North American and British chat rooms, he was accused of terrorism and was verbally assaulted. He feels his new ID ‘green Python’ is attractive enough to gain access to people. Other IDs used by female participants included: ‘Scarlet’, ‘Diva’ and ‘Tzay’. Sarath, a Sri Lankan male, noted that to appeal to different audiences, he changes his identity. As in this instance, disclosing real names that are strongly associated with a religious, racial or ethnic group could hinder communication online, whereas a nickname can enable a chatter to stay in an online relationship and probably build social presence through other means such as ideas, and taste (Gunawardena et al. 2006). Continual construction and reconstruction of self-identity requires fluidity during virtual interactions (Khalsa 2007), and may influence the way self and group identity is perceived during team interactions in online communities. Discussing how CMC and cybercaf´e culture are appropriated by individuals and groups in Morocco, Graiouid (2005) argues that CMC mediates the construction of cybernetic identities and promotes the rehearsal of invented social and gender relations. This inventive accommodation of the internet referred to as ‘virtual hrig’ in Morocco makes computer-mediated interaction especially through chat and asynchronous discussion groups act as a contradiction to dominant patriarchal and conservative power structures. He points out that cyber interaction is contributing to the expansion of the public sphere in Morocco, and that the construction of ‘cybernetic identities provides disenfranchised communities with a resistance space to deal with global exclusion and marginalization’ (2005: 59). In the traditionbound, isolated and impoverished village of Ainleuh in Morocco, many of the women were looking for relationships with foreigners and Moroccans outside their community as a form of escape. Therefore, construction of identity on the internet and the anonymity afforded by the medium will pave the way for marginalized individuals to express their ideas freely within an online community. Building trust Identity is closely linked to building trust. Many will not reveal their true identity until they can trust the other person. From the initial encounter chatters spend their time trying to determine the trustworthiness of the other person. Chatters use several techniques to establish the trustworthiness of the other person before revealing their true identity. The most common trust-building technique is to ask a series of questions in the initial online contact and ask the same questions again later to determine the

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consistency or inconsistency in the answers. Many mentioned time as an important factor for building trust. This is clear in the technique of using questions over time and repeating them to establish continuity and sameness. If in the same country, chatters give out their mobile phone numbers in order to verify the trustworthiness of the other. Most respondents prefer e-mail when the online relationship gets longer and stronger. They feel that e-mail communication is more ‘serious’ and ‘honest’ than chat. Another advantage of e-mail is that there is less time pressure to answer immediately. Some cannot write fast and this can affect the flow of communication and even the chatter’s interest. Therefore, the speed of writing can be a factor in establishing trust. The use of mobile phones and e-mail is significant because it suggests the ways in which chatters view the development of cyber relationships and how they ‘hierarchize’ the methods of communication: chatting – low risk and easy to dismiss; e-mail – more personal involving larger risk; mobile phones – higher risk, requiring a degree of trust. Self-disclosure Self-disclosure emerged as a factor related to trust-building and expression of identity. Many participants indicated that the trustworthiness of the other is expressed through the disclosure of their private life. They insist on the importance of personal experiences, intimate problems as well as ideas to get to know each other better. Anonymity increases the ability to self-disclose. Joinson (2003) confirms this finding by citing studies that show that visually anonymous CMC leads to higher levels of self-disclosure. Where there is an unequal distribution of power in society, such as in Sri Lanka and Morocco, online communication equalizes participants. Respondents felt that talking online can break barriers to communication between people of different classes, professions and sexes. Anonymity also encourages relationships that are superficial. A male participant noted that it is not necessary to reveal the truth, because he does not have an intention of continuing the friendship. When trust is established, participants are more likely to reveal their true identity. Face negotiation Face is an identity phenomenon. Ting-Toomey (1994) defines face as ‘the presentation of a civilized front to another individual within the webs of interconnected relationships in a particular culture’ (1994: 1). For our study, we defined face as an individual’s claimed conception of his/her positive self-image within interpersonal online interactions. Face negotiation

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was defined as the individual’s intentions to portray his/her self-image in a positive manner to others by utilizing verbal, nonverbal and self-representation methods to support his/her conception of face. In online chat sessions, the nature of the relationship determines reactions to insults and the negotiation of face. Chatters will close the window if the relationship is weak, and employ a variety of techniques to resolve misunderstandings and negotiate face if the relationship is stronger. A 35year-old Sri Lankan male respondent observed: It depends on the friendship. If the friendship is new then you are not bothered. If the friendship is deep then you feel that the person is next to you. In that instance you would like to continue the friendship. Generally, many respondents would first seek an explanation and then decide on other courses of action, such as shutting down the communication, ignoring the person, insulting back, or asking for an apology. An apology is requested if the person or the relationship is valued. E-mail is resorted to in order to clarify the situation, settle misunderstandings and present apologies. E-mail is preferable if the relationship has been going on for a long time and if the insulted person thinks that it is not intentional but is the result of a misunderstanding. According to Oetzel et al. (2000), three distinct factors are consistent with categorizations of face concerns in face negotiation: (1) dominating face work behaviour; (2) avoiding face work behaviour and; (3) integrating face work behaviour. The first factor, dominating face work behaviour, emphasizes the importance of asserting and defending one’s face or self-interest with the use of direct tactics to threaten the other party’s face in order to defeat the other person for self-gain. This behaviour is seen in individuals who are aggressively trying to ‘win the conflict’ and do not care about the other’s face. The second factor, avoiding face work behaviour, emphasizes obliging or saving the face of the other party involved in the conflict in order not to embarrass the other person’s face directly. This behaviour is seen in individuals who do not want to deal directly with the conflict, or are concerned with maintaining relational harmony. The third factor, integrating face work behaviour, emphasizes a mutual concern for both self-face and other-face by compromising or discussing the conflict in private. This behaviour is seen in individuals who are interested in maintaining selfand other-face while dealing directly with the conflict in a private setting. Gunawardena et al. (2002) supported these categorizations for the online context from their research with ethnically diverse participants. The ability to confront people and read their faces is not possible while chatting unless there is a camera. In Morocco and Sri Lanka, face-to-face

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communication patterns are more high context and less direct than in the United States. It is generally difficult to communicate context in the online medium. In Morocco, for example, there are many taboos and behaviours that imply ‘hchouma’ or ‘shame’, and which thus should be avoided during communication. Many questions do not get answered because chatters cannot be very direct and tell them to the face of the other. This opens up room for interpretation and sometimes miscommunication. Sadiqi (2003) observes that the concept of collective self is so deep in the Moroccan psyche that an individual’s self-image is not cultivated internally, but derives from others’ opinions and attitudes, which is manifested clearly in the concept of ‘hchouma’, which may be defined as the ‘fear of losing face in front of others’ (2003: 67). This explains the heavy pressure within the Moroccan family to protect all its members because bad behaviour from one member affects the reputation of all. To avoid ‘shame’ Moroccans may refrain from admitting blatant realities in public if they involve a loss of face. According to Ting-Toomey (1988), low-context cultures emphasize individual identity, self-face concern, and direct verbal and nonverbal expression. In contrast, high-context cultures emphasize group identity, otherface concern, and indirect verbal and nonverbal expression. However when online, whether a person is from a high-context or from a low-context culture does not matter, as anonymity is a factor in the attempt to negotiate face. The elimination of title, gender and other status cues can create a more neutral atmosphere. If the person who threatens face is a stranger, he or she will be ignored. Therefore, attempts to negotiate face depend on the strength of the relationship that has been built. Face-saving strategies are adopted when there is a bond and when there is an interest in maintaining the relationship. If not, in the real-time world of chat, the general tendency is to close the window and forget the person.

Gender online The results of our analyses indicated that men and women employ different communication styles when chatting. Men and women value different forms of communication and different kinds of online interactions. The online environment gives them the anonymity and freedom to act out gender roles and experiment with gender identity. Graiouid (2005) observes that in order to understand reconstruction of gender relations on the internet, it is important to consider the norms that rule the distribution of space in Moroccan society. In Moroccan society, interaction between men and women is produced and reconstructed through a hierarchical mapping of space. Citing the work of Mernissi

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(1975), Graiouid points out how this gender divide is institutionalized through a strict definition of spatial practices: ‘(strict) space boundaries divide Moroccan society into subuniverses: the universe of men, the Umma (nation) universe of religion and power and the universe of sexuality and the family’ (Mernissi 1975: 81). Sadiqi (2003) affirms this dichotomy between public and private space in Morocco, where public space is the street and the market place, the domain of men, and private space is the home, where women live. In general, though women have access to public spaces, stepping out into the street is still felt by many as an act of trespassing into a hostile male domain. Sadiqi further elaborates that Moroccan culture is of a type that strongly constrains the behaviour of men and women and lists eight influences on gender perception, gender subversion and language use: (1) history (2) geography (3) Islam (4) morality (5) multilingualism (6) social organization (7) economic status and (8) political system. Given this sociocultural context, internet communication provides a tremendous opportunity to create virtual identities that can breach the dichotomy of public and private space that exists in Moroccan society. Graiouid (2005) notes that this may explain why female chatters enjoy the anonymity of the World Wide Web, which allows them to build relationships without compromising themselves. Gender stereotypes prevail in the creation of identity as reflected in the following perspectives from Moroccan participants. Jamal admits that it is easy to disguise himself as a woman. He tries to describe the experience of a woman chatting with a man but thinks that the experience is bound to be short-lived. In posing as a woman, he talks about women’s topics such as dress and fashion. Hamid thinks that women rarely discuss social issues. They are mostly interested in personal experiences, and love affairs. When asked about how he can tell if a man is posing as a woman, he says that exaggeration is what gives away a man posing as a woman. For example, somebody you have known for a short time saying that ‘they cannot live without you or that they love you’ is likely to be male. Hassan thinks that women tend to discuss their daily schedules and errands more than men. He thinks that chat is like a game that could turn into a healthy relationship or end quickly. Analysis of interviews from Sri Lanka also indicated gender differences in the expression of identity. Generally males disclose their true ASL identity from the start, irrespective of the purpose of the communication (chat or academic forums). A 23-year-old male student observed: I’ll tell that I am a webmaster from Sri Lanka and this is my website. I also tell my age and gender. Usually when males get to know that I am a male, they won’t continue. But if someone is interested in my research area then they will continue. Usually chatting among males is less. But females prefer to chat with females.

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Sri Lankan females are much more cautious than males. They do not reveal their true identity in unknown communities. They either give only the first name or use a pseudonym and do not reveal much personal information. Once they establish the relationship then they will talk more about their personal lives. On the other hand, if females are chatting to get academic help, then, they reveal their true identity. A 34-year-old female responded: I give my name, interests and field. Don’t say the age and location. If I want to get information then I give the name of the institution. If they ask personal information, then, I ignore those and if that person is a difficult one, then block the use. A majority of females prefer to communicate only with females. They are reluctant to talk with unknown male counterparts unless they have been introduced by one of their friends or relations, reflecting social norms and practices. Most of them chat with local and Asian communities, as they feel more secure communicating with them. A 26-year-old female observed: I will reveal about myself; true name, country, my age and sex. I usually log on to the Asian countries’ chatting rooms. I feel that it is not dangerous to chat with the Asians and I feel that they are not bad compared to other western countries. So I will reveal my own identity. Gender differences emerged in establishing social presence. Many felt that you need to choose adequate and suitable topics when talking with someone of the opposite sex. Tone is also important. Male participants claim that they do not talk in the same way to males and females. With females they are more cautious and more flattering. As to communicating with females, most respondents suggest that they depend on establishing social presence by asking about tastes in music, movies, reading, sports and dress styles. They feel that women tend to communicate their presence through description of their daily lives and their personal problems. When males chat with other males, subjects of discussion tend to be about political, social and abstract problems. Preferences for chat partners differed. Moroccan men were mostly interested in chatting with Western girls, and Moroccan women were mostly interested in men outside Morocco, predominantly Europe. Graiouid (2005) points out that the negative image Moroccan female chat users have of Moroccan males partly accounts for their interests in correspondents from other countries. Female informants in his study, consider Moroccan male chat users to be poorly conversant with the etiquette of interaction and

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discussion. In general, they hold against them a lack of genuine commitment to the virtual relationships they start and a general absence of tact and sensitivity. Graiouid (2005) presents further insights on this issue from his cybercaf´e research in Morocco. He notes that while European chat rooms where males and females inter-mingle freely are very popular with Moroccans, most of his female informants stated that they are also regulars at www.arabia.com because it is the congregation site for Arabs from different geographic locations. According to his informants, Moroccan female chat users prefer cybernetic correspondence with fellow Muslims from Europe or North America, because in case the virtual interaction develops into a more serious relationship it would be ethically viable and socially more acceptable for them to wed a Muslim. This is why most of them prefer not to commit to a correspondence when the user’s identity does not correspond to the profile they seek. He further discusses his visit to a cybercaf´e located near a mosque in Rabat, the capital city of Morocco, where at the call for prayer, chatters exit the ‘profane’ World Wide Web and cross over to the sacred realm of the mosque. These examples indicate that while the invention of identity and openness of communication in synchronous chats can be a liberating experience, there is still the underlying influence of sociocultural norms and conventions in traditional society, which the chat communicants find difficult to overcome. Unlike the Moroccans who sought European chat rooms in this study, many Sri Lankan men and women spent their time chatting with the opposite sex within the same country. A Sri Lankan male noted that he prefers to discuss his personal problems with females, as they are apt to give better advice than a male. Sri Lankans reported less chatting among males, whereas females prefer to chat with females. These findings indicate differences in the ways men and women interact online. Women and men do exhibit different styles in posting to the internet, contrary to the claim that CMC neutralizes distinctions of gender. Gender and self-disclosure When trust is established, participants are more likely to reveal their true identity. Generally, both females and males have reservations when revealing their personal details to an unknown group of people. Both do not reveal their personal information till they build up their relationship. Building up this relationship takes time with several messages (sometimes about 3 months). The basis is mere instinct, the ‘feeling’ that they get from reading messages, the ‘feel’ of the other or ‘social presence’ in mediated communication. Once they feel that the person is ‘genuine’ then they start revealing their personal details. A 23-year-old female observed:

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If I feel that this person is a genuine person and could be trusted then I reveal myself. I prefer if that person is open with me. Females are very cautious of the way they write and also expect respect from others. Manel, a 27-year-old female observed: Yes, I am very cautious. I won’t reveal my personal information. I think twice and write. It’s too much effort from my part to write answers like this and is an additional burden for me. Sri Lankan women were not comfortable with self-disclosure, hardly ever divulging information on private life in a chat session. Ramani, a 34-year-old Sri Lankan female responded: Some ask unnecessary questions – comment on your figure, mention about body parts etc. We are not used to those. It’s our culture. I know this is normal to the rest of the world. So I take precautions and tell them that I am not that sort of lady. Let them respect us as well. Some males do not hesitate to place their own photograph on the web. One particular male uses different font sizes and colours to make it more attractive: ‘ I use a webcam and give a profile with the picture. I usually use 14–16 font with shaded colors’. Females hardly ever send their photographs. But some who are familiar with computers use different fonts, colours and emoticons (smileys) when they send messages. ‘I use emoticons. Those are quick. Use font like comic sans for friends and Arial and Centre Gothic with official group. Use short cuts like Y, U, etc. Different techniques for different people’. Chat users have developed various conventions to present their identity and persona in chat sessions and will reveal their true identity depending on the context. Gender and face negotiation Herring (1994) illustrates gender differences in face negotiation from her study sample. The female style takes into consideration the ‘face’ wants of the addressee – specifically, the desire of the addressee to feel ratified and liked (e.g. by expressions of appreciation) and her desire not to be imposed upon (e.g. by absolute assertions that don’t allow alternative views). The male style, in contrast, confronts and threatens the addressee’s ‘face’ in the process of engaging him in agonistic debate. Both female and male respondents in our study noted that they take extra care to resolve their online misunderstandings and negotiate face if

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the relationship is strong. If they fail online, they will telephone and explain the situation. Females are more likely to negotiate even when the relationship is not that strong. Usually males chat for entertainment and they do not expect long-lasting relationships online. Therefore, when there is a misunderstanding and misinterpretation, they do not make an extra attempt to resolve the conflict. On the other hand, females make the extra effort to resolve the misunderstanding. Davidson and Schofield (2002) support this finding by citing research on virtual interactions that indicates women are more relational than men – women are more likely to approach the world as an individual within a social network; more likely to acquire skills in developing and sustaining personal connections and more likely to seek out situations and develop behaviours that foster relationships. Gender and online harassment Harassment online emerged as an issue of concern related to gender and the expression of identity. A female Moroccan participant described how she used to give her true credentials at first and got into trouble, and then changed her approach and started to claim a different identity (that of a French girl) when she entered chat rooms in order to avoid being harassed. Another female Moroccan participant noted that she used to present herself by giving her real name and real information. Then a friend told her how stupid that is, ‘because it is different, a man can feel alright about giving his real information but a woman can’t’. Because she is a girl, she now asks chatters to guess her name. If the chatter is from Europe or America she gives him her real name, but not if he is from Morocco. Women tend to hide their identities more because they will be targeted by chatters and harassed. Females were more cautious than males in revealing their identity online for fear of being harassed. This is a cultural feature of online communication that transcends nationality. Harassment online is a serious concern not only for women but also for children.

The language of chat Innovations in language forms to adapt to communication via chat was one of the most interesting findings of this study. While the predominant language of chat in Morocco was French and in Sri Lanka, English, participants interjected the native language using the Latin keyboard to increase their level of social presence and connectedness when they were chatting with people who understood the native language. Moroccan Arabic is an oral language and its transliteration into the Latin script enabled participants to express their affective, emotional self

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to connect with the other through text-based communication. Hassan said he could convey his true feelings by using Moroccan Arabic expressions when the other party knows the language. Examples of Moroccan Arabic written in Latin script in chat sessions and in text messaging (SMS) follow: (1)

(2)

(3)

MNIN DEFNOU’H MA ZA’ROU’H (‘Since they buried him, they forgot about him’) an expression that means, ‘After you used me, you forgot me’. This is a common expression written in numbers (3, 7, 9), which carries a similar meaning to: ‘Why have you not kept in touch with me?’ Numbers used to express Arabic characters and sounds 3 → (ain) 9 → (kah) 8 → (hah). Salam 3alikoum! (Greeting).

These examples show conventions that chatters have adopted for chat and SMS to express cultural understanding in written form through the creation of commonly understood ways of symbolizing social and emotional meaning and contexts. As Sadiqi (2003) observes, orality is an important component of Moroccan culture; speech carries greater significance than writing in regulating everyday life, as communication is mainly channelized through unwritten languages. Chatters have therefore developed conventions to express the nuances of unwritten languages in a written medium. Mounia chats in English and French and switches to French when she gets angry. She does not insult in English but responds in French. She feels that insulting in Moroccan Arabic is ‘low’ and despicable, but insulting in French is acceptable. Many who were fluent in French and Moroccan Arabic indicated that French would be the language to use for insults as insulting in Arabic would lower their status. For Mustapha, changing languages would mean that he is weak and afraid, so he would continue in the same language. Khalid sometimes uses Moroccan Arabic because expressions are shorter than French. For example, ‘how are you?’ in Arabic is ‘ki dayer?’ Chatters mix both French, a written language and Moroccan Arabic and an oral language if their communicants understand both languages. These are examples of code-switching, which is a common practice in a multilingual society like Morocco. ‘Code-switching is the use of more than one, usually two, languages or “codes” simultaneously’ (Sadiqi 2003: 258). Both men and women use code-switching in their everyday conversations in Morocco, but codeswitching is more associated with women than with men. Sadiqi observes that code-switching indicates social attributes and composite identities.

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The switching of Berber and Moroccan Arabic is both a rural and an urban phenomenon and involves literate and nonliterate speakers as Moroccan Arabic and Berber are nonwritten mother tongues, whereas switching of Moroccan Arabic and French, and switching of Berber and French are typically urban and involve educated speakers only. While the switching of Berber and Moroccan Arabic is seen in all social classes, switching of Moroccan Arabic and French is more characteristic of middle and upper classes. Similar innovations in the use of native languages via the Latin keyboard were observed in Sri Lanka. In Sri Lanka, the predominant chat language is English for the Sinhalese, Tamils and Muslims. In Sri Lanka, the variety of English spoken is different from that spoken in Britain and other parts of the world because of the influences the native languages have exerted on the structure of English (Disanayaka 1998). Chatters often communicate by writing their native language using the English alphabet. Sinhala and Tamil are phonetic languages, which can be written using the English alphabet and Latin keyboard. Perhaps the technique the chatters have adopted to transliterate their native language using the English alphabet and the Latin keyboard maybe one way to solve the language problem in Sri Lanka. Both Sinhala and Tamil chatters can learn about each other’s language without having to learn a new alphabet and a new script if they are able to write their language in English. Sri Lankans also used code-switching, the mixture of English and Sinhala, for example. Ramani explained that writing in Sinhala generates more feeling than writing in English. Examples of Sinhala written in English include: (1) Ayubowan – How are you? (2) Paw – I feel sorry for you Examples of Tamil written in English include: Aniyayam – what a waste! Sri Lankans also felt that phrases such as ‘machan’, which means ‘buddy’ when written in English, generate closeness and social presence. The level of language and the quality of opinions help chatters in Morocco build each other’s profiles. Kenza relies on language (idiomatic expressions such as the ones associated with native French speakers) to generate social presence. Abdelali examines the English used by chatters and the amount of mistakes made, especially if the person claims to be from an Englishspeaking country such as the UK or USA. In this case, the level and type of language use can be a factor in creating credibility. Chatters enhance their social presence by using other media such as mobile phones and webcams. It was fairly common to see chatters talking

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to the same person on the mobile phone while chatting online. Some Moroccans spoke Arabic on the mobile phone and French online indicating their versatility in moving between different languages. The use of the two types of media enhanced their presence and connection with each other. Some chatters used emoticons (icons that express emotion) or smileys to enhance their presence and express their emotions. Others stated that they use text to express their emotions. Hamid expresses his persona through icons. He is very interested in showing that he is a man and that he is Moroccan, and that in Morocco the man is the one who decides for the woman. When asked if women continue to keep talking to him after this admission, he said that they keep on the discussion to know more about his perspectives and that it is a good way to exchange cultural aspects about the topic. In analyzing communication conventions online, it is evident that chatters have developed unique forms of textual language and visual expressions to communicate their ideas and feelings through a new medium. They bring with them the conventions of their native language, which embody cultural traits as well as their prior use of the second language, English or French. ‘Language and culture develop together. Language is an essential part of culture’ (Wickramasinghe 1997: 25). This implies that as online learning cultures develop, students and facilitators will have to adjust to new modes of communication and interaction. Since language is an important factor in the negotiation of meaning in an online community, it is important to develop theoretical models of language to guide future practice (Tusting 2005). ‘An important step towards cross-cultural understanding could therefore be the development of policies and practices which allow for an element of multi-lingual communication, making space for the expression of social behavior free of the constraints of operating in a second language’ (Goodfellow et al. 2001: 80).

Implications for online learning communities We now address the implications we can draw from these findings of informal synchronous communication within two different cultural contexts for the development of online learning communities. We found that CMC is not a mere neutral technological innovation but a practice that is affected by the culture and society of its users. As discussed earlier, we used the definition of ‘idioculture’, developed by Fine (cited in Cole & Engestr¨om 2007) as a system of knowledge, beliefs, behaviours and customs shared by members of an interacting group to which members can refer and that serve as the basis of further interaction, as a framework for examining

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culture online. This definition enabled us to examine online culture as a unique phenomenon in its own right. Three themes emerged from the data analysis: identity, gender and language, interacting with each other in their expression in synchronous chat. Given the unique online cultures developed by interacting groups, and the themes that emerged, we draw the following implications for learning cultures. 1. The creation of identity and playing with identity online enables a participant to learn about herself/himself. It is a psychological tool that enables one to experience the real world in a new way. The ability to change one’s environment and try out different ways of being will lend itself well to role play and computer simulations as favoured learning methods in online learning communities. 2. Expression of identity through introductions is important for relationship building in online learning communities. However, self-disclosure may not be easy for some participants. Since identity is expressed in different ways by diverse individuals, careful attention must be given to how self-presentation and introductions are done online. Therefore, rather than making self-introductions an open-ended activity, guidelines and protocols should be provided for how introductions should be done, and the type of information desired, also allowing for some degree of anonymity. An alternative technique might be to have participants introduce each other online, rather than themselves. Introductions also assist in the building of social presence, or the feeling that the other is a real person, when communication is mediated by the computer. 3. Since posting photographs with introductions can lead to stereotyping and reduce the anonymity that will make a learning community a level playing field, it is important to devise other means of self-disclosure, especially to provide a comfort zone for women who are more reluctant to self-disclose to an unknown community, and to maintain social equality of the group. For example, participants could be asked to post a picture or image that represents them, with an explanation as to why the picture/image represents them. 4. Building trust and relationships are crucial for the health and wellbeing of a learning community. Trust-building group activities should be conducted during pre-course activities or during the first 2 weeks of an academic course to help participants build trust and become comfortable with each other. 5. Attempts to negotiate face and resolve conflict depends on the strength of the relationship that has been built. Therefore, face-saving strategies should be part of the communication protocols developed for online

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6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

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learning communities. Learners should be encouraged to use e-mail to resolve misunderstandings and post mutually agreed-upon understandings for the group when conflict situations arise. Women are more likely to make an attempt to resolve misunderstandings and negotiate face and should be encouraged to take up moderating roles in team interactions. Communication protocols developed for online learning communities need to alert participants to gender differences in communication patterns. Context is important to understanding messages and therefore participants should be encouraged to provide the context to enable the deciphering of messages communicated through an ephemeral and fluid medium. Moderators or facilitators play an important role in relationship building and community-building activities, and in maintaining a safe and conducive environment for all participants, and therefore, should be present online frequently. It is recommended that online designs allow for an element of multilingual communication, and diversity, in the expression of English. This will promote cross-cultural understanding and a comfort zone in online communication. In many developing countries, the internet caf´e maybe the only resource centre where learners will gather to participate in online learning. Academic institutions wishing to provide access to learners in geographically isolated locations should make arrangements with internet caf´es to provide technology access and resources necessary for their academic programs.

These implications and guidelines will hopefully lead to the design of online learning environments that foster community and knowledge building. Issues of identity, gender and language will continue to provide impetus for further research in our efforts to understand the learning cultures that develop in these environments.

Acknowledgment This research study was supported by a Fulbright Regional Research Scholarship awarded to the principal author by the United States Department of State, 2004–2005.

Chapter 3

Entering the World of Online Foreign Language Education: Challenging and Developing Teacher Identities Robert O’Dowd University of Leon, ´ Spain

Introduction Tools of online communication have been used widely in the field of foreign language education due to their capacity to engage learners in authentic intercultural communication with members of other cultures (Belz 2003; O’Dowd 2007), and also due to their ability to facilitate collaborative project work and student publishing. In general, attitudes to the integration of such online activity in the world of foreign language education have been (in Western societies, at least) very positive and teachers who take part in such online activity are generally portrayed as innovative and progressive (Hides 2005). These positive attitudes have often been accompanied by the assumption that language-learning activity online is by nature communicative and learner-centred. This belief stems perhaps from the discourse of Network Based Language Teaching (NBLT), which, as is the case of e-learning in general, is generally located within sociocultural and social constructivist approaches to learning and thereby lays great emphasis on learner-centred learning and on active participation of the learner in online communities (Warschauer & Kern 2000; Oliver et al. 2007). While we would argue that the learner-centred approaches to learning promoted by researchers and educators are essentially positive, we would also suggest that this trend has been at the cost of developing a deeper understanding of the experiences of the teacher in online environments,

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with the online teacher being described in very general terms such as a ‘guide on the side’ or ‘a facilitator of knowledge rather than the font of wisdom’ (Warschauer & Healey 1998: 57)’. Laurillard confirms this emphasis on the learner in her introduction to a publication on e-learning in Higher Education: Whatever their original discipline, the most eminent writers on learning have emphasized the importance of active learning. The choice of language may vary – [. . .] Piaget’s constructivism, Vygotsky’s social constructivism [. . .] – but the shared essence is the recognition that learning concerns what the learner is doing rather than what the teacher is doing. (Laurillard, 2005: 2–3, our italics) Against this backdrop, we would argue that it now becomes particularly important to engage in research which looks not only at how teachers are coming to terms with the tools and practices of online education (see Egbert et al. 2002), but also at how they deal with the prevalent ‘didactic culture’ (i.e. pedagogical beliefs and discourse), which permeates online learning and which is often employed in the design of online learning tools (Dyke et al. 2007). While so-called ‘innovators’ may have taken relatively quickly to the practices and pedagogies of online education, many other educators have found themselves entering this new world of learning and teaching, not out of conviction or desire but rather due to the social or institutional pressure to engage in an activity which is seen as inherently positive and progressive. Furthermore, these educators have at times found themselves in situations where widely held assumptions about the nature and the practices of online activity have clashed with their own beliefs about how learning takes place and how students learn. The question arises as to what will be the outcomes of online learning activity where the beliefs and practices of teachers do not reflect the common practices of online learning and its accompanying discourse and pedagogy. This chapter begins by exploring how the prevalent didactic culture of social constructivism has been represented in the design of Moodle, a popular Virtual Learning Environment (VLE). This educational tool allows teachers to create a location on the internet where a class of learners can view course materials, interact and collaborate with classmates and their teacher using synchronous and asynchronous tools, access reference materials and engage in interactive activities (Franklin & Peat 2001; Cole 2005). Following that, Layder’s (1993) research map for social realism is used to examine how three educators at a university in Spain employed the platform, what significance its use had for them as professional educators, and, most significantly, how they dealt with similarities and differences between their own approaches to learning and teaching and that of the pervasive

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culture of online learning. The three case studies illustrate how the culture of online learning and teaching that surrounds many online learning artefacts is limited or shaped by the social and institutional contexts in which the tools are located, as well as by the dispositions and agency of the individuals involved.

Didactic culture in online foreign language education Despite its origins and development in the United States and Western Europe, the internet has often been thought of as a culture-free environment, which can be exploited by all those who have the economic and literacy resources available to them to do so. However, as early as 2000, writers such as Hawisher and Selfe had questioned the accuracy of this perception and had highlighted how this utopian vision of the web is closely related to the North American image of the global village (2000: 6–7). The authors describe how this concept of the global village originated in the time of the telegraph and depicts technology as a tool for establishing a global network, which erases difference between cultures and establishes a sense of international community and union. The authors are unconvinced by this interpretation, suggesting that many cultures are likely to see the extension of these technologies as ‘less a neutral and welcome medium for global communication than a disturbing and unwelcome system for broadening western colonial culture and values’ (2000: 9). As researchers have moved away from the assumption that the internet somehow removes or suppresses cultural difference, a growing number of publications (in particular special issues of journals such as the Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication (volume 11, page 1) and the British Journal of Educational Technology (volume 30, page 3), have looked more critically at the interaction that takes place between online cultural norms and the educational cultures in which learners are operating. In this interpretation of online learning, online learning tools are seen to have their own culturally determined etiquettes of use, which has been heavily influenced by Anglo-American values and norms of communication. This culture of online behaviour is based on the principles of speed (i.e. quick responses to interaction), openness (as opposed to privacy), debate and informality (Reeder et al. 2004) and it is argued that online cultural behaviour will be constructed through the interaction of these online norms with those of the learning and teaching cultures in which individuals are operating in their local educational institutions. For example, Thorne (2003) found that communication tools such as e-mail or instant messaging were not neutral educational objects but rather carried certain cultural associations and characteristics that they have acquired from their use in

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everyday life in specific cultural contexts. Thorne took the example of the use of e-mail in an online intercultural exchange between an North American and a French student and explained how the project failed to gather momentum as neither student saw e-mail as an appropriate tool for exchanging informal messages with partners of their own age. E-mail, according to the North American student in the study, was suitable for more formal communication between students and teachers, while studentto-student communication was considered more suited to tools such as Microsoft MessengerTM . As VLEs have achieved great popularity among online educators, their relationship with online culture and online didactic culture has taken on particular relevance. Along with Blackboard and WebCT, Moodle has become one of the most popular examples of these tools in educational institutions around the globe. Evidence of this success can be found in the statistics provided by the Moodle homepage and elsewhere (Cole 2005). Moodle’s authors report, for example, that there are over 24,000 registered institutions using the platform in their classes. These institutions are located in 175 countries and are offering courses in 75 different languages. In Spain, the country where this study was carried out, over 1,300 schools and universities are using Moodle, and many Spanish universities have taken the step of adapting Moodle as the official institutional platform of use (Molist 2006). The principal difference between Moodle and other platforms (e.g. WebCT or First ClassTM ) is that its authors lay claim to a particular didactic philosophy and culture, which they refer to as ‘socioconstructionist’ pedagogy. This theory of learning has much in common with other studentcentred approaches, which have been used to orientate the integration of online technologies into education such as ‘active learning’ (Laurillard 2005), ‘collaborative and social-interactive learning’ (Kramsch & Thorne 2002) or ‘social constructivist learning’ (Parks et al. 2003). (As it is this final term which has become most widespread in the literature, this will be the one used from now on.) Based on the sociocultural theory of Vygotksy (1978), these approaches involve a shift from a cognitive to a social perspective on education and see learning being achieved most successfully when learners are actively engaged in meaningful collaborative project work and problem solving with their classmates and other more capable peers (Windschitl 2002; Felix 2005). Moodle does indeed carry a great many functions, which can, in principle at least, be used to support student interaction, collaboration and the construction of shared artefacts. The platform offers teachers the possibility of introducing communicative functions such as synchronous chat and asynchronous discussion forums and also includes tools, which enable collaboration and evaluation of documents such as the wiki and workshop functions.

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We would argue that the presence of such a wide variety of communicative and collaborative tools, in combination with the platform’s statement of didactic principles and the location of this discourse within the pervasive discourse of online education with its emphasis on socioconstructivist learning practices, may act as an indirect pressure on teachers to use the VLE in this way. However, in order to identify whether Moodle is actually used in this fashion in a particular educational context, it will be necessary to situate the online learning activity within the broader socioinstitutional context. Factors such as the pedagogical approach of the teachers using the platform and the social and educational culture within which they are operating are likely to determine how the VLE is employed and what the outcomes of this learning activity are (Warschauer 2003). In the following section, a research methodology is presented, which serves to highlight this interconnectedness between the activity of using a VLE, social and institutional contexts and, finally, the aims, beliefs and past experiences of the teachers involved.

Research methodology The principal aim of this study was to explore how the teachers’ use of the online platform was influenced by aspects of their institutional context such as the educational culture in which they were operating, their own beliefs about learning in general and about the didactic culture which the platform (and the discourse surrounding online education in general) generally support. In order to achieve such an understanding of what online learning signified in this particular context, Layder’s (1993) research map for social realism was chosen. This map encourages the researcher to understand social activity (in this case, the integration of a VLE into a foreign language department) as being shaped by the complex interaction of both structure and agency. Structure refers to the macro-cultural context (e.g. societal attitudes to online technologies) and the local setting (e.g. university administrative policy in relation to technological innovation), while agency refers to the situated activity and the individual’s self -identity and social experiences (e.g. the teachers’ pedagogical beliefs and previous experiences of using technologies). Layder insists that all these elements should be seen as a whole and that ‘viewing the elements as a series of interwoven layers is useful since it helps us to understand how social activity is influenced by different aspects of society at specific points in time’ (1993: 10). Table 3.1 shows the four categories of Layder’s research map and also identifies the main themes which were of relevance in each category for this particular study. The final column identifies sources of the data for each

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Table 3.1 A Research Map for Online Learning

Category

Description of category

Relevant categories and themes in this study

Sources of data used in this study

Context (macrolevel)

Macro-social organization Values, traditions, forms of social organization and power relations

Prevalent attitudes and beliefs in the educational community about online learning; online practices in Spain; use of technology in Spanish universities; Spanish attitudes to using technology in education

Surveys Newspaper reports

Setting (macrolevel)

Intermediate social organization – how institutions and bureaucracies are organized

Approaches to online learning at local institution; degree and types of institutional support for online learning initiatives

Survey data and reports from the local educational institution

Situated activity (microlevel)

Social activity – how the activity is understood, as it is affected by context and settings (above) and dispositions of individuals (below)

The activity of using the VLE in the University courses

Teacher interviews; student surveys; observations of classes and online practices

Self (microlevel)

Self-identity and individual’s social experience

The teachers and students involved and their sense of identity; perceptions of the world and their beliefs about (online) teaching and learning

Interviews, questionnaires, examples of online activity

Source: Adapted from Layder 1993.

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of the categories. The data used in the study was principally qualitative but quantitative statistical data was also employed when relevant. For example, statistical data about the use of new technologies in Spanish education in general was combined with in-depth interviews with the teachers at various stages during the academic year. These interviews were also triangulated with other sources of data such as observations of contact classes and online activity, teacher questionnaires and the collection and classification of artefacts such as on-line documents and extracts from on-line interaction.

Context and setting: online technologies in Spain and in the local institution In this study the context and setting in which the situated activity of using Moodle was located included a variety of elements, including the discourse surrounding online learning in the educational literature, the attitudes towards online learning of important national and local stakeholders such as university administrations and national government and, of course, widely held beliefs among university staff and students as to what online learning should involve. The online practices of young Spanish people has an undoubted importance here as it is this social group that makes up most of the teachers’ classrooms. Recent statistics by www.Red.es – a website run by the Spanish Ministry of Industry, Tourism and Commerce to inform about online activity in Spanish society – revealed that only 34 percent report using the internet for study and research purposes, while a survey carried out among the students of the Modern Languages Department as part of this particular study confirmed this limited take-up of online practices by Spanish students. Here, a significant minority of students (42 percent) reported not having access to the internet in their homes while 61 percent of the respondents reported logging on to the internet only ‘once’ or ‘two or three’ times per week. Furthermore, interviews carried out at the beginning of the university year with students who would be taking part in Moodle-enhanced courses revealed a rather traditional image of what on-line learning could and should involve. One student suggested: ‘I see online platforms as a helpful, back-up tool. It could be a gate to other online resources and it could contain texts in more syllabus-heavy subjects’, while another commented: ‘I imagine this could be a comfortable way of submitting homework without having to go to class and maybe finding links to new activities and resources’. In the first decade of the new millennium, in Spain (as in many other countries), great importance has been attributed to online learning and the integration of information and communication technologies (ICT)

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at university level education. However, the integration of online learning structures in Spanish campuses remains very much a work in progress, which often stems from administrative and governmental initiatives rather than from teacher-initiated activity. For example, an extensive study carried out on the integration of ICT across the Spanish university system (Barren ´ & Burillo Lopez 2006) revealed that while universities were clearly investing heavily in online resources and facilities, the staff uptake of online learning initiatives remained limited. The study reported, for example, that only 15 percent of university teaching staff had completed training in how to use ICT in their classes. It also found that while 96 percent of Spanish universities had an e-learning platform under development, only 43 percent of teachers had reported using platforms in their classes. Recent developments at the University where this study was carried out reflect this general national interest in online learning and teaching. For example, in the 2 years before this study, a new state-of-the-art centre for information and communication technologies had been established and wireless internet access had been made available throughout the campus. The university had also made it possible for students and teachers to carry out a great deal of course administration online, such as the publishing of exam results and registration for courses and had introduced its own e-learning platform, which contained basic administrative and communicative functions. A report published in a daily provincial newspaper highlights the importance of the development of the University’s online learning initiatives in the local community, but, significantly, also serves to illustrate common local perceptions of what online learning might involve. The headline ran: ‘The web of a thousand and one uses: The University digitalises its administrative affairs and next year will include a tool which will enable teachers to move their class content online’ (Gonz´alez 2005: 3). It is within these national and local settings (i.e. the context and setting in Layder’s framework) that the three case studies reported here are located. In general it is a context where students are gradually becoming more at home in online environments and where online learning initiatives in education are highly valued both by society and by university administrations. However, these high levels of economic investment, ‘top-down’ initiatives and support are not always reflected in significant increases in online activity by teachers in their courses. Furthermore, common perceptions of what online learning should involve tend to refer to new ways of publishing and disseminating materials (i.e. the publication of collections of links and the transfer of materials from hard copy to virtual formats) rather than to the development of new didactic practices. The department of Modern Languages at this University adopted the virtual learning environment Moodle in the academic year 2004–2005. The

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director of the department encouraged all teaching staff to use the platform in their undergraduate teaching as having an online presence was, he argued, ‘an important part of the profession’s future’. An introductory workshop was organized by technical support staff to introduce teachers to the technicalities of using the Moodle platform, such as how to set up a course and register students. However, at no stage was staff trained in how to use the platform pedagogically. During its first year of availability at the English department in question, the platform was used in a blended format (i.e. combined with contact classes) by six different teachers for courses in foreign languages (i.e. French and English) and in various subjects related to Linguistics and Applied Linguistics. In my role both as researcher and as someone who had previous experience with the use of VLEs, I took the opportunity to study in what way three of the teachers used the online platform with their students. The three teachers who chose to use the platform and to allow me to observe and help in their experiences taught courses in English for Special Purposes (Isabel), Linguistics (Barbara) and English as a Foreign Language (Andrew). The following case studies look at the key issues that arise when the tools and didactic culture of online learning come into contact with teachers who form part of this particular socioeducational context.

Case study 1: step-by-step into online learning Barbara, a teacher of linguistics and grammar, is in her early thirties and has used technologies such as concordancing software, PowerPointTM and other Microsoft OfficeTM tools in her classes before. Recorded interviews and informal discussions with Barbara at the outset and during her first year using Moodle reveal an interesting range of findings in relation to why teachers turn to VLEs such as Moodle and the complex interplay of factors at context, setting and self -levels (see Table 3.1), which determine the meaning of the situated activity of VLE use. The first example of the interplay between micro and macro factors from Table 3.1 emerges from Barbara’s explanations as to why she chose to use the VLE in her teaching. Beginning at the level of self , Barbara appears to have opted to introduce Moodle into her classes in order to challenge herself as a teacher and also as a way of expanding her repertoire of teaching techniques. She describes her aims in the following way: I see it as a way of learning more myself, and a way of motivating myself to renew the content of my courses and above all, the way of teaching this content. It’s also about wanting to be up-to-date, meeting the challenge of finding online activities which suit the content of my course . . . this gives me a certain personal satisfaction.

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However, these comments also reflect that, at the context level, incorporating online activities into one’s teaching in Spain is often associated with being a ‘modern’ teacher and wanting to improve and develop oneself professionally. Barbara therefore makes a connection between the situated activity of integrating an online platform and her own perception of self identity of being ‘up-to-date’ and with the process of motivating herself to renew her course material and to refresh her skills as a teacher. However, reflecting the common beliefs at the local setting level of what online learning actually involves (see the previous section), she does not believe that using the platform will actually affect the way she teaches her course. She explains, for example, that it is the online activities that have to adapt to ‘suit the content of my course’. The platform, therefore, has the function of being essentially a new form of delivery of current content and classroom activities. Barbara also identifies the potential that Moodle carries for increasing teacher-student contact and she relates the role of online learning to increasing student participation in general: The platform obviously improves the opportunities for collaboration both between students and between teacher and students. I can imagine that it will also increase their level of motivation and their desire to participate more in their learning as they will feel more involved, more “the centre of attention” because the online work strengthens the level of personalized attention. It’s a more interactive type of learning – they have to do different things such as registering and going online in order to get materials. They may also be more worried about not doing their exercises because this will be more obvious in the online platform than it would be in class when we correct exercises as a group. Here, the situated activity of teaching online takes its meaning firstly from the context level and the widespread beliefs in the educational community that online pedagogy calls for learning to be more student-centred and ‘active’. But this belief is filtered by Barbara’s own beliefs and understanding of what teacher and student roles should involve and, as a result, ‘studentcentred online activity’ is reduced to getting students to ‘log on’ in order to access material and to obliging them to do activities out of fear of being shown up in the online platform. In her courses, Barbara uses essentially three different functions of the platform. First, she provides students with the PowerPoint presentations, which have been previously viewed in class. Second, she publishes Word documents containing exercises based on the content of class work. Finally, she uses the ‘assignment’ function so that students can upload their completed worksheets on to the platform for correction. Despite her comments as to

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why she intended to use the platform, Barbara does not exploit the communicative functions of the platform in order to encourage student communication or to engage in more collaborative activities with the material at hand. Nevertheless, her evaluation of the platform towards the end of the course continues to refer to other, possibly more innovative, situated activities: The advantages of Moodle are enormous. One important aspect is the quantity of paper and time which it allows us to save: the students do not have to print out or hand in work in a printed format; neither do they have to queue up at the photocopy shop in order to get materials. As well as that, it’s a great tool for “sending them” to useful web pages and other resources which can be updated easily. Also, it strengthens teacherstudent communication and also the communication between the students themselves outside of class so that they can delve into aspects of our subject together in more detail, by carrying out debates, for example. Why does Barbara continue to refer to the potential of the platform for supporting learning practices based on student-student interaction even though she herself does not introduce these activities? It would appear that Barbara is happy to be associated professionally with a tool that offers these online communicative activities even though her own use of the VLE does not incorporate them. Once again, the meaning that the use of the VLE has in this context is strongly related to the positive and ‘modern’ associations, which online communication has in the learning communities at both setting and context levels, and it is this meaning that Barbara stakes claim to in her explanation of why she uses Moodle. However, a further possible explanation for the differences between Barbara’s aspirations and actual teaching practices emerges in the interviews, which suggests that impediments at the setting level may hinder or limit teachers’ plans. She explains that she was adapting a gradual approach to integrating the VLE due to the organizational and technical challenges which introducing an online learning platform is seen to involve: In my Linguistics course I realise I can add a lot more different activities, but considering this was my first “attempt” I am pretty happy [. . .] Next year I’ll repeat the things I’ve done this year and I’ll try out some new activities. I’ll include more resources like articles and web pages and above all I’ll develop the aspect of communication between the students with debates, online forums, etc. For Barbara, the move from traditional learning scenarios to blended formats using Moodle will take various stages which involve, first, transferring familiar class content and practices more or less directly into the online

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platform and then, when this stage has been completed, gradually introducing more innovative aspects such as online debates. This explanation echoes the findings reported by Egbert et al. (2002) that many teachers find that factors at the setting level, such as time restrictions and curricular demands, can hamper their transition from traditional teaching scenarios to innovative forms of online and blended learning. These authors conclude that teachers may need a period of time to become more comfortable working with new technologies and exploiting them to the full. Similarly, Dutton et al. warn that ‘it takes time for individuals to discover how new technologies enable them not only to do things in new ways, but also to do new things’ (2004: 78). Looking at the case of Barbara through the lens of Layder’s social realism it becomes clear that, if the platform is to be used by many teachers for any activity beyond the transfer of materials from one format to another, then a lot more is necessary than simply a platform, which claims to support this particular approach to learning. Change will be necessary at the self level as teachers will have to gain a better understanding of the pedagogical consequences of taking on student-centred approaches, while at the setting level institutions will have to support and encourage training in studentcentred approaches to online learning and increase awareness as to what innovative online teaching practice may involve.

Case study 2: old light through new windows Isabel is a Spanish native and teaches English for Specific Purposes to a group of approximately thirty-five students. Isabel shows great interest in using the platform from the moment it is introduced in the department and is observed in the weeks before the course starts investing a great amount of time experimenting with the different organizational options that Moodle offers. As with Barbara, initial interviews with Isabel reveal that her motivation for using Moodle stems to a great extent from the positive, modern, connotations which online learning seems to carry in the context of Spanish education and society. She explains: I want to change my methods of teaching. I want to integrate the new technologies and I feel it was a good opportunity having the platform ready for use. The situated activity of using the VLE also appears to carry the meaning of making her teaching practices more communicative and of establishing a more personal approach to teacher-student interaction. This is confirmed

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in her following comments about the communicative possibilities offered by the new medium: I plan to use most of the tools and activities available but I think that the forums and chats will be a very important part of the after class tutorials. I’ve never liked the noninteraction between the teacher and student. It [using Moodle] is a good opportunity for one-to-one interaction. When they ask me questions about their activities, instead of having to explain things globally to the whole class I can get to know them better in a personal and in a professional way. Also, I feel they would be more open to me if they could write to me on a one to-one relationship. It becomes clear that the teacher initially sees the online communicative functions of the platform as a manner of establishing a closer, more personal form of contact with her students. Here, the general discourse of student-centred online pedagogy and cultural models of teacher-student relationships, which are present at context level, seems to shape the teacher’s own hopes and beliefs about what introducing Moodle can bring to her classes. Through the use of the message boards, personal messaging and chat options, the teacher believes she will have greater opportunities to interact on a one-to-one level with her students and thereby to establish better relationships with them – something that appears not to be occurring in her classes at the moment. (Elsewhere in this book, Develotte outlines some of the changes in teachers’ models of the teacher-student relationship, which may have to be involved in order that teachers such as Isabel can manage the change to their own values.) However, as was the case with Barbara, positive attitudes to the communicative and collaborative functions of the platform do not automatically lead to their implementation in the classroom. Isabel’s Moodle course is full of activities and resources for the students to access and work through, both in-class and at home. These include links to web pages related to the course subject, PowerPoint presentations based on grammar points, interactive quizzes, a mini-dictionary created by the teacher with the glossary function and scans of book extracts containing graphs and diagrams related to course content. In general, the online element of the course follows a traditional ‘present – practice – produce’ format, which involves presenting grammar and vocabulary themes through Powerpoint presentations and textbook extracts and then testing these items through interactive quizzes and the submission of worksheets in Word format. Even though Isabel originally mentions the opportunities for increased student communication and participation, which the platform offered to teachers, her use of the platform does not take up these possibilities. Instead, her online activity appears

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to reflect common local perceptions (present at the setting level) of what should go on in online learning. It was noted earlier that many students involved in these courses had reported understanding online learning as the transfer of text-based materials to a digital format and this is what appears to be happening here to a great extent. Isabel justifies this approach in the following extract by arguing that the direct transfer of activities from hard copy to the online platform was having a motivating effect on the students: At the beginning I had the usual listening and reading activities [in the classes] but then I discovered that the students were uninterested in them so I moved these activities to the computer platform. And they became much more interested. They expected me to have all the activities in the platform and they were even sending me e-mails about the work that they had to do. So they really got involved in the activity. Interviewer: So to what extent did you take the materials you usually do in class and put them online? Did that happen a lot? Yeah, it was easy to convince them that we were doing a different activity even though it was simply a matter of uploading a word document onto the platform instead of printing it out to use in class. Interviewer: Didn’t the students realise this? No, I’m not sure. They definitely reacted in a much better way to this approach. I think it’s because they are not used to be in front of the computer working. They associate the computer with enjoyment. They associate the teacher in front of them as a type of work but they feel more free in front of the computer. And they have already made up their mind that they are going to have a good time. It’s like “Wow! Computer lab! We’ll have a great time”. Interviewer: Did you try any activities in Moodle which you wouldn’t do normally? I tried the chat but it wouldn’t work properly. And we didn’t use the message boards much because they are not mature enough to use it. You know, we tried it at the beginning but all their messages were, like, “Sylvia is a fool”. The situated activity of online teaching now seems to take on a meaning of distracting learners or duping them into believing they are engaging in new learning activities. More communicative or collaborative functions of the platform such as using the message board to engage the students in interaction with each other and with others outside the classroom is rejected due to a perceived lack of student maturity. Unlike what we observed in the previous case study, the reasons why Moodle is used in such a way would appear to go beyond a lack of training

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in the communicative and collaborative tools and options available on the platform. Instead, it is Isabel’s attitudes to her students and to the concept of appropriate teacher and student roles on the self level, which rule out an exploration of a social constructivist approach to learning and its studentcentred principles. Isabel’s beliefs here may be seen to be a product of an educational system where communicative methodology has generally failed to make its way into the foreign language classroom. In their review of the teaching of foreign languages in Spain, Carmena et al. suggest that ‘it is fair to ask whether these new didactic approaches have really impregnated the actual practice of language teaching’ (Carmena L´opez et al. 2000: 299, our translation) and Isabel’s beliefs and online practices would seem to reflect a local culture of teaching and learning, which is essentially teacher-centred and is based on the transfer of information from teacher to learner. As becomes clear in the following case study, it is only when the technology is employed by teachers willing to move away from this approach that its potential for innovation becomes tangible.

Case study 3: developing through a community of practice Andrew is a native speaker of English who has been living and teaching in Spain for over 15 years. He has been working at this particular university for 8 years and teaches courses in literature and in English as a Foreign Language to undergraduates of English Philology. He begins to use Moodle in a first year EFL course in the second semester after the platform has already been in use in the department for approximately 6 months. In the course of the many interviews and conversations about the platform, Andrew repeatedly underlines his lack of computer and electronic literacy and he often describes himself depreciatively as ‘technologically shy or challenged’. Nevertheless, his uses of Moodle are probably among the most innovative in the department and are those that come closest to the social constructivist principles of Moodle’s developers. Andrew uses the platform as a location for a bilingual online intercultural exchange between his students and students of Spanish as a Foreign Language at a North American university. In the platform, students have access to asynchronous message boards where they can write to their partners, and they find worksheets with task descriptions and ‘reminders’ of deadlines, which Andrew posts on the teachers’ message board. Andrew spends between 2 and 3 hours each week reading the messages posted by his students and their North American partners and often brings printouts of messages into class in order to discuss their linguistic and cultural content with the group.

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The teacher’s reasons for using Moodle echo those of Isabel and Barbara to a certain extent in that he too sees the platform as an opportunity for developing professionally as a teacher. However, unlike his colleagues’ comments, his own appear to go a step further and suggest that he is making clear changes to his approach to teaching: For a start it [using the platform] adds variety. But it also allows you to move away from the classic situation where the teacher is simply passing on knowledge to the students. It takes the onus away from the teacher being the only source of knowledge. It’s also a way of being open to potential change and obviously if you are in touch with technology you have a chance for professional development [. . .] It’s a refreshing thing for yourself as a teacher – it keeps you up to date. Here it is evident that Andrew believes that the type of online work in which he engages his students enables him to move towards a particular approach to learning and teaching, which involves fewer teacher-centred activities. In a later interview he returns to this theme, explaining how the online exchange ‘encourages students to move away from the teacher and stop looking at him as a source of knowledge about everything’. Towards the end of the project, he demonstrates a critically reflective approach to his online activity as he explains how his approach to using Moodle and the online exchange has developed over time: [A]t the beginning I used it [the online intercultural exchange] as a sort of add on activity that students had to do outside of class – but I found it was much less successful when I did it that way so now I try to incorporate it more into the classroom and prepare students for tasks before they do them online and all round I feel I am trying to use more features available in Moodle. Andrew attributes great importance to the support he received from other colleagues who were already using the platform in their teaching. Apart from the teachers reported in these case studies, various other instructors with considerable experience in using on-line technologies in their classes had taken up Moodle during its first year of availability and had used the VLE for international collaborative activities similar to Andrew’s online teaching. Andrew had shown interest in how these colleagues were using the platform and he reports in his interviews that seeing how this activity was used at the setting level had given him confidence and had convinced him of the advantages of integrating Moodle into his own classes: When I saw what they were doing I could see that it worked. I could see that other teachers were using it and that their students were benefiting

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from it. So I thought it could have a motivational value for my own students as well. This is a significant illustration of how factors at a setting level can support as well as hinder the integration of VLEs into the classroom. Here, models of good practice available at the local institution provide an impetus or even a pressure for Andrew to innovate in his teaching practices. He returns to this theme in another interview where he suggests that seeing other colleagues working with the platform not only gave him the confidence to use it but also served him as a reminder that he needed to keep updating his own teaching practices: I feel that the use of Moodle in the platform has been quite contagious. The actual use of the platform by other teachers made me realise its benefits and also at the same time to feel the need to update my own practice. Andrew’s experiences of using Moodle are a reminder of how the development of a teaching culture, which involves innovative uses of technology, will require the appropriate conditions across self, setting and context levels. A teacher who, at self level, has the pedagogical capacity and conviction to engage is social constructivist activities will have the opportunity to thrive in a setting where colleagues are integrating new technologies into their classes and are willing to share their experiences with others, and is also likely to find inspiration in the attitudes to student-centred approaches to online learning, which exist in the literature of online education.

Discussion: understanding local interpretations of online teaching practice This chapter set out, first, to explore the manner in which an online learning platform with its own particular culture of learning and teaching was taken up by the teaching staff at the foreign language department of a Spanish university and, second, to establish how the local educational and cultural contexts and the teachers’ own beliefs and pedagogical practices would influence how the platform was actually employed. First, it became evident that all three teachers involved in these case studies saw the use of the on-line platform as related to the principle of being a progressive, up-to-date teacher. It was seen in the description of the local cultural context that there exists a general tendency in the world of education (and in particular in Spanish society) that teachers should use online activities with their learners and this external pressure undoubtedly pushed these teachers to look for opportunities to incorporate learning tools such as Moodle into their classes.

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While it is perhaps of little surprise that teachers should associate on-line technologies with pedagogical innovation and professional development, it is nevertheless significant that two of the three teachers essentially limited their online activity to the transfer of materials and activities onto an online format and avoided any use of the communicative and collaborative functions available to them. Both teachers suggested that these tools and activities would come at a later stage and offered various explanations for this approach, including, first, the complexity of learning how to use the platform’s functions properly and, second, their students’ high level of satisfaction with using the new medium in their classes. However, their interview data reveal that although the teachers pay lip service to the transformative possibilities of the technology, they are essentially using it to reinforce their control over student behaviour or to ‘fool’ their students into doing the same activities in what the students may think are more innovative ways. For example, both teachers mentioned using functions of the VLE to check up on student participation and to force them to access materials, while Isabel’s transfer of hard copy materials online was due to her students’ perceived pre-disposition to online activity. In many senses, it appears that the use of the VLE is an attempt to benefit from the connotations of innovation and student-centred learning, which online learning holds for students and for Spanish society in general, while at the same time allowing teachers to continue in practice with teacher-centred approaches. Analyzing this situation with a social realist lens means that any change to these practices must involve development and change at both micro and macro levels of Layder’s model. For example, it was seen in the case of Andrew that the inspiration and motivation for using the platform in innovative ways did not originate in ‘top-down’ macro-level initiatives involving in-service training, but instead from an active community of practitioners within the department itself. If a number of colleagues are seen to be successfully using a platform in their classes, then they can become a model for others to follow. They can also help to maintain momentum and provide their fellow teachers with new ideas of how to use the technology in innovative ways. Sandholtz, Ringstaff, and Dwyer comment: Not only can teachers serve as models for each other, their experiences can give teachers who are learning to use technology a road map for the process. By knowing what to expect, teachers can more easily manoeuvre around the obstacles and more quickly reach their destination. (1997: 182) Second, it was seen that if the introduction of VLEs such as Moodle are to support social constructivist methodology, it is first of all necessary for a culture of teaching to be present where teachers are knowledgeable of and

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interested in engaging their learners in student-centred learning practices involving a relinquishment of teacher control and a greater emphasis on discovery- and project-based learning. If teachers are unaware of, or disagree pedagogically with, such practices, then it goes without saying that the introduction of any technologies such as Moodle will not serve to bring them about. As part of this book’s effort to construct the notion of learning and teaching cultures, we may therefore reflect on the relationship between the ‘introduction’ of a VLE and the ‘presence’ of a culture of student-centred learning. As we have shown, interrelated macro and micro factors shape both and bring them together in ways that need to be better understood if such practices as we have described here are to change.

Conclusion Over the past decade the internet and virtual learning platforms such as Moodle have undoubtedly become an integral part of education in Western society and have helped to shape the expectations and hopes that teachers and students now bring to formal education. However, perhaps due to simplified portrayals in the media and in the academic literature of what online learning and teaching actually involve, there exists what Jane Healy describes as an ‘unreasonable and unfounded fascination and belief in [. . .] technology’s educational power (Healy, cited in Bax 2003: 25)’. This often leads to an unfounded hope that the internet will make revolutionary changes to the way learning and teaching take place in our classrooms. In this chapter we have recognized the potential of Moodle and its learning culture for more innovative, student-centred approaches to learning but we believe that the case studies have also provided a reminder that the eventual impact of online learning continues to be very much dependent on the culture of learning and teaching, which exists in each school or university’s socioinstitutional context and also in the minds and behaviour of the teachers who put them to use. Whether the minds and behaviour of students also reflect these socioinstitutional contexts is a question, which, while not part of our aim in this chapter, nevertheless can be asked, as other chapters in this book show. Change and innovation can be brought about through the use of online technologies, but only if there is support and will for change on all four levels of Layder’s research map. This will include administrative-supported training initiatives in online pedagogy, a genuine interest from teachers themselves in exploring student-centred approaches and a willingness on their behalf to take an active part in communities of practice with colleagues.

Chapter 4

From Face-to-Face to Distance Learning: The Online Learner’s Emerging Identity Christine Develotte Institut National de Recherche Pedagogique, France ´

Introduction Over the last few years, online learning has made it possible for a new audience to access continuing education. For example in France, online Professional MAs in Language Teaching and Learning have attracted many teachers of French-as-a-foreign-language, most of them already posted abroad. The internet allows them to enrol on programmes offering university-level professional qualifications. This chapter explores one such programme, launched in Grenoble in November 2006 as a partnership between the Centre National d’Enseignement a` Distance (or CNED, French national centre for distance education, see Internet References section) and the Universit´e Grenoble 3. Within this programme, a module entitled ‘A Discourse Approach to Intercultural Issues’ offers the opportunity for researchers to collect a corpus for observing and analyzing aspects of the identity of these online learners. It is clear that, prior to enrolment in our module, the types of learning cultures surrounding most of these students, many aged around thirty, are tied in to traditional face-to-face classrooms. Their move to the online setting is a significant ‘moment’, which the study aims to capture, because at that point a break occurs with habits, behaviours and ‘representations’ (in Moscovici’s understanding of the term, as discussed later in this chapter), rooted in a previous, different context. Our research methodology takes the above module as a starting point and aims to identify the main aspects of that new learning culture, which could be called the ‘newly networked learning culture’. Students were asked to analyze the different aspects of the

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learning cultures implicit in their course, based on their reflective observations, which constitute our corpus. The following are the questions addressed in the study: r How do we move from the situation of the traditional classroom learner to that of the online student? r Which learning practices need to be deconstructed, modified and adapted to this new context? r Which new learning strategies seem to come into play at the sociocognitive and socioaffective levels? To answer these questions, it may be fruitful to focus on the particular context of online learning. Before examining individual experiences, we will look at the different social situations which give rise to them.

Background The role of the social environment in constructing the individual Following Piaget (1977) and Vygotsky (1978), among others, we now know that the social dimension precedes individual knowledge: Cognitive work occurs in a human, social and cultural world, and far from being independent from it, it is on the contrary strongly determined by it. (1978: 78) It is upon this socioconstructivist conception that the present analysis will be based. From this point of view, our knowledge of the world is based on the ordering and organization of a world, which is constituted by our individual experiences and our collective knowledge, transmitted primarily through language. Given the extent to which our social and discursive environment influences and conditions our vision of the world (L´evi-Strauss 1985), we can hypothesize that a change in learning environment will destabilize online students who, for the first time, must face a different learning environment from that of the traditional classroom, and that they will look for ways of adapting to this change. This will include making adjustments to their previous learning strategies, and it is certain aspects of those adjustments that we will analyze, with two different aims in mind. One is to understand how individuals adapt to a new pedagogical reality. The other is to address the following, more sociological question: How does a student adapt to this new learning environment? (A process described by Coulon (1993) as ‘affiliation to the job of [online] student’ (1993: 96.) These differentiated aims will underpin our exploration of the research questions set out in the previous section.

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Displayed spaces and spaces for production on the platform In line with Vygotsky, we relate online pedagogical socialization to the aspects of the development of the online learner’s individual identity that the different types of interaction encourage. In order to specify more clearly which sort of environment is likely to influence the way in which this socialization occurs for each learner, we focus on the relationship between space and discourse, realized in screen and text form. To this aim, we use a notion that brings together spaces in which discourse is displayed to learners, and spaces for their production of discourse, which we call ‘Espace d’Exposition Discursive’ (EED), although it is important to note that in stressing the screen and text-related interpretation that we give to the phrase ‘Espace d’Exposition Discursive’ and encapsulating it in an acronym, we intend to set it apart from the notion of ‘discursive space’ as known, for example, in discursive psychology. Elsewhere (Develotte 2006), we have spoken of the EED of an online teaching platform. By this we mean the digital (graphico-scriptural) environment to which online learners are exposed when they come to the platform. Whereas traditional classroom learners enter a classroom (with desks, a board, i.e. a marked-out and norm-governed social space), online learners connect to a platform, which involves a sense of ‘d´ej`a-l`a ’. In contrast to situations of ‘d´ej`a-vu’, in which the individual recognizes something that she or he has already seen before, we can coin the phrase ‘d´ej`a-l`a ’ (already there) to indicate that what they find, when they come online, is a world that is both established (it pre-exists their arrival) and unfamiliar to them. For example, the presentation of the course by teachers or administrators, the creation of course headings, the organization of information and the creation of web links are all ‘already there’. As is clear from Figure 4.1, the discursive space to which the learner is exposed does not reflect prior practices in terms of learning culture (except in the case of two or three students who have already experienced a similar kind of training). Also, the EED introduces a social space for teaching/learning and new discursive practices. Learner socialization is therefore shaped both by the EED and by the teachers’ and the administrators’ discourses that take place there, before the arrival of the learners. The EED, which is also linked to didactic and pedagogical choices, conditions the form and the content of the discursive productions of the students. For example, on the Dokeos platform studied here, the courses are structured according to the following model: folders with the headings ‘activities’ and ‘work’, where the students’ monthly work is sent; and a ‘forum’, which allows students to ask questions related to the course or to other matters. More general headings allow students to communicate with each other in a ‘R´ecr´e ’ (recreation) space reserved, as the name suggests, for relaxing,

Who’s who

Recreation area

Figure 4.1 Discursive Space

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Alumni

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From Face-to-Face to Distance Learning Table 4.1 Three Variables of the Learning Situation Traditional classroom, co-presence

At a distance, by correspondence

At a distance, via digital forum

Interpersonal communication through the synchronous written forum

Direct, oral, visual

Written, on paper

Mediated through technology (including different tools)

Teacher-learner relations

Synchronous, frequent, spontaneous

Asynchronous, infrequent, programmed for regularity

Asynchronous, frequent, a degree of spontaneity possible

Learner-learner relations

Synchronous

Absent

Asynchronous, mediated by technology

Interlocutors’ perceptions

Direct, sensorial,

Almost none, few clues (anonymity)

Indirect, through online interaction or information

or for communicating with an administrator for the Master’s degree at the Universit´e Grenoble 3. It is this digital environment for socialized learning that provides the right soil for the culture of online learning of participants. At this stage it is useful to compare pedagogical communication in three learning situations experienced by the students from a social point of view. The comparison, expressed through three variables, is summarized in Table 4.1. We start by putting forward two hypotheses, based on our foregrounding of the social over the individual, one related to the system, and the other to the individuals involved in it: The “techno-semio-pragmatic” specificities, to use Peraya’s (1998) term, of the learning environment influence the subculture that develops among users, and therefore influences their identity as online learners. In other words, participants do not express themselves in the same manner in cases where pedagogical communication is carried out solely via asynchronous writings (as it is in the Dokeos-mediated course being discussed in this chapter), or via synchronous exchanges, be they text-based or

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multimodal. Thus it cannot be assumed that the online learning culture will be the same in these different contexts. Each digital environment is a reflection of conceptions in educational and pedagogical engineering that pre-exist the “arrival” of the user. Within each, a set of specific discursive norms and conversational rituals develops, and each engenders a different ethos for the participants. This is the first hypothesis put forward in this study. The second hypothesis is that the learners, as individuals, have an identity marked by their multiple previous experiences of learning (most frequently in traditional classroom environments) and that their characteristics (age, origin, sex) as well as their profiles (technical knowledge, personality, time available, etc.) also influence the social dynamics of the group. This had already begun to happen when we interviewed the learners. In the study we therefore have access to individual representations expressed by learners who had inserted themselves into the social dynamics of the pedagogical forum two months earlier. Moscovici (1973) describes social representations as: cognitive systems with a logic and language of their own. [. . .] They do not represent simply “opinions about”, “images of” or “attitudes towards” but “theories” or “branches of knowledge” in their own right, for the discovery and organisation of reality, of systems of values, ideas and practices with a two-fold function: first, to establish an order which will enable individuals to orient themselves in their material world and to master it; and secondly, to enable communication to take place among members of a community by providing them with a code for naming and classifying unambiguously the various aspects of the world and individual and group history. (1973: xiii) Moscovici stresses the need to use social representations as ‘a drawbridge between the world of the individual and the social world, to relate them to the perspective of a changing world’ (1991: 83, our translation). As a psycho-social research tool, the representations of subjects engaged in a training situation have long been of interest to educational researchers (Rosenthal & Jackobson 1971; Giordan 1983). Using the above framework, this chapter investigates learner representations among a group of students new to online learning. Based on the hypothesis that recurrent representations may be held up as signs of an emerging identity, our chapter looks towards identifying the representations that our students have of their learning, as a contribution to a description of the diversity of learner experiences online. Through an analysis of representations, we aim to explore the differences and commonalities – among learner variables – specific to this online-learning culture.

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The study Context of the training The study discussed in this chapter examines the experience of learners enrolled in the second year of a professional Master’s level online training course ‘Didactique du FLE et approches discursives de l’interculturel’(Teaching French as a Foreign Language: A Discourse Perspective on Intercultural Issues). This course is delivered by the CNEDUniversit´e Grenoble 3 and it offers teachers of French as a Foreign Language the opportunity to bring their professional qualifications up to date. In other words, the students, who are already teachers, are seeking to acquire a professional certification related, in this case, to online teaching/learning. They are therefore as interested in the form of transmission and the cognitive processes that it entails, as in the content of this training. Moreover, all are French native speakers and 80 percent of them work outside France. Here are some details on the teaching/learning environment: students receive the course documents (on paper or in a pdf file) and are supported via asynchronous online tutoring in their eight classes. The tutorials are mostly managed by the teacher in charge of the module (sometimes in association with one or two colleagues). In these tutorials regular interactions occur, with each tutor connecting around twice a week in order to answer students’ questions concerning the set activities or comprehension problems in relation to the class. The module in which the data examined here was gathered (Teaching French as a Foreign Language: A Discourse Perspective on Intercultural Issues) offered students a choice between continuous assessment and a final thesis or essay. Note that this approach to assessment would in itself have had implications for the cultural dimension of this online course, but student data does not refer to it, and it is therefore excluded from the present study. The twenty students who are the subjects of this study chose continuous assessment. The course began with six tutorials. Two months later, three further tutorials were added, among which were those that were taught by the author and are under study in this chapter.

Study corpus and methodology The corpus of data upon which this study is based was gathered during the initial online activity carried out by a cohort of students enrolled between 2006 and 2007. With a view to raising their awareness of the cultural dimensions related to online learning, we encouraged them to think about the changes introduced into their learning culture by the computer-mediated dimension of their distance study. They were given the following instructions

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(bearing in mind that this was the author’s first tutorial, although the students had by that stage already experienced online tutorials by other tutors): You began this online training two months ago, and we will start this course with an exploration of this teaching/learning. I would like to invite you to test the techniques of reflexive analysis suggested in Chapter 1 of the course by observing your own habits, behaviour and representations associated with online learning (in comparison with the traditional classroom teaching culture to which you were exposed before). Try to describe your perception of anonymity, of solitary work, of the integration of the technological dimension into this type of learning (and of the temporal and spatial specificities related to this) and of every other variable you consider relevant to understanding your experience as a learner. Do not hesitate to give examples to illustrate each of your perceptions. Twenty reflective student assessments, each about 2,000 to 2,500 words, were collected (without the students having access to each other’s representations): fourteen stated the novelty of this online learning experience for them; three showed experience of distance learning through paper-based correspondence only; and three had already had experience of online teaching the previous year, that is, the first year of their 2-year Master’s programme. For 85 percent of the students it was therefore their first experience of online learning. Thirty percent of students had experience of distance learning, but for half of these it had involved correspondence only. As a large majority (70 percent) of these learners had been educated in France, where a transmission model of teaching is favoured, we considered that in spite of possible influences from outside school, learners would have mainly constructed their learner identities from a traditional classroom experience, and that their cultural references would be linked to a classic form of transmission of knowledge, which privileges the contents over the learning processes. Using the variables in Table 4.1, we will identify those characteristics that are brought to the fore by students, to specify online interpersonal pedagogical relationships. Which elements in this table are mentioned by the learners? Which ones are not? Which ones are new? In the following analyses we will dissociate those representations which are linked to the specificities of the pedagogical communication system from those that are more precisely linked to the socioaffective aspects of the training, thus reflecting the two aims that we formulated earlier, of studying how individuals adapt to a new pedagogical reality, and how they affiliate to the job of an online student. This will allow us to draw up sociocognitive

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and psycho-cognitive profiles for the learners, taking full account of the particular technological and human context of this online training. This analysis is organized around elements collected in a thematic way from within the students’ accounts. Sixteen students have been teachers for 5 years on an average (in France or outside France). Because of their presumed interest in the learning process, we assume that they are in a position to give a critical and detached view of their learning experience. In order to make visible the representations regarding relations to the technological system and interpersonal relations, we used a method consisting of dividing up each student’s contribution thematically, to produce data categorized according to the columns of Table 4.1. The extracts from the different students’ assignments were thus juxtaposed and analyzed. Within each thematic category, we found that students had expressed themselves through questions, positive critique or negative critique. We quantified the data according to these modes of expression so as to form an idea of the overall corpus analyzed. (The number of students appears in each case in round brackets in the sections that follow, while square bracketed numbers identify each individual student). For each mode of expression (i.e. questioning, positive or negative) extracts of the students’ discursive productions were selected, illustrating the different themes that were broached. Through this first exploratory investigation of the corpus we seek to highlight the representations conveyed by the learners as part of their discursive productions, ‘zooming in’ on them, as it were. In the conclusion of the analyses of the four themes broached, we try to show how the main identity traits specific to the online learner are represented in the asynchronous online pedagogical environment under study. We start with representations concerning online interpersonal communication, before dealing with those related to teacher-learner relations, then learner-learner relations and finally those that refer to the perceptions of interlocutors in this kind of discursive space.

Discussion Interpersonal communication through the synchronous written forum All of the students gave their viewpoint on the particular form taken by the pedagogical communication in the Dokeos platform. We examine which aspects were appreciated and which received the most negative evaluations. Among those elements mentioned by the students, we retain those specific to this form of learning and we discard, for example, those concerning distance only, as being applicable not only to this but also other forms of teaching (i.e. by correspondence).

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Among the twenty student productions, in our analysis of the extracts concerning technological communication via the forum, we identify twelve responses, which give ‘negative’ evaluations, seven ‘positive’ evaluations and one ‘questioning’ evaluation. We therefore begin with ‘negative’ representations and we define the different levels to which they refer. Feeling of insecurity when facing technology The negative comments covered two points: the complexity of the platform (8) and the difficulty of communicating via this medium (4). The first point refers to two difficulty levels: the sheer number of messages, and the way they are visually organized on the platform. Thus ‘the multiplicity of links on the platform makes it tentacular (or sprawling)’ according to one student, while another student spoke of ‘the impression of a tangle of new information, in comparison with a traditional tutorial in which the reactions and the remarks of the teachers or the students follow the outline of the class’. Other students referred to Kafka and Ionesco to express what they saw as the absurd and frightening world of this online platform. Thus a general feeling of insecurity was created, contrasting with the level of organization that learners experienced in their previous studies. [5] At first I had the feeling of being invaded by an unpredictable flux of heterogeneous information and modalities, for which I had to keep searching, with the feeling nonetheless that I had no control at all over the situation; or partial control at best. How do we explain this mind-blowing cognitive insecurity? Perhaps predictably, the technical problems were expressed (8) both in terms of the weaknesses of the teaching system, and of the learners’ unpredictable access and own limitations with regard to the use of technology (2). Thus three students (located in Asia) mentioned the connection problems caused by an earthquake, which occurred on 26 December 2006, one of the consequences of which was that the underwater optic cables carrying the greater part of the internet connections were ruptured, interrupting the online pedagogical communication for 10 days. These two levels of difficulty enter into what Kupersmith (1995) calls ‘technostress’, pointing, perhaps, to the need for a further study to check if there is a relation between the students’ technical competence and the expression of their feeling of insecurity. It is, in any case, a hypothesis worth putting forward: that the lesser the technical knowledge, the greater the stress among the students.

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Perceptions of unequal appropriation of the communication environment The images associated with the forum as a place of discursive production were seen very differently by individual students. Some found it easier to express themselves than others (7): [10] The use of forums breaks barriers and inhibitions. There is no longer a gulf between those who dare and those who don’t dare speak up. I’m someone who is usually reserved in front of a large group, and for me this tool is reassuring. Other students (5), however, felt inhibited while using the platform: [13] Sending a message on the Dokeos platform amounts to hurling oneself into the void, with no chance of checking the relevance of a question by seeing the reactions of your interlocutors. By writing a message, we must accept a much larger part of responsibility for what we say: once the message is sent, we cannot change it, even if we have realized that we have made an error. I think that I can analyze this attitude as a sort of apprehension of “the other”, an uneasiness to which I react by asking fewer questions than I would if I were in a classroom. These images are very varied and the way that they evolve would merit a study on its own. It might then be possible to find out whether reactions like those of student [13] are temporary, linked to the initial discovery factor, or whether they are likely to become permanent, associated with the ethos that this individual built up through the use of the platform. It is often the case that the same aspect is seen in different ways by individual students. For example, the public character of the statements on the forum can be experienced as a lack of confidentiality or, conversely, as a sharing of the training process between the students. [11] The forums [. . .] lack a dimension of confidentiality. Sometimes I compensated by contacting the other member of the work group by email. [4] What I particularly like is the fact that nothing is hidden or wellguarded, like it is when we are in a classroom where sometimes only a few students can benefit from the information given, since the questions which are posed outside courses and classrooms don’t circulate to every student and, similarly, don’t necessarily make it to the ears of the teachers. But in the case of distance learning, both teachers and students participate regularly in all of the online “dialogues”. Similarly, the asynchronous aspect of exchanges was liable to trigger positive or negative reactions; according to the students:

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[20] There is no immediate feedback from the teacher; each participant is always waiting for the response from a professor, from a student, or from a member of the administration. [1] The asynchronous style teaches us to be patient and to organize our work in advance so that we take into account the time we must wait before we receive a response. One area for further exploration suggested by our findings – which are limited by the broad view that we have adopted in this study – would be to refine the grain of the analysis by including biographical details relating to the learners’ previous educational experiences, their affinities (or otherwise) for using technology and their orientation towards autonomous learning, etc. Indicators of a change of culture We offer two examples of students’ impressions, which may be precursors to cultural changes in the domain of learning. The first example is that of a student who asks herself the following questions: [3] I also asked myself about certain aspects of the operation of the platform, in particular about the possibility of seeing who is connected and about the recording of the frequency of our connections. Does knowing that others are online, without being able to come into contact with them, serve to maintain the motivation of the group or, rather, to consolidate a feeling of belonging to a community, for example? As for the information about our connections, I suppose that it permits the teachers to judge the “health” of the platform by means of statistics. In effect, these questions attest to the knowledge of this particular technical culture that this student has1 ; her inferences relate to the limits of the platform, on one hand, and, on the other hand, to the functions of control linked to the system of technological traces. The majority of teachers do not use the statistical information about students’ connections, but the totality of this student’s productions must, presumably, take place while she has in mind the possibility that somebody (teacher or administrator) could lurk and check what she is doing while she works on the platform. Such potential checks undeniably form part of the available technico-discursive machinery. In our opinion, these remarks may be considered as the start of changes to the image of what a pedagogical exchange is, when carried out online. In the same vein, the ideas of the student below indicate that her perception of writing has changed because of her experience of using the platform:

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[13] While I would allow myself to ask spontaneous questions in class, when learning online I prefer to put my doubts to one side and think about the question myself or else re-read the notes I took to find the response. It’s only when I’m sure of my lack of understanding of the subject matter that I ask the question on the platform; this clearly makes questioning much less impulsive. My vision of what writing is surely enters into the game, here. Indeed, I am used to informal exchanges when writing in a personal style (letters, chats, diverse synchronous exchanges), but, in my thinking process, writing in a university setting is immediately associated with work that is definitive, thought-out, constructed, and often liable to be evaluated. Whereas I see oral communication as a system of propositions, of hypotheses, of reflections, and of questioning, written trial and error is difficult for me to envision. As it were, I feel that I have less of a right to make a mistake when writing than when speaking. The discussion forum at the university is thus another perturbing element in my cognitive process, since its goal is to be a system of exchanges of doubts and questions that are written. Accounting for my thoughts on the matter, sending a message on the platform is, for me, taking a singular risk which requires more tolerance of uncertainty than one would find in oral participation in a classroom learning situation. The relationship with writing is ingrained in our social practices and it models our behaviours. The reflections above reflect the necessity of a cultural appropriation of this new relationship to writing online in the context of learning. This type of writing distinguishes itself from traditional writing at university because of its more spontaneous character, in that it is less determined by a search for formal perfection. Teacher-learner relations Concerning relationships with their teachers, students expressed ideas that related to the idea of greater freedom of expression online, which goes back to what Walther (1996) has called ‘hyperpersonal’ interaction. This aspect, that is, relations that are more relaxed than they are in the classroom, was noted by nine students: [19] The relationships between the students and the teachers are friendlier and more relaxed. The latter are also present on the Qui est qui (Who’s Who) forum. Mr. M. uses smileys to wink at us, Mr. C. jokes around [. . .] The online relationship helps to lose inhibitions. I say things that I would never permit myself to say in a classroom (what I am in the process of writing for you, for example); things like humor, criticism. [. . .] There are failures of communication due to technical problems (disappearance

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of forums2 ); (would I ever make such an allusion in a classroom, and wink at you?). The teacher thus appears paradoxically, ‘closer and more accessible despite the distance and the asynchronicity’. One can also link this aspect to the fact that the teachers were involved in the design of the pedagogical communication environment and that they had deliberately chosen a form of tutorial support that was appropriate to supporting students in a socioaffective manner. Learner-learner relations All 20 students mentioned the new type of relationship that distancelearning sets up with other students, if only because they were surprised, as in the case of the following individual: [19] The image of distance learning that I had was very different. First, I imagined only a teacher/student relationship. But I realized that one enters into a new mode of learning in which interaction and collaborative work have an essential place. Thus, there is a strong support system: tutorial support, exchanges (forums, chats, collaborative groups). At no time did I ever think of exchanges between students. Three subthemes are addressed in the framework of relationships between students: first and foremost collective work, then solidarity and the feeling of noncompetition and, finally, the absence of conversations outside class time. Collective work Ninety percent of the students dedicated a part of their reflections to collective work, which appeared to be the element perceived as most prominent in the relationship between students. Indeed, eighteen students were interested in work, which prompted them to co-operate in an activity with another student. The evaluations of this aspect of relationships in distance learning were varied: seven students had a negative judgment of this type of work, six mentioned their interest, two expressed puzzlement, and three others had negative impressions at the start, which evolved during the course, becoming more positive at the end. The following are examples of the difficulty which was most often cited (10), that is choosing a partner to make up a pair: [11] I would express my reservations most especially with the work done in pairs or in groups. We need to collaborate with one or several other

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people chosen in a completely random way. It is true that we have a description of each person on the forum at our disposal, but ultimately that doesn’t say much about the personality of the individual and whether or not we are going to be able to get along. Henri (2007) considers, after more than 20 years of analyzing the process of online collaboration, that collaboration requires preparation and that it is necessary to teach students how to collaborate and to make sure that stages are not skipped, because these are useful in preparing for later work. In only one case did the difficulty mentioned earlier come from a student’s own acknowledged shortcomings: [5] Collaborative work is still difficult for me [. . .]. I admit, of course, that I have an independent personality, difficulties with delegation and trust, and even a need for control. The students also made a link between other ways of communicating (outside the platform) and the collective work in pairs (6). The following examples demonstrate that the students used initiative and appropriated the different tools available in order to adjust as much as possible to the constraints of communication: [18] Time-management was the triggering factor of reorganization in the communication. The multitude of details to deal with in our pair work made it necessary to move to synchronous exchanges via Windows MessengerTM . The problems with time-management, in these types of training courses, were mentioned by all the students. Similar difficulties are discussed by Thorpe (2006: 506), who adds that ‘Conferencing and on-line tutorials can also add to study workload if they are not well-moderated or wellstructured. More time is required to read large numbers of messages when conferences are not tightly threaded or a tutor does not weave together the themes effectively or summarize and guide the discussion’. Certainly the pedagogical communication environment that is offered to students is capable of improvement in numerous ways. Indeed these communicative protocols are not yet familiar ground for teachers or educational designers, and both these communities constantly seek to improve them through attention to developments highlighted in studies like the current one. In addition to the time factor that is cited by students to justify moving over to other modes and tools of communication, there is also a need to

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compare one’s thoughts and feelings about the training courses with those of others. [17] I notice that I immediately reintroduced a “corporal” and “perceptible” dimension into my group, notably by using a communication tool that is synchronous and “more human”: the telephone. Although not in the physical presence of our peers, it allows us to be in contact with a voice, with something that is alive, which is also reassuring. This underlines the need on the part of students to share emotions socially (Rim´e 2005), the lack of which was mentioned in a number of ways by them. Solidarity/absence of competitiveness Several students (5) mentioned their surprise or their pleasure when they were helped by other students. [6] Having received my courses two months after the beginning of the training course, I felt very alone when faced with my learning. Happily, two students sent me messages of support and encouragement, which really surprised me but also “remotivated” me. I think, here, that distance learning allows this type of intervention more easily than classroom learning. Would I have had the support of two perfect strangers in a classroom situation? This expression of solidarity among students, which is surprising for a teacher who is used to classroom culture, seems to be something specific to online learning and could be linked to the reduced feeling of competition, which was also noted by several students. Loss of socializing time in-between formal face-to-face sessions The uniquely ‘professional’ character of the relationships between students on the teaching platform was highlighted (4): [6] One of the disadvantages of distance learning is that the contact remains linked only to the training course. Personal connections, which are also a source of motivation, are absent. It is clear, then, that the lack of relationships with other students was felt most often in the motivational and social aspects, which help to share emotions (e.g. stress or others). [6] I also think that, when everyone is physically present, information circulates more easily than in distance learning. In a classroom, while

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waiting for a teacher, for example, or during the breaks, the students chat and exchange information very easily and naturally. [. . .] So it’s not very reassuring to work alone, in front of a computer that will never say to you, “In fact, you had started working on. . .” or, “You handed in. . .”, or even, “This assignment is really hard. . ., how did you start it?”, etc. It seems that in separating recreational topics (‘R´ecr´e ’) from ‘serious’ topics and putting them into different ‘boxes’, the platform through its structures has broken with the usual mix that is customary in on-site classes, which bring together the speeches and lectures in the classroom with the talk that goes on in the hallway or the cafeteria. Perhaps on future distance teaching/distance learning platforms, these EEDs, which are more hybrid, will become prevalent if the demand for them highlights their pedagogical importance. Constructing one’s interlocutor Among the themes that we had suggested to students as ways of structuring their accounts of their experience with distance learning was the theme of anonymity, which was an important element to consider when looking at the perceptions (or, rather, the nonperceptions) of the interlocutors on the platform. In fact it seems that anonymity did not emerge as a particularly relevant theme because more than half of the students (11/20) did not feel that this form of distance learning conveyed a feeling of anonymity (the other nine did not address this theme): [17] I construct images of personalities from the information that each person gives, so as to adapt to this change and recreate a universe that mixes the known and the unknown. [3] Names took on a face because some people included a photo on their course blog (for the ‘computer-assisted collective learning ’ module). [5] On Dokeos, one can read not only detailed answer keys and personal information, but also warm exchanges and links to personal sites. I myself have Googled the names of teachers in order to know more about their academic careers and frames of mind. Thus, according to the success of my searches, sometimes I do my work with faces and sometimes I do it while trying to guess the personality traits of my partners. Both ways are pleasant. One interesting find was the way in which the students restored reality to their professors who were not present (i.e. who were connected to the

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forum) by using online or imaginary information; the virtual here took on its true meaning. But it shows the necessity of having an image of the other, which is projected or otherwise seen, in order to experience a pedagogical relationship online, at least for some people: [19] I also find it funny that I imagine faces by using other people’s introductions of themselves, their questions, and their personalities (although some people have put their picture on their blog). For one of the students, the people who remained anonymous were those who did not frequently use the forum; for the others, clues allowed the imagination to compensate for the lack of information to which we are accustomed in on-site learning: [8] Style or tonality are revealing, and one cannot neglect what might appear while reading between the lines [. . .]. This student seems to be in a hurry because there are several typos in his text. That one is not coherent in his usage of typography. Another one takes great care that her text flows well. Or a recurring error shows a nonnative speaker (our emphasis). One question that emerged concerned the universality and types of experience, that is, whether all students experienced this, what form this experience took and what role this imaginary projection played in the learning process (motivational level, etc.). In the final part of our study, we examine the traces that indicate how individuals appropriate a new learning culture generated by the move to on-line/distance learning. This emerging learning culture foreshadows new learning identities, which are currently being constructed. Emerging identities Our aim in undertaking this study was to answer questions about the move from classroom learner to online student, and in particular to identify new learning practices and strategies, coming into play at the sociocognitive and socioaffective levels. In the final section, we now address these two dimensions. Sociocognitive level Another finding of note concerns the differences between what, according to the students (5), was seen as the ‘good performance’ of an online learner

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and the real behaviours that had been adopted up to this point in the course (i.e. 2 months after the start). Here is an example: [19] Although the didactic intentions of this training course aim for student/student and student/teacher interactions, I prefer student/teacher exchanges most of the time. However, I remain persuaded that the best way to learn is to get involved actively. So, why didn’t I play the game? This understanding of the issues and of the modalities of teaching was not enough to reorient the work habits that had been ingrained for many years, as the same student explains: [19] The first reason, I think, is that I was used to the traditional teacher/knowledge/student triangle, and that the change in the way that speech acts are enacted through technological mediation was difficult. The second reason is my lack of self-confidence as a learner. The sanction of success and of failure can be destabilizing when one is an adult. As a result, I no longer have confidence in my co-learners. How can they respond to my questions when they aren’t professors? To give advice to other students seemed pretentious to me. This narration is in the past tense because the student later explains in what manner her impressions evolved and lead to behaviours that were more adapted to the pedagogical situation online. The next section provides examples of new strategies of learning, which emerged in order to respond appropriately to the pedagogical communication mechanism. Psycho-cognitive level The five students who declared which learning strategies they had used all started from the need to rethink their way of learning, taking into account the disappearance of elements which they were accustomed to use as part of the framework of a classroom situation. [13] In order to catch up with my learning strategies in the classroom, I had the use of new strategies to simulate interactions: not only did I decide to proceed with creating personal evaluations in the form of tests that reproduce the system of questioning someone else, but I also forced myself to evaluate my appropriation of knowledge by regularly speaking out loud and imagining myself to be in the middle of explaining the situation to someone. In these examples we see the fundamental role that imagination plays in the capacity to leave behind the strategies which were previously used in other learning situations and which are, in distance learning, seen as

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ineffective and thus in need of modification. Sometimes, however, the students were less advanced in their appropriation of these strategies, and they noted their helplessness in sticking to the student model that they previously had in their minds: [5] Being the 2nd-year postgraduate student that I am, I must now confess that I print most of the forum discussions, the activities, the links, and the documents, and I put them in a folder with a multitude of colored inserts. If I do nothing, I still fear that an important announcement will escape the clicks of my mouse. It is the obsession of wanting to manage and master everything. In the next few months, I am most probably going to need to accept the fact that this is no longer possible, that one cannot work with this illusion in one’s head. There is clearly some guilt attached to the lack of respect of what is implicitly established as the ‘good behaviour’ of the online student. This emotion is in fact representative of a multitude of others (among which we find stress, frustration, a feeling of insecurity) that are generated by the early stages of an online learner’s career. Five students associate discomfort with interest (in the description of their experience), as in the following example: [2] I find the experience oppressive but interesting. To break from one routine to find another brings about new methods of work and allows me to really sort out the things I usually do effectively from the ones I do less effectively. These impressions reflect the work of Oxford (2003), who maintains that distance-learning students are more likely to develop strategies than other students. From a didactic point of view, one possible follow-up would be to use the diversity of the behaviours described by the students: the behaviours which, according to them, were the first changes that they had to make on becoming online learners could be used as a basis for encouraging future newly registered students to develop their own method of learning. Psycho- and socioaffective level Winkin (1981) speaks of an ‘invisible college’ to refer to the informal network of researchers who opened up new avenues for studying communication in the 1970s. Using his idea, we can speak of ‘invisible colleagues’ who link students online with a learning community. These invisible colleagues are not only present in their physical absence, but they generate expectations and interests that are reconfigured by the technologized discursive

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mise en sc`ene. In other words the platform as a specific social space sets a physical scene within which these particular expectations and interests are enhanced. Throughout the entirety of the short duration of the training course (6 months), teachers and students are linked by space (discursive platform space) and time to this type of communication: at any hour, day or night, one can potentially communicate, responses are possible, and a kind of quasi-continuous expectation of vigilance or attentiveness is generated, which is specific to this environment. ‘It is necessary to add to my palpable social network the reality of a second, virtual network in which I must regularly make an effort to participate’, says one student.

Conclusion This chapter has attempted to describe and evaluate the modification in social dynamics that results from the fact that learning no longer takes place on-site, but online. The EED of a pedagogical platform exposes students to communication methods that often elicit reactions of stress and insecurity, at least at the start. However, the study revealed that new learning methods are appearing, making up for the loss of old reference points, which came from on-site situations, by constructing behaviours that are adapted to online situations. In relation to the new context of learning, these sociocognitive adjustments may be facilitated through meta-cognitive practices enabled by the self-reflection and personal learning strategies that are necessary when managing one’s path of study alone (Oxford, 1990). The online student is thus developing identity traits that are different from those that she or he previously had as an on-site student. Also, a new relationship to knowledge is being put in place through the dynamics of online learners’ interactions, of which we have shown several aspects such as the change in the relationship to writing. Finally, new behaviours are arising, for example, more convivial interpersonal relationships between teachers and students, and less competitive, more connected, interpersonal relationships between students. The latter are supported by various communication forms (e-mail, chat, telephone) as a function of the message to be transmitted. We thus note that technological mediation includes the majority of practices, as in the example of ‘Googling’ teachers to find a few bits of information about their interests. The findings of this study reveal some of the constituent elements of the learning cultures of newly networked online learners. Seen from the two perspectives that are adopted in this chapter (their adjustment to the new pedagogical environment and their affiliation to their new job of online learner), these elements can be linked to:

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r emotion (e.g. insecurity-provoking contact with the environment, and the ambivalent feelings about contact with others, both socioaffectively and in collective tasks); r heightened awareness of the self in transition, particularly when former cultures are perceived to conflict with online needs or opportunities (e.g. in relation to writing, to newfound informality with teachers or to compensating for the disappearance of physical hallways and embodied interlocutors). The asynchronous online student is forging a complete identity; and it is up to the educational researchers to explore it, in order to better respond to its specificities.

Notes 1. While the question of whether and how the community is being tracked may have been in the awareness of more students than just the one quoted here, and therefore may have played a role in shaping the collective learning culture, we have not found empirical traces of this in our data and have therefore had to leave this question aside. 2. This refers to a previous error on my part, in which I caused the content of the forum to disappear.

Chapter 5

Being and Learning in the Online Classroom: Linguistic Practices and Ritual Text Acts Leah P. Macfadyen University of British Columbia, Canada

The ‘problem’ of online learning In this chapter, I explore an apparent difficulty in the development of effective learning cultures in virtual learning environments: the reality that much of the contemporary literature on educational research and pedagogical theory assumes (and, occasionally, insists) that physical presence is of critical importance for good teaching and good learning. The real-life encounter is often emphasized as a critical component of effective learning and intellectual development, and of the development of ‘real’ personal relationships that support good learning. Examples abound. Proponents of experiential learning – which rests on the educational philosophy of John Dewey (1966) – point to the importance of learners’ corporeal experience in integrating new ideas. Certainly, the social and intellectual impact of some of the educational movements that have embraced his ‘learning by doing’ pragmatism cannot be denied: Outward Bound and Service Learning, to name but two. Social constructivists have meanwhile built on the early work of Vygotsky (1962) and Piaget (1952) to emphasize the ways in which learners interact with others, and with their physical environment, to construct new understandings of self and world. In the realm of transformative learning, for example, Parks Daloz (2000) reports that meaningful educational encounters with ‘different others’ (2000: 112) are critical for perspective transformation and development of a commitment to social action. It is tacitly understood that meaningful encounter means embodied physical encounter. Perhaps even more significant is our understanding of the importance of social context in learning. Optimal learning environments do not simply

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create opportunities for individual learners to engage intellectually with course materials, or individually encounter their worlds as isolated selves that lack ‘community, tradition and shared meaning’ (Martin 2004: 25). Rather, optimal learning environments permit dynamic interaction between instructors, learners and tasks, and offer learners opportunities to create their own understanding through interaction with others, highlighting the importance of community, culture and context in knowledge construction (Derry 1999; McMahon 1997). In principle, online learning should offer learners a wider mix of interpersonal and cross-cultural encounters, over a shorter time span than can be offered by traditional face-to-face learning environments. But can a virtual classroom offer learners the kinds of community, collectivity and encounter with others, necessary for cognitive and intellectual development? Some educational theorists would argue that it cannot. Most famously (and perhaps most vehemently), Dreyfus (2001) has argued that learners cannot possibly experience risk-taking and vulnerability in virtual learning environments – conditions which he maintains are critical to the development of the transactional authenticity required for learning beyond ‘mere competence’ (Burbules 2002: 390). True mastery, real-world action and moral commitment, Dreyfus argues (2001), call for an affective intensity in learning that can only be achieved through embodied presence. The literature of social psychology might also appear to support Dreyfus’ contention. A growing body of empirical data gathered by investigators in this field supports the early predictions of social constructivist educational theorists, and demonstrates that embodiment plays a ubiquitous role in cognitive processing, both directly and indirectly (Barsalou et al., 2003). Theories of social embodiment that seek to explain these research observations point out that the body is extensively involved in all human activity, and argue that human knowledge is laid down in patterns of situated conceptualization that involves embodied states. The body, then, is deeply implicated in the social, cultural, experiential and cognitive processes of learning, in ways that might be perceived to make learning in virtual contexts deeply problematic. Individual bodies are understood to be the site of interlinked embodied states and cognitive processes that are triggered by social stimuli (Barsalou et al., 2003). And in interpersonal encounters, an individual’s authenticity – a term that in English connotes ‘truth’ and ‘accuracy of (self)representation’ and ‘trustworthiness’ – is supposed to be guaranteed by physical presence (Feenberg 1989) and the evidence of the senses. Cyberspace (and, in particular, virtual learning environments), on the other hand, remains overwhelmingly ‘a discursive and rhetorical space’ (Nakamura 2002: xiii). Despite recent experiments in the development of

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graphically represented virtual worlds such as Second Life, cyberspace is still primarily a ‘written world’ (Feenberg 1989: 23), constructed from written discourse, or text. In the text-based communications of cyberspace, bodily markers of identity such as physical attributes and vocal accent, are often invisible and bodily participation in gesture and ritual is usually impossible. Zurawski (2000) went as far as to argue that the physical body is, in effect, ‘banned from the Internet’ (n.p.). Concerns therefore persist about the internet as a problematic site for meaningful learner interaction, reflecting a historic preoccupation with material elements in the symbolic construction and representation of self and others.

Tools of authenticity in textual reality What do we mean by a learning culture? Poster (2001) has asked: Can there be a form of culture that is not bound to the surface of the globe, attaching human beings to its particular configurations with the weight of gravity, inscribing their bodies with its rituals and customs [. . .]? (2001: 150) Can there be learning cultures (to paraphrase Poster) that do not depend for their existence on geographical location or physical presence? If so, how can we best characterize their nature and development? Careful reflection on these questions reveals the intimate connection between individual learner identities and development of a group culture. Using the word culture complicates the task of characterization, of course, because of the degree of dispute over its meaning (Williams 1983). The definition of community is similarly disputed (see, for example, Jacobs 2004). And yet, I think it can be meaningfully insisted that a culture, however localized, is a shared feature of a group of some kind, let us call it here a community. Moreover, communities do not comprise homogeneous anonymous beings, un-differentiated neutral points between whom communication and interaction ‘happens’. Rather, they are a heterogeneous mixture of individuals who may or may not share common values, worldviews or perspectives. In considering what a learning culture may imply, Barker’s (1999) rather utilitarian perspective on culture is useful: [. . .] there is no “correct” or definitive meaning attached to it [. . .] Culture is not “out there” waiting to be correctly described by theorists who keep getting it wrong. Rather, the concept of culture is a tool which is of more or less usefulness to us [. . .]. (1999: 35)

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In a newly established learning environment, diverse learners – already inscribed with the rituals and customs of other communities to which they belong – will encounter each other. The idealized expectation is that they will engage intellectually with peers, course materials and instructors, through such intellectual performances as elaborating arguments or criticizing ideas. And yet this kind of intellectual performance presupposes a wealth of background understanding and shared assumptions (‘concepts, assumptions and methods of argument’ according to Xin and Feenberg 2006: 4) that learners must co-construct if they do not arrive with a common cultural (and intellectual) heritage. They must, in other words, co-construct a learning culture in which the ‘rules of engagement’ are understood and shared. Commonly referred to as a process of ‘negotiating meaning’, this process itself implies the revealing, sharing and negotiating of differences. That is to say, for a learning community to develop, for the construction of a learning culture to begin, learners must first be able to enact their authentic and differing identities in the learning space. Investigators concerned with the processes by which virtual learning communities begin to negotiate a shared culture have tended to focus on the discursive processes of community-building (getting to know each other, building relationships of trust, bonding around shared tasks or common experiences and group dynamics evident in virtual (learning) communities (see, for example, Bucher 2002; Conrad 2002; Oliveira Medeiros 2003). Some have used conversation analysis, for example, to examine details of message exchange (who speaks to whom), details of addressivity or patterning of social networks (Freiermuth 2000; Choi & Danowski 2002; Picciano 2002; Aviv et al. 2003; Reeder et al. 2004). Others have sought to elucidate learners’ perceptions of social presence in online learning environments as an indicator of the development of virtual community (Rourke et al. 2001; Swan & Shih 2005, and references therein). A growing number of studies have also sought to explore the cultural context of online learning. As Hewling (2005) points out, however, [. . .] much of the research into culture as it impacts the online class situates itself within a paradigm that equates culture with membership in a particular nation state. Online interaction, for example, is frequently looked at using interpretations drawn from the work of Hofstede (2001), Hall (1959, 1966), or Hall & Hall (1990). In other words, analyses of social context has tended to focus on the processes and communications between or uniting learners, while investigations of cultural context have tended to conceive of learners as

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representatives of rather essentialized notions of ‘national’ cultures – encultured automatons who arrive in the online classroom pre-programmed with a nonnegotiable suite of behaviours and communicative preferences. I will argue here that learners in text-based virtual learning environments begin the process of co-constructing a virtual learning culture by performing and sharing their unique virtual identities, and that one of the key strategies that individuals and newly forming virtual communities make use of in this process is ritual.

The role of ritual Sociologist Paul Connerton (1989) has demonstrated in fine detail the powerful collectivizing role played by ritual in human societies. On the role of ritual in the construction of collective memory – the communal narrative of a group – he writes: Both ritual and myth may quite properly be viewed as collective symbolic texts; and on this basis one may then go on to suggest that ritual actions should be interpreted as exemplifying [. . .] cultural values. (1989: 53) As with most sociological theory, there is much disagreement about the exact definition of ‘ritual’. A substantive overview of competing theoretical perspectives is beyond the scope of this chapter, and these have been thoroughly reviewed by Bell (1992). For our purposes here, however, it is useful to consider the definition proposed by Lukes (1975), who suggests that a ritual is a ‘rule-governed activity of a symbolic character which draws the attention of its participants to objects of thought and feeling that they hold to be of special significance’ (1975: 291). Rituals, clarifies Connerton, are repetitive and often stylized; they are expressive rather than instrumental, and they are expressive ‘by virtue of their conspicuous regularity’ (1989: 44). Most significant here is Connerton’s argument that the expressive influence of ritual is not limited to the ritual moment itself – rather, the expressive power of ritual thoroughly permeates nonritual action, ‘the whole life of a community’ (1989: 45). Importantly, although many rituals appear to be a re-enactment or commemoration of the past – ‘an explicit claim to be commemorating continuity’ (1989: 45) – Connerton points out that human communities routinely invent new rituals, ceremonies and commemorations in the rewriting (or re-interpreting) of collective identity. (For example, he points to the politically motivated invention by the Republican bourgeoisie in 1880 of a rite

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to commemorate Bastille Day, as a means of reasserting France’s collective identity as ‘the nation of 1789’ (1989: 51). While most ritual theorists have tended to focus on the bodily practices of rites and ceremonies, Connerton explores the ways in which language, too, can be performative and ritualistic. Discussing the linguistic rituals of liturgy, for example, he points out that liturgy is not a ‘verbal commentary on an action external to itself [. . .] in and of itself liturgical language is an action’ (1989: 57). Oaths, blessings, curses, recitations, songs, stories, poems and prayers similarly make use of repeated patterns of syntax, vocabulary and sequencing, with powerful mnemonic effect. Austin’s (1962) philosophy of language explains that performative utterances possess ‘illocutionary force’ – they do not simply offer statements about the world that can be characterized as true or false. Instead, speech acts, or illocutionary acts, do something instead of simply saying something: they fulfil a range of symbolic purposes, including representing the self and the nature of the self’s relationship with others. In other words, rituals – corporeal and/or linguistic – are both performative and creative. They acknowledge and commemorate existing elements of identity, and they contribute to the construction of new forms, and new interpretations, of community and collective identity. They allow individuals to celebrate, maintain and reinforce existing bonds, and they are routinely employed to create new social and interpersonal bonds. Ritual might appear, then, to be a perfectly suited strategy for navigating the tension that virtual learners experience between their need to represent their existing identities in a new learning context, and the need to collaborate with new peers in the construction and enlargement of the common ground – the learning culture – that is necessary to permit advancement of the learning agenda. At first glance, however, the notion of ritual as a community-building strategy in cyberspace also seems to suffer from the ‘embodiment problem’ discussed earlier. Bell (1992) and other respected ritual theorists have written extensively about the crucial involvement of the body in ritual. Bourdieu (1990) similarly argues that ritual imposes and inculcates ‘habitus’ in individuals: our way-of-being in the world that comprises ‘a set of learned dispositions which the body can express within an appropriate social context’ (Harris 2004: n.p.). ‘The fundamental feature of ritualization is that its strategies are rooted in the body’, says Harris, and its outcomes are a ‘somatic knowing’ (ibid.). As early as 1989, however, Feenberg presciently described the ways in which computer-mediated communication has disrupted the traditionally imagined continuum of communicative forms, which positions written, typed, and printed forms of communication as less intimate and less

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personal than speech; in this continuum, face-to-face communication has been assumed to be the most authentic. What Feenberg noticed, with surprise, was that computer-mediated communication did not appear to be as ‘inhuman’ as it was purported to be, but instead that its ‘lively, rapid iterations’ are ‘almost lively enough to recall spoken conversation’ (1989: 23). Text-based online communications, he argued, violate ‘our deeply ingrained cultural assumptions about communication’ (ibid.). I, and others, have also proposed elsewhere (Yates 1996; Macfadyen 2006) that the language of virtual worlds should no longer be viewed simply as text. Though appearing as print, the writing of the virtual world is ‘text-becoming-speech’ (Macfadyen 2006) and as such, I have proposed that it also has the capacity to play a performative and creative ritualistic role. What precedent is there for imagining that rituals might be practiced in textually mediated virtual spaces? While theorists have historically understood ritual practice to be necessarily embodied, a newer cohort of investigators has begun to examine ritual practices in online environments (see, for example, the work of Gregor Ahn and team at the University of Heidelberg, in the Research Centre ‘Ritual Dynamics’). Langer et al. (2006) have also usefully begun to describe the process of ritual transfer : ‘the transfer of ritual from one context into another or – more generally – a change of the context surrounding the ritual’ (2006: 1). These authors point out that rituals are dynamic and changing. Changes can be minor modifications or major transformations of ‘one or more of its internal dimensions’ (ibid.) such as ‘script, performance, structure, communication or mediality’ (Miczek 2007: 7). Below, I begin to describe how online learners transfer ‘first life’ rituals of representation, symbolization and collectivization into virtual learning environments, transforming practices that might previously have taken place through embodied action and sensory perception into explicit articulations in text. Learners re-inscribe their bodies into the text of their communications, and they participate in an evolving sequence of textual rituals that serve to expand their common ground – the collection of shared values and assumptions that are necessary for continuing dialogue and collective construction of meaning.

Investigating textual practices in online learning The virtual learning environment In order to investigate in greater detail the strategies that online learners employ in a virtual learning environment to construct and sustain their individual identities, and negotiate the emerging learning culture with peers,

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I examined student communications within a web-based interdisciplinary online undergraduate course that I designed and collaboratively developed at The University of British Columbia (UBC), Canada. The course, Perspectives on Global Citizenship was envisioned as the first in a new interdisciplinary program collaboratively offered by UBC and four of its partner universities worldwide: The University of Auckland, New Zealand; Hong Kong University; The University of Melbourne, Australia; and the University of Nottingham, England. In the development phase, the learning objectives that I envisaged for this course were complex and ambitious. I hoped that it would not only allow students to acquire more information about global issues, but also push them to reflect critically and collaboratively on their own assumptions about how the world works and on their own social and political roles and responsibilities, locally and globally. In short, I aimed for perspective transformation (Mezirow 1991). To try to achieve such ambitious goals I designed the course to foster the ‘engaged collaborative discourse’ that Xin and Feenberg (2006: 1) propose to be the ideal form of discussion in a virtual learning environment. As a form of inquiry, these authors suggest, dialogue plays an important role because it ‘generates intrinsic motives for participation’ (2006: 4) while permitting learners to work towards consensus or convergence (Roschelle 1996), reach new understandings of alternative viewpoints, and employ critical thinking skills (Lipman 1994). Thus, course materials are explicit about the ‘contested meanings of global citizenship’ (Roman 2003: 269), and make no definitive claim about its meaning. Topics within its purview (ranging from ethics to sustainability) are presented using the Blackboard VistaTM course management system in twelve weekly modules, for debate, discussion and critical analysis in tutorfacilitated group discussion forums. Each module offers summary contextualizing pages, links to electronic material (websites, streaming audio or video presentations), required readings and further resources. Importantly, modules include points for reflection, positioned as dialogue starters, to which students are required to respond via a group discussion forum each week. A minimum of one direct response to the reflection point(s) and one response to the posting of a class member is required to achieve a participation score, which forms part of a student’s final grade. Tutors actively facilitate the course, and make use of Vista communication tools to promote critical thinking, reflection on course readings, asynchronous discussion, and regular written work. In spite of the rich interdisciplinary content, Perspectives on Global Citizenship is a prime example of the kind of ‘discursive and rhetorical space’ that Nakamura (2002: xiii) describes, with all learner interaction and communication mediated via asynchronous text. Key components of the course

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(Modules 1–5) explicitly challenge students to consider questions of individual, national and cultural identity in relation to theories of global citizenship. And as described below, the student body in each cohort is extremely diverse, ensuring that no students can assume that they share a common background or approach to learning with peers. These elements make this course an especially rich source of text-based communication in which students are struggling to articulate and represent elements of identity and community. The Learners Perspectives on Global Citizenship launched in September 2005 with forty-two students from UBC, Hong Kong University and the University of Melbourne. It has been offered every term since, to a further 124 students. At the time of writing, 166 students have completed the course, including 33 (20 percent) from HKU, 21 (13 percent) from the University of Melbourne, and the remainder from UBC (including UBC’s new satellite campus, UBC Okanagan, in Central BC). Of the total, 53 (32 percent) were male, and 113 (68 percent) were female. The vast majority (128 students, or 77 percent) of participating students were in the third or fourth year of an undergraduate degree or higher, including eight postgraduate students and eight unclassified students completing a fifth or further year of courses; 38 (23 percent) students reported being in first or second year. In addition to students participating from their home universities in Vancouver, Hong Kong and Melbourne, the course also attracted UBC students on study exchanges in Nottingham (UK), Sydney (Australia) and Western Australia. Others participated from Montr´eal (Quebec), and from Japan, while completing study-related work placements. Learners based in Bahrain, Bangkok (Thailand), Calgary (Alberta), Victoria (British Columbia) and Ottawa (Ontario) enrolled in the course through UBC’s Distance Education program. In all cohorts, students have represented a diverse ethnic mix that is masked by simply considering university or national affiliation. In addition to our Hong Kong Chinese students at HKU, nineteen UBC or Melbourne students characterized themselves as first- or second-generation immigrants from Hong Kong or China. Other UBC and Melbourne students self-identified as first- or second- generation immigrants from Egypt, Singapore, the Philippines, the United States, South Africa, Iran, Korea, Poland, Thailand, Uruguay, Vietnam, Russia, Romania, Malaysia, Korea, India, Pakistan, Greece and Singapore. Moreover, the roster included international students attending UBC on student visas from the United States, Turkey, Sri Lanka, Russia, Korea, Kenya, Japan, Indonesia, Colombia, Bermuda, the

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United Kingdom and Mainland China. Some students have noted religious affiliations that included Catholic or Protestant Christianity, Islam, Sikhism, Baha’i and Judaism. Moreover, the course has attracted students from a wide range of academic disciplines: we enrolled students from degree programs in Arts, Science, Engineering, Social Sciences, Resource Management, Law, Government, Business, Education, Nursing, Medicine, Dentistry and Architecture. Methodology To investigate what is happening in our online course, I have used a grounded theory methodology (Strauss and Corbin 1998 [1990]) to examine student discussion messages (off-task and on-task) and (anonymous) student feedback questionnaire responses. I used NVivoTM qualitative analysis software to identify patterns and themes in the data that shed light on the ways in which this diverse group of online learners attempt to construct authentic online identities for themselves as part of the process of negotiating the culture of the new learning space. All learner names have been changed.

Performing the self in text Within the spectrum of existing virtual environments that support human interaction, the online classroom might be viewed as a relatively constrained venue for digital identity play (that is to say, experimentation with different identities, which may be more or less authentic). With identity tied to institutional registration, payment of tuition fees, and (perhaps of greatest interest to students?) final grades, one might expect that attempts by learners to create fake or deceptive identities will be rare. What kind of selves might our students be constructing in our online classrooms, and how? In his 1992 work, Oneself as Another , Paul Ricoeur offers an analysis of the self as divided in a way that reflects the material/virtual dilemma of virtual identity. Useful for our purposes here, he differentiates between two distinct notions of identity: Idem-identity, which rests in the physical, and carries notions of ‘sameness’ and affiliation, and Ipse-identity, better characterized as ‘selfhood’ (that is, nonphysical, and unrelated to group affiliation). In the opening days of the course each term, students are invited to introduce themselves to each other in a Participant Profiles forum, and are asked to respond to the following questions: Who are you? Where are you? What is your major field of study? What do you hope to get out of taking this course? Perhaps unsurprisingly, for a course that is advertised as globally recruiting,

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many of our learners initiate their self-introduction process by directly referencing their affiliations with (identity with) established national, regional, ethnic or ‘racial’ groups: I am from Manitoba and grew up on the lake . . . I always notice aspects of myself, of my Australian identity in particular, that seem enhanced when I’m overseas . . . I feel “more” Australian about some things. I am Joan from Kenya Speaking as somebody from the group, I think Jewishness falls under a couple of categories. Learners reiterate their group membership often, but also perform their affiliations through the use of language clues. One Canadian student adds a touch of humour by using the stylized Canadian ‘eh’ in a course-based discussion: Our diversity, in essence, is our identity, eh? A Hong Kong student makes use of an insider youth term for Hong Kong Chinese in discussion of localized practices: Haha . . . I read online that apparently, it’s a “Honger thing” to wear T-shirts with a bunch of English words that make no sense whatsoever. While another seeds her introductory message in several languages as a clue to her cultural memberships: Message no. 38 Posted by Laura Thomasson (s65172058) on Saturday, January 7, 2006 5:43 pm Subject: Hi . . . Hola . . . Salam . . . Very quickly, however, student communications fulfil the claim that essentialized models of national culture are insufficient markers of individual identity (see, for example, Ess, this book). Students begin to challenge the utility of such categories by troubling their neat borders, or engaging in amused performance of newly synthesized identities. Directly querying our historic conflation of inherited (‘racial’) characteristics with ethnicity or identity, a Canadian student writes: I like to think about Canada as place where you can’t visually determine who is or isn’t Canadian . . .

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Another Canadian student expresses his personal frustrations at the limitations of established national identities: I feel that I don’t know enough about Hong Kong/Chinese culture . . . and I seriously do not know enough about Canada to call myself a true Canadian. I’m proud of multiple identities (Canadian-Chinese), but it makes me feel frustrated a lot of times. Perhaps most amusing are the ways in which virtual learners perform their hybrid identities. In the following exchange, Candy, Jonathan and Yuzhu all present details of their ‘official’ identities as first-generation immigrant Chinese-Canadians who have lived varying proportions of their lives in Hong Kong and Canada. These three sprinkle their ‘serious’ introductions with laughing references to that most quintessential marker of Canadianness: hockey. Candy writes: Hello!! My name is Candy. Yes, home of the junior hockey championship, right here in Vancouver. Jonathan, a rather serious schoolteacher, drafts a response that focuses on WTO riots in Hong Kong, but finished with: And by the way, Canada is GOLDEN! And Candy and Yuzhu follow up with: We rock!!∼∼∼∼ YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! These learners are enacting their Canadianness not only by acknowledging the subject matter, but also by claiming North American English slang as their own – classic examples of the ‘performative utterances’ that Austin (1962) described. These latter examples seem to bear out Ricoeur’s (1992) argument that Idem-identity – identity acquired by affiliation and performance of sameness – fails to help individuals answer the crucial question of identity: ‘Who am I?’ (Vessey 2002). Instead, they support Hewling’s contention that culture is ‘an ongoing iterative process’ (2005: n.p.) and Street’s proposition that individuals participate in ‘an active process of meaning making and contest over definition’ (Street 1993: 25) in development and presentation of their identities.

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Textual ipseity Rituals of initiation Patterns of text-as-speech that might be interpreted as ‘ritual text acts’ become more apparent when we explore the language our students use in construction of their Ipse-identity – their individual selves. A surprising set of repeated performative utterances appear in the introductory phase of the course. Newly arrived online, and faced with the task of (re)building and (re)presenting a virtual identity to a new cohort of peers, each student, almost without fail, performs two sets of ritualized acts that seem to counterbalance each other: a performance of credentialing, and a performance of humility – differentiation and new membership. Students seem anxious to impress upon their peers or instructors the degree to which they are qualified to have enrolled in a course about Global Citizenship. Although it quickly becomes apparent through coursework that our theoretical approach to this topic does not equate it with world travel or cosmopolitanism, new arrivals repeatedly emphasize their international experience, perhaps even vying with each other: . . . I was born and raised in one of (I think) the big multicultural capitals in the world . . .Toronto, Canada . . . a place where many ethnic groups live. I have lived, taught and administered schools in both Mexico and Spain . . . and worked as an international project manager in the field of education in a number of countries. As for my international experience, I’ve travelled in a number of places, most recently we were kayaking in Croatia for our honeymoon in October. I have lived in Vancouver, Toronto and Hong Kong, and have been to 4 of the 7 continents. They quickly follow this up, however, with clarifications about their newness to online classrooms: . . . don’t know really know how to do this . . . or how much to write . . . so here goes. This is my first online course as well and I’m trying to get used to it. Lastly, like many other fellow classmates, this is my first online course so I’m still experimenting with it. One is reminded of ritual genuflections towards an altar by worshippers entering a church. One by one these learners reveal themselves as ‘new’, and make use of this shared newness as an early step in establishing community norms or commonality.

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As Xin and Feenberg (2006) note, online discussion (like face-to-face speech), ‘combines many speech acts in each utterance’ (2006: 3). Unsurprisingly then, the sample student utterances shown here seem to simultaneously perform several purposes, even while the actual content of each statement is relatively unimportant: they highlight persistent individual identity versus ‘group culture’ tensions by seeking to both differentiate self through credentials and at the same time initiate membership in the group through shared experience of newness; and they position selves as ‘experienced’ but also as ‘inexperienced’, begging leniency from the group and from instructors.

Rituals of resistance Perhaps the most vivid ritual performances of self in our virtual classroom take place where learners are at pains to resist or deny what they perceive as expected learner identity or practices. Bryan, an experienced online communicator and a mature adult learner, is unable (or unwilling?) to participate in the ritual of newness that younger students harness. Instead, he launches himself into a performative resistance of this norm with humour and gusto. Before even initiating his online discussion postings, this learner made use of the very limited ‘roster’ tool in the Blackboard Vista course management system to highlight the inadequate vision of learner identity that it projects or permits (see Figure 5.1). Academic Major:

Free Speech

Afiliation:

Who´ll ever take me

Extra-Curricular Activities:

Rugby… more rugby… programming….creating websites, and rugby

Areas of Interest:

Did I mention rugby, pretty decent photographer and videographer, creating media content on website, I forgot the most important, single malt scotch whiskey

Title:

Old Dude, Zeus, Moses, Hay-zoo

YEAR:

It´s 2007 right now, I thought most people knew that, next year will be 2008

PROGRAM:

Yes, I do, thanks for asking, ColdFusion mostly

Figure 5.1 A Mature Learner Pokes Fun At BlackBoard Vista’s ‘Fill in the Blanks’ Roster Tool. (This is an extract from a computer form filled in by a student.)

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He also adds a photograph (not shown here), which not only gives clues to his ethnic origins and hobbies, but also clearly emphasizes his seniority relative to other students. In on-task and off-task discussion forums, Bryan repeatedly performs himself as ‘in opposition’, describing himself as a ‘troublemaker’ , an ‘active experimenter ’, a ‘devil’s advocate’ with ‘ulterior motives’ , an ‘idealist’ with grassroots affiliations and a visionary with a ‘master plan’ whom we might perhaps want to ‘isolate to his own group’. ‘Let noone accuse me of being a realist’ he adds, when challenged to explain how his ideas could be implemented. Indeed, Bryan seems to make a point of polite but pointed ritual verbal duelling with all three co-instructors in this course whom he characterizes as ‘our esteemed professors’. Bryan’s unrelenting performance of self-in-resistance, his repeated positioning of himself as an experienced professional instructing classmates (rather than as a peer), illustrates the extent to which we rely on our interrelations with others in the positioning of ourselves. It appears that it is not sufficient for Bryan to ‘know’ these aspects of his own history and identity; rather, he seems compelled to repeatedly perform these aspects of himself within the virtual learning environment so that they can be acknowledged and reflected back to him by others. In his hermeneutics of selfhood (Ipse-identity), Ricoeur (1992) describes the role of ‘attestation’ – the ‘belief’ of truth or certainty about self. Attestation is a testimony, a form of self-witnessing that is performed through repeated (ritualized) speech acts by the individual self. It is, he argues, an assurance that the self believes in the truth or validity of being oneself, acting and suffering (Vessey 2002). Bryan’s ritual attestation, performed in text-as-speech, not only allows him to construct a dynamic and narrative self-identity, it defines his own self as the agent of this self-constructive act. His determination to perform his own self in opposition to existing models reminds one of Bell’s (1997)( proposition that one of the many functions of ritual is to act as a means of ‘struggling over control of the sign’ (1997: 89). Ritual performance of new community In the active process of identity construction in the online classroom, online discussions are the ‘nexus of cultural production’ (Reeder et al., 2004: 89) and the visible manifestation of individual interactions between learners and the elements that make up the online context: peers, instructors, delivery platform, course materials and institutional culture (Hewling 2005). Hewling makes use of Gee’s (2000) notions of ‘enactive’ and ‘recognition’ work in the construction of meaning. According to Gee, enactive work describes the efforts individuals make to organize contextual elements and accord them value and meaning, while recognition work describes the responses

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of others who may agree or disagree. Within the context of this online course, I observe students enacting a range of ritual performances of ‘new’ and shared identities (proposing, for example, new choices and behaviours that they seek to integrate), and repeated rounds of recognition work as classmates query or reinforce these. For example, towards the end of the course, one student writes: . . . as global citizens we can either be complicit or critical. By pointing the finger at ourselves (or at least Canadians in particular), we are no longer a passive audience in global issues but active participants. And a classmate responds, recognizing and acknowledging this identity claim: Who knows, we may even be able to become some sort of influential group . . . perhaps the first true “Global Citizens”. Exemplifying the evolving sense of community, learners increasingly write about we, rather than I .

Writing the body back in Xin and Feenberg have argued that dialogue ‘is not merely a cognitive process, but involves the whole person’ (2006: 16), and Barsalou et al. (2003) have drawn on a decade of data to propose that knowledge is integrated as whole body conceptualizations acquired in embodied situations of learning. Embodied conceptualizations later play critical roles in knowledge retrieval and memory: embodied states (induced by new social stimuli) appear to trigger previously integrated conceptualizations (‘knowledge’). With the body so clearly implicated in cognition, what hope do our virtual learners have of acquiring new knowledge in the disembodied virtual classroom? I examined our students’ writing and feedback for evidence of their reaction to disembodied learning. Some students do make comments juxtaposing our virtual classroom with their ‘real classes’, referencing the commonplace notion that what is ‘virtual’ is not ‘real’. As in Bayne’s (2004) study, some indicated a wish for more sensory input – pictures, real-time communication, physical meetings – and one or two implied that the online learning experience was ‘lacking’ something. As I continued to investigate student discussions for evidence of feelings of disembodiment, however, I increasingly encountered incidences of ‘body speech’. Over and over again – indeed, in a fashion that is ‘conspicuously regular’, to echo Connerton’s (1989: 44) characterization of ritual – these learners write about ‘speaking’ and ‘listening’ and ‘hearing from

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each other’; about ideas being ‘eye-opening’; about the value of multiple ‘voices’; about ‘seeing’ new paths through complexity; about ‘dipping their toes into new knowledge’; about ‘digesting’ ideas; about ‘grabbing on’ to new abstractions. Occasionally, students articulate overt ‘stage directions’ to invoke an embodied posture and its related meaning: OK [eyes downcast looking suitably chastised], I guess they’re special . . . What is going on? A clue, I feel, is contained in this student’s reflection, midway through the course, on his struggle to adapt to the virtual classroom: My idea of classroom has been sitting at a lecture hall and talking to classmates and instructor face to face, so in many occasion I find the course unreal and difficult to incorporate into real situation. [My emphasis] I contend that this student and others are reporting on their gradual adaptation to the new forms of embodiment that exist in virtual learning spaces. Initially, they seek out (or report the lack of) familiar embodied patterns of learning and interacting. As the course continues, their increasingly frequent use of ‘body speech’, reflects, I feel, a new comfort with the embodied habits and practices of the virtual classroom. More than 40 years ago, McLuhan argued that new technologies extend the body and the senses outside of ourselves and into what he called ‘the social world’, bringing about ‘new ratios among all of our senses’ (1962: 41). Importantly, he said: when the sense ratios alter [. . .] then what had appeared lucid before may suddenly become opaque, and what had been vague or opaque will become translucent. (ibid.) Our students use new textual rituals to feel their way through this opacity, until they reach a level of comfort with the set of ‘incorporated practices’ (Hayles 1999) of the online classroom, and can practice new and different embodiments. It takes time and practice to ‘incorporate’ oneself online. Echoing Xin and Feenberg (2006), this student demonstrates a new understanding of her online self: Sometimes flexibility may act as a temptation for me to work on some other urgent things instead of involving my whole self here. [My emphasis] That is to say, it is not virtuality, but the everyday student problem of time management that sometimes prevents total involvement of her ‘whole self’ in the learning environment.

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Another student vividly illuminates the connection between stimulus, embodied response and cognition that Barsalou et al. (2003) describe: I just wanted to thank you for sharing that story. It’s really given me shivers up my spine. Also made me think a lot. As reported in many of the studies reviewed by these authors, social stimuli (‘that story’) produced an embodied effect and a new cognitive/affective state, even when mediated through text.

The implications for learning It appears, then, that in this virtual learning environment, learners have transferred and transformed ‘first life’ rituals of identity formation and community building into forms that exemplify (new) cultural values, as Connerton (1989) suggests. Learners perform themselves through a range of ritual text-as-speech acts that do not simply describe pre-existing identity but also construct it. Transferring elements of real life rituals (for example the use of coded language) to the virtual space, they ritually restate details of their ethnic or national membership (or nonmembership) in order to clarify or trouble the identity they possess through a range of other group affiliations, attesting their individual identities in relation to others. They participate in new rituals – cycles of enaction and recognition of new shared identities – as they perform and renegotiate their virtual selves. And they practice new textual rituals that permit new forms of embodiment in the virtual classroom. Together, these practices help learners establish authentic virtual identities – identities that they and others experience as true, trustworthy and accurate representations of the self. After all, as Connerton illustrates, rituals are not merely formalized repetitions performed by uninvolved actors; participants in some sense feel them to be obligatory, and participation in a rite is always, in a sense ‘an assent to its meaning’ (1989: 45). Establishment of learner identities allows development of a learning community to begin. Learners in this course comment spontaneously and repeatedly on their surprise at the social and relational aspects of their course experience, and about the impact and value of their online encounters with international classmates: . . . Being able to interact with people and being exposed to different opinions and cultural ideas from people around the world. Greatest learning experience I’ve ever had. . . . The involvement and interest from everyone. I thought that there was a risk with an online subject that people

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wouldn’t give it much effort or thought because you can hide behind a computer screen, but in reality the involvement level is probably better than in most of the “real” classes I have been in. Importantly, learner comments demonstrate that this virtual learning community had developed a learning culture in which they felt able to take risks and make mistakes, or express dissent. They indicate that course discussions facilitated the development of trust, solidarity, security and empathy that a range of learning theorists insist is necessary for trying on another point of view. Initially I was very hesitant in everything I wrote, I didn’t want to sound like I didn’t know what I was talking about. But, I have started to realize that isn’t so bad, as this is a course, and I’m supposed to be learning. These students seem to intuit that social interaction contributed to their learning in important ways, without being able to clearly articulate why. I suggest, then, that virtual learning environments allow learners to extend not just their minds, but also their bodies and senses, outside of themselves and into new relations with the social worlds they encounter in virtual spaces. I therefore agree with Dreyfus (2001) and others that true mastery and meaningful learning can only be achieved through an embodied educational encounter. I simply believe that they are quite wrong in their assertions that online learners are disembodied. On the contrary, students in this virtual learning environment demonstrate vividly their adaptation to the new embodied practices of the virtual classroom. By writing their bodies back into the virtual context, our learners have access to a venue that permits new forms of subjectivity (Harris 2004). Moreover, learners clearly describe ways in which they have integrated new aspects of identity, developed in the virtual classroom, into embodied practices in their local physical contexts: I think that I am doing well by taking the bus everywhere. I hardly commute by car at all and if I do, there is always more than one person in the car. Because of this course I decided to do some volunteer work with poor, teenage moms and I see the poor with “new eyes” . . . I am also making more environmentally friendly choices when it comes to lifestyle etc., and looking closer at the products I buy, where they are made etc. I know I am changing the way I do things and think because of this course. More importantly, I am also discussing these issues with friends and family who don’t do this course, which means a flow-on effect.

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In conclusion, while Xin and Feenberg (2006) have identified four layers of important communicative interaction in online discussion (intellectual engagement, communication and common ground, dialogue and motivation, and group dynamics and leadership), I suggest that there is a fifth layer that underpins all of these: the layer of utterances that construct individual identities and thus permit the establishment of a new learning community with a shared learning culture. To paraphrase Rheingold’s (1993) famous observation, by creating identities, you help create a world: . . . this class was different in a big way. Whereas in other classes, you can do readings and assignments, get the 3 credits and that’s it . . . walk away . . . I felt like suddenly we’ve identified ourselves not only as students but active participants in what we’re learning through the concept of global citizenship. Global citizens seemed like an abstract idea at first but slowly I think we realized that we were talking about ourselves. [My emphasis]

Chapter 6

Technology as a ‘Cultural Player’ in Online Learning Environments Anne Hewling The Open University, UK

Background A report published at the dawn of the twenty-first century (by Farrell, for The Commonwealth of Learning), noted that ‘virtual education is an extremely dynamic phenomenon’ (Farrell 2001: 1) and there is little sign of this changing while yet more ways are found to deliver learning without the necessity for face-to-face interaction or a bricks-and-mortar meeting place for those involved. Individuals or groups of learners can now not only access education ‘anywhere, anytime’ that they can find a place to access the internet – as early providers boasted – but they can also find it on the way to or from anywhere via mobile phones, PDAs and other wireless devices. Access ‘anyhow’ is increasingly an option too, thanks to Web 2.0 applications, which package and personalize content and communication, and create online spaces that eliminate the need for any offline resource or commitment apart from a period of time to participate. Early virtual learning environments, which relied on discussion boards that would permit asynchronous communication, are no longer the only solution to distance or time difference. Podcasting, blogs, wikis and instant messaging allow yet further blurring of space and place parameters. Access by ‘anyone’ is also facilitated by the plethora of potential access points once mobile devices, especially mobile phones, are capable of formatting educational content. As a consequence, areas of the developed and developing worlds where electricity or terrestrial telephone resources are limited become reachable.

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As online learning moves on from meaning simply delivery of text-based distance course materials via the internet, what are the implications for conceptualising ‘technology’ as a player in online education, and, in turn, how does technology relate to learning cultures in online classes?

Characterizing the online class At the time the Commonwealth of Learning report was published, discussion of the nature of virtual learning environments focused around the degree of online activity. Postle (2002) described them as ranging from ‘supplemental or adjunct’ (where online activities are far from being the primary medium of instruction), through ‘mixed mode’, where instruction is both online and face-to-face (referred to by others as ‘blended’), to ‘wholly online’ where no other medium of instruction is used (2000: 4). Postle further noted that wholly online environments were (then) few but their numbers were increasing. Others acknowledged the arrival and potential of the virtual but recorded how use of it was not (yet) extensive (Crook and Light 2002: 154). Less than a decade later it is hard to find a terrestrial educational institution at any level that does not make use of online educational applications to some extent; many are also offering wholly online versions of complete programmes and qualifications. The nature of what users do with and within these environments is evolving too. Martin Dougiamas, originator of Moodle (only one of several major virtual learning environment, or VLE, software platforms) reported in a presentation to staff at the UK Open University in 2005 that their new Moodle installation was then one of 7,500 registered sites located across 142 countries. By October 2006 Moodle reported, via their website, expansion to 160 countries, over 17,000 registered sites and nearly 7 million registered users. By the end of 2007, user figures stood at over 33,000 installations and nearly 14 million users. Downloads of the software began to fall a little over the following year, which suggests that the spread of sites may be in decline but that use of existing sites is intensifying and, presumably, the balance of student users in any one institution is still growing. Whereas just a decade ago online learning was touted as the new way of delivering distance education – and there is no doubt that it has broadened access options for many remote users – the vast majority of presently online students are campus-based and benefiting as much from time flexibility as from distance or place flexibility. Characterizing the online class is further complicated by the new versions of software programs underpinning virtual learning and teaching that appear regularly and with increasing frequency. The basic design structure of many systems, as evidenced by their specifications, is modelled on a

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virtual relocation of a particular version of face-to-face learning environment familiar to many North American and European users. In the BlackboardTM environment, for example (used by some students quoted later in this chapter), the space for synchronous group working is referred to as the ‘virtual classroom’. The tutor management tools are the ‘control panel’ (despite claims that this is a learner-centred environment), and the structuring of electronic links between those areas designed for small group work, and those for whole class activity, betrays an assumption that predominantly the class will be directed by a single tutor who will periodically allocate students to smaller, short-term, exclusive-access, subgroups. As in other learning contexts, those learning environments to be found online feature learners; subject content; tools and those who facilitate the activities of the learners (and use of the content and tools). However, the roles these all play virtually may differ. Online, for example, primary responsibility for delivery of course content usually passes from teacher to delivery platform. In general, text-based language is used to facilitate interaction between all of the elements in an online learning context. Time becomes a tool to manipulate relationships between elements in new ways. This is mainly an asynchronous world, not just across time zones in cases where the class is globally recruited, but also in response to individual preference and circumstance within a single geographic location. In this environment learners may remain invisible for any or all of their time in class, since they will appear to others only when they make an electronic mark (Kaplan 1995) – perhaps by posting text messages in order to interact with colleagues – although their existence may be sensed in other ways at other times. Asynchronicity facilitates the persistence of interactional activity – at least for the duration of the course. Interpersonal exchanges such as discussion board postings may continue to be available for participants to view throughout later discussion in a way that is not possible in transient face-to-face interaction. And the facility to review and reflect may assist learners to construct knowledge in a more meaningful way (Cannone-Syrcos & Syrcos 2000: 175). Collaborative working supports such knowledge building and this is made easier by combining synchronous and asynchronous tools in innovative ways so that physical and temporal distance is bridged (Postle 2002: 4). In turn, this collaboration supports what Lave and Wenger (2002[1990]) refer to as ‘situated learning’ and may more accurately reflect patterns of workplace collaboration, such as team working, thereby giving learning more real-world relevance. To summarize: the online learning context allows flexible routes to knowledge construction via textualized interaction (e.g. see Macfadyen in this book) and collaboration between variably visible and present participants, across asynchronous and other new kinds of time.

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Ideas of technology online Despite appearing to operate entirely virtually, online learning environments are strictly rooted in the physical world since, ultimately, activity within them is constrained by the hardware required to create them; no activity can take place without it. This may seem obvious but is far from simple in practice. To date, research into virtual education ranges from comparative studies of learning with and without technology, to deliberations – by philosophers such as Burbules (2000), Dreyfus (2001) and Ess (2002b) – on the impact of technology on education. Debates about the role of technology in education are not new but resurface with the introduction of each successive new tool. They have concentrated, generally and, as most famously exemplified by the debate between Clark (1983) and Kozma (1991), around the relative importance of the medium of instruction versus the way in which messages are presented. In particular, in 1983, this discussion led Clark to take the view (subsequently extensively quoted and disputed) that the medium of delivery has no more impact on learning outcomes ‘than the truck that delivers our groceries causes changes in our nutrition’ (Clark 1983: 445). Kozma refuted this stance by arguing that different media had different effects on learning, some being better suited to particular subjects, or styles, than others (Kozma 1991: 179). With the arrival of a virtual delivery option for education, much debate tended to congregate around two ideas: technological instrumentalism (technology as a value-free tool), and technological determinism (technology as a force in itself). In practice, these ideas are not easily defined or distinguished one from the other. Nor, as the next paragraphs will show, can they be seen simply as oppositional. Technological instrumentalism refers to an assumption that technology, presumably because it is not human, is somehow neutral, in culture and value: an ‘empty vessel’. In this way it is believed that it does not influence the content of that which it transmits. This is neither a new idea nor specific only to computer-mediated communication (CMC), and returns to the assertion by Clark (above). The idea is also heavily refuted by many studies of practice. Warschauer (1999), for example, points out (in a study of electronic literacies in Hawaii) that the technologies used by the students he followed could not be considered neutral, ‘rather they were shaped by their historical designs and uses’ (1999: 175). VLE design, as discussed above, incorporates many Western academic assumptions. Particularly, norms of behaviour such as the expectation that staff and students will communicate freely, and assumptions about what is appropriate assessment, underlie the design of discussion board and quiz features in VLEs such as BlackboardTM and WebCTTM . These norms can generate

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ideological conflict for non-Western learners holding alternative values as well as causing problems within groups of Western users who simply do not share those ideologies. The perspective known as technological determinism is the view that ‘technology and whatever effects follow in its wake possess their own autonomous power, one that cannot be resisted or turned by individual or collective decisions’ (Ess 2002b: 222). This implies that the use of new technology, by seeming to instantiate free speech, individual control and a breaking down of the barrier of distance, must inevitably lead to the creation of a global, democratic village. This is a particularly attractive idea for many of those using technology to deliver education since it implies that this form of programme delivery is inherently empowering, although practice suggests that the reality is somewhat different; that technology is frequently susceptible to control by human will and inclination and may be taken and adapted for use in particular contexts: ‘CMC technologies are ambiguous [. . .] these technologies may lead either to greater or less democracy and equality, depending on social and individual choices – that is, on the social context of use’ (Ess 2002b: 226). And – as we see also from Warschauer’s study – online class users can, and do, ‘struggle to appropriate technologies for their own ends’ whatever cultural backgrounds they may come from (1999: 175). Others have theorized further adaptations or versions of these concepts in an effort to better explain the variations and complications of actual practice. For example, four ‘epistemological orientations to the impact of cyberspace on society’ are claimed by Gayol and Schied (1997: 1): ‘technorational’, ‘techno-utopic’, ‘oppositional’, and ‘critical’ but close examination reveals that only the ‘critical perspective’, ‘focused on particular topics but framed in global concerns such as gender, language dominance, nationalism, colonialism and culture, access and learning’ (1997: 3), actually offers a significantly new epistemological perspective. Investigations undertaken by Gayol and Schied lead them to conclude that unless a critical stance is taken in the development of computer-mediated communication power iniquities found in face-to-face education will simply extend into the virtual educational world; what technology can or can’t do is only a fraction of a wider problem. A further perspective on this comes from Lankshear et al. (2002) who suggest that the ‘very status of knowledge, learning, teaching and researching [is challenged by] the double impact of rapid and far-reaching technological change and the massive assault on longstanding narratives of foundation and legitimation’ (2002: 16, original emphasis). This implies that current questions about the practices and beliefs of the past, combined with the arrival of new technology, fundamentally question previous ideas about what is, and is not, valuable or valued knowledge. This cannot be avoided in

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debating issues of technology; any idea that technology is simply a passive accessory or delivery system must therefore be rejected.

Design issues – old habits and assumptions and new pressures The tendency for the design of online learning environments to mimic the western face-to-face model has already been noted. And, despite the rapid development of social Web 2.0. tools, which facilitate new styles of communication between users, the core features of VLEs remain largely constant (such as, for example, the features of Blackboard mentioned earlier). The reasons for this are several and interconnected. They include the competitive nature of market forces for, since developers are working commercially, they must find a product that is widely recognizable and sufficiently universal to be of interest to a large enough market to ensure profitability. The funding of many educational institutions (public and private) may also drive potential purchasers of new licences to justify expenditure decisions by means of making comparisons, and thereby inadvertently encourage designers to mimic each other. There is also the influence of the education markets in which user institutions are operating. Where funding depends on the externally perceived quality outputs (by Government departments, school boards, etc.), assessment systems will be designed to produce the kinds of outcomes that provide convincing quantifiable results and this will, in turn, drive both the way that online learning is delivered and decisions about how learning is assessed. It is interesting to note that one of the key statistics offered to visitors to the Moodle development website is the latest update on the number of quizzes created by users worldwide. Arguably quizzes are one of the least innovative and least flexible features of any VLE. Use of them may be seen as oppositional to agendas of continuous assessment and other holistic techniques for evaluating student endeavour (as a way of recognizing individual learning styles and preferences), presently found within national qualification schemes in many of the western education systems, which are the chief consumers of VLE technology. A notable example of this conflict is the ‘e-portfolio’ where students are asked to assemble an electronic collection of their work over the whole time span of their studies in order that evaluation does not concentrate solely on episodic tests or assessments. Equally, VLEs are programmed by developers – not educators. That is not to suggest that there is no educational input to VLE design, rather to explain the persistence, in terms of design, of the face-to-face model online – as a representation of what an outsider (i.e. designer) might suppose important in a learning environment. Fanderclai (1995) suggests that this design is:

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rooted in traditional notions of what education is and is not. A University or other organization may feel forced to create a virtual representation of a “real” university in order to make their MUD [the virtual environment] appear a legitimate educational endeavour to those who do not understand its nature or purpose and yet control the funding. (1995: 8) It is noteworthy that so many years after that statement was made current VLE design has changed little and, despite experience and use, the well-entrenched one-to-many transmission model persists. There is also an increasingly prevalent assumption that delivery via the VLE is a kind of ‘grown up’, more mature, version of distance education and that, in a context where face-to-face is viewed as an ideal or norm for learning, the virtual can offer students at a distance the opportunity to experience something more equivalent to the ideal. Using a VLE positions the online classroom as a positive improvement on a previous environment (i.e. a print-based one), which is seen as deficient. In particular, by adding a variety of tools, which support interaction and collaboration, isolation, which has been viewed as the prime deficiency (Bernard et al. 2004) of a solitary learner environment, is assumed to be remedied. In practice, a number of assumptions are left unchallenged by this ideal, not the least of which is that distance learners are lonely and isolated without the possibility for interaction with tutors and peers. Many have the opportunity for other interaction (perhaps telephone or face-to-face tutorials, occasional day schools or synchronous online conferencing, etc.); albeit not on the same scale as might occur if they were campus-based learners. As one of this author’s students reflected in interview: ‘we talked about “lonely” learners and I actually challenged that because as an independent learner I wasn’t “lonely”, I was “only”, but I wasn’t “lonely”’ (Hewling, 2006: 185). Although delivery platform design seems to be wedded to very particular (i.e. Western cultural) ideas about how education is to be done, there are nonetheless many attempts to make it more palatable to individual learners. Some designers offer versions to cater for particular markets based on perceived specific geographic or cultural issues. So, for example, a student interface may feature drop-down menus rather than icons if these are believed to better suit a particular group of students. VLE designers must also take into account that these environments are social contexts in which students and teachers have to seek actively to make sense of what is expected of them. Passive acceptance of the online class as simply a new place to be in class is not enough (Ponti & Ryberg 2004). Adjusting to the new location is challenging and may mean that designers need to ‘guide a community’s culture to emerge from the user’s co-creation of narratives

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[. . .] users should own the cultural co-creation process’ (Raybourn et al. 2003: 106), such that a new model, a ‘third culture’ evolves: The “third culture” is what is created from an intercultural interaction when persons from different cultures communicate equitably and with respect for the other such that the emergent culture reflects appropriate input from each interlocutor. A third culture is the co-creation of meaning in which all interlocutors are participants as well as co-owners. (2003: 106)

Culture online If a third culture, or some kind of new shared social space is the contribution that technology must make to an online classroom then what signifies, and what is significant about, culture in that context? How can it be recognized and what is its role? Is it indeed the site of a ‘third culture’? Many investigations of culture in online learning have tended to adopt one of two approaches. The first suggests that culture is something vested in the users of a system – particularly the learners – on the basis of their country of origin. Culture here is assumed to be something which comes online with learners, and which will predict closely how they will behave when they get online. The second builds on this approach in order to suggest that success online may depend on how well the online environment is designed to complement the norms and practices of the user’s cultural background, either in terms of nationality or broader ethnic origins. Proponents of this approach draw on the work of researchers like Hofstede (2001) and Hampden-Turner and Trompenaars (2000) to support their positions although, curiously, the data used in those original studies came from neither online nor educational contexts. The effects of using such ‘essentialist’ analyses have been mixed since there are other questions to which neither approach can provide responses. There is, for example, the issue of the unit of analysis when deciding what constitutes a culture – ‘cultures do not talk to each other, individuals do’ (Scollon and Wong-Scollon, 2001:138) – and, as individuals operating in a small group, the chances that any one person may both affiliate themselves with a single national culture and do so in the way suggested by Hofstede’s profile for that nation will be very small. There will obviously be differences in learner experiences of the online class, which can be associated with generalized nation-based phenomena (e.g. understandings of the role of the tutor drawn from a shared experience of a particular face-to-face national education system), but assuming homogeneity on all

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issues on the basis of agreement on one (i.e. nationality) is not helpful (see also Ess in this book). Nationality-based ideas of culture lead to a view of the online class as a multiplicity of mono-cultures (i.e. each individual belongs to the culture of their nationality, which may well be different from that of any other classmate), and looking at that class then becomes a matter of comparing one group of learners with another in order to establish difference. This limits the way culture can be understood, since what may be an otherwise successful classroom, where interaction and learning are happening and where the intended learning outcomes materialise, is thus positioned, culturally, as dissonant. This also implies that in some ways at least it is deficient, since although successful in terms of learning, some cultural differences and needs arising from these are not addressed. Equally such approaches assume homogeneity among members of any one (national) culture. This is a debatable idea. Acceptance denies any chance of recognition of individual difference within the group. In one apparently homogeneous Canadian online class, for example, the volume and content of individuals’ message postings varied considerably between class members from different ethnic groups – individual differences were not subsumed into the broader pattern of national culture as might have been predicted (Chase et al. 2002). Similar issues have also been reported in a New Zealand context (Morse 2003). Both these countries have a population with diverse ethnic origins and it is clear that there are several sets of cultural norms at play in the classes in these studies. In the case of the Canadian class, the norms of being Canadian are co-located with the norms of the national identities acquired from parental/family influences and so forth within which individual students live daily, while also being Canadian. This is not just an issue affecting First Nations Canadians, a high percentage of all Canadians have one or both parents born outside Canada (see Macfadyen, this book). Furthermore, ‘Canadian’ identity includes association with French and English languages and cultures. Looking beyond Canada and New Zealand, the trend towards greater movement of people around the globe means that the idea, and practice, of belonging to more than one national culture is no longer unusual and ‘cultural identities are not mutually exclusive’ (Campbell 2000: 32). Case studies from South Africa, Canada and Australia suggest too that this is not a barrier to success in education generally, ‘cultural code-switching’ is widely practiced and a sought after skill in an internationalized economy (Campbell 2000: 37). There is a third way of understanding culture online, one which adopts the principle that culture is ‘not an experimental science in search of law but an interpretive one in search of meaning (Geertz 1973: 5). Thus culture cannot be adequately conceptualized without some idea of what it is doing:

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[. . .] “culture” as signifying process – the active construction of meaning [. . .] Culture is an active process of meaning making and contest over definition, including its own definition. This, then, is what I mean by arguing that Culture is a verb. (Street 1993: 25) Adopting this analysis ‘culture’ evolves over time, not in the sense of reaching an ultimate definition or conclusion, but as an ongoing process of sense making at any particular point in time, within a particular context, and from a particular individual viewpoint (Gee 2000: 188–89). Ideas arising from understandings of national culture will form a part of the resources available to participants in their ‘doing’ of a situation like the online class, but will not be the only frame of reference they draw upon. Likewise, depending on what exactly is being done (i.e. what meanings are being constructed at any one time), ideas from one particular cultural frame of reference or another will vary in significance. In the context of the online class, participants will draw on their store of frames of reference for education, as they would do in a face-to-face class, but the resultant activity will be different in each case as each context is different. Equally, they must also draw on their personal frames of reference for technology in the process of meaning making (Hewling 2006). Understanding culture in an online classroom is therefore a matter of examining the processes at work in that particular context. But, ‘situations (contexts) do not just exist. Situations are rarely static or uniform, they are actively created, sustained, negotiated, resisted and transformed moment by moment through ongoing work’ (Gee 2000: 188). Taking this approach, work includes activity and interaction, which serves to organize contexts and determine what can or cannot be done within them, etc. (Gee calls this ‘enactive’ work) as well as the efforts of others to endorse that activity or overturn it when they see the context differently (what Gee calls ‘recognition’ work). Work by the participants in the context, and which expresses their individual perspectives, acts to evolve the context forward and in different directions. Furthermore, the ability of participants to change (or reinforce) the meaning and/or value of a context will depend on the role(s) that they see themselves as playing in any particular context, or the role(s) that they are accorded there by other participants. Roles are not fixed. In fact, they may more usefully be thought of as ‘positions’ (Harr´e & van Langenhove 1999: 1) because they bend and evolve in response to the activity of the context in which they are being played out. For example, in the online classroom the roles of tutor and student will be maintained not just by labelling different players with these titles, but also through the activities players undertake, or don’t, as they enact and develop

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those roles. Furthermore, ‘speaking positions are relational’ (ibid.), since in order for one position to be seen and recognized by participants as having power in a context, others must be seen as powerless. This attribution of power is not fixed but may change as the context evolves in response to the positioning of participants. In the context of a discussion between a tutor and a student, for example, the positions of ‘student’ and ‘tutor’ offer different rights in terms of what either can say. The same words used by either will have a different social meaning according to the position they are holding when they say those words (1999: 17) and the context in which they are saying them. Taking this approach to understanding culture online, diversity and individual difference are not just acknowledged by being labelled with the name of one nation or another, but are recognized as contributing actively to interaction and the evolution of a dynamic class culture.

The practice of culture and technology in one online classroom How then, as online learning evolves, should technology be conceptualized as a player in online education and, in turn, how does technology relate to online class culture? What can be concluded from the practice of an actual online class? This section will consider an investigation into the working of one course – a module within a masters in open and distance learning – in order to see what conclusions can be drawn from practice. The students in the class in question were globally recruited education practitioners with varying subject specialisms and varied experience of online and distance education. They were studying one module of a possible eight or twelve (depending on prior experience) needed to complete a masters degree in open and distance learning in an Australian university. They were a mixed group – in terms of gender and levels of prior experience of online learning. The course used a Blackboard delivery platform with areas for content (downloadable); discussion boards and other communications tools; small group work and student support tools – access to the online library, etc. Different data collection methods and analytic techniques were used to investigate culture in this class, such as content analysis of student messages (Hewling 2005), analysis of online activity logs and one-to-one interviews with students and tutors (Hewling 2006). Discussion and interpretation ‘Technology’ emerged as a core theme in analysis of data collected from this class. The ‘technology bump’ (named as such by one of the students)

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was the first hurdle that confronted students as they sought to get online. Overcoming this involved mastering hardware and software in order to gain access to the class web pages. Technology remained a hurdle. Despite students’ expectations that their previous experience of computing and other online environments would assist them in the new context, for many this experience proved insufficient or inadequate; dealing with technology in this class was something that extended well beyond the simple mastery of IT skills. In particular, the class could not have existed without technology. But, it also had difficulty maintaining itself as a class because of that dependence on technology. The University had provided students with guidelines on the technical requirements for getting online, but even when equipped with all the items the University advised, the students still could not be certain that they would get access to, or be able to use, all the resources that were (theoretically) available to them. Meanwhile the University had to assume that students would indeed have full access to all the programme options on offer. There was frequently confusion in the minds of the students over the authority relationship between the university and the Blackboard delivery platform. Students had good reason to see them as synonymous, since the university had chosen the Blackboard platform to deliver its courses; it is the online public face of the university. However, from the way in which the platform was configured for this class and, consequently, the way in which it interacted with other players within the class (students, tutors, content, messages, etc.), technology appeared most often as an uncontrollable force in its own right. This was not because it was disconnected from the university’s control but, rather, because it could only function with the collaboration of multiple players, some of them which – like the technical infrastructure, and the quality of internet signal transfer, for example – were beyond the control of any other single player in the class; as indeed were the combinations of different player inputs required to get the various activities of the class underway or completed. Overall, ‘technology’ was blamed a lot by class members. On one level this was a fair and accurate attribution of blame – many problems had an underlying technical or technological element, e.g. server maintenance, internet service provider (ISP) download speeds, etc., and technology – spoken of as if a single entity – was a convenient scapegoat. However, what were more critical to the development of class culture were the contradictions that were inherent in using technology and those which arose when use of technology intersected with the activity being undertaken by other players in the class. These contradictions can be summed up as follows.

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Practice does not necessarily make perfect However much practice students had had with skills such as posting messages, there was little improvement in their skills performance, over time. Students could be technically competent but there were always other physical barriers to success and these could be different on each and every occasion. Supporting technology – like servers or ISPs, for example – might intervene, or fail, and thus subvert whatever it was that students were trying to do. Prior skills, competencies and supposedly generic transferable skills – like word processing – did not, in reality, transfer universally. Some basic computer skills were essential for anyone wanting to participate in the class, but these were less significant in assisting students to succeed than was the need for confidence on the students’ part, so that they would immerse themselves in the environment and be open to learning about it through ‘doing’ participation. One student, for example, arrived in the class feeling confident that she understood internet culture, having previously used it for socializing (she had met her husband online), and for work where a VLE acted as a repository for course materials. But, as she discovered, there were significant differences between those contexts and the cultural context of the online class. All are facilitated by a connection to the internet, but behavioural norms in each are different and she did not always receive replies to her messages in the way she expected. Another student, who was a mature student entrant to teaching and was very conscious of his physical age in relation to other class members, found that the lack of visual cues allowed him a freedom to be just like his classmates, although equally this was lost when he had to use text to present himself and his less developed writing skills betrayed his lack of academic experience. Socially, online self can be presented as the user wishes. In fact, the possibility of changing identities may be a function of the online world, for example, in games and simulations, but this is much less possible in the online class. Simultaneously, the internet seemed to students to be the same (it was the internet after all), but it also functioned somewhat differently as the context for formal learning. Thus, not only is identity tied down in the online class but that class will have behaviour expectations and a need for participants to perform identity in a certain way, that is, as students. Even if the exact mechanics of this evolve in the doing of it, this is very different from the social web. A similar dilemma impacted on students who hadn’t had much hands-on internet experience. They felt they had an understanding of what it was going to be like, absorbed vicariously, but this did not necessarily prepare them adequately for the reality of online learning. As one student put it,

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. . . when I started it off it was a big shock. What was the biggest shock factor? I think that while I had known about the existence of chat rooms and forums and things like that this before I wasn’t really aware of how much responsibility was upon myself to teach myself to learn – that is learning from myself. Before, I think it was more provided for me and this time it’s not quite the same. (Simon, quoted in Hewling 2006: 192) Assumptions drawn from other cultural contexts (like the face-to-face class, or dealing with authority) were bound to frame users’ approaches to their new class, but assumptions could be deceptive and did not predict the work being done by other new players there. Prior knowledge could mislead too. Not only did it fail to help but sometimes it also confused communication rather than simplified it. So, for example, a sign intended to smooth communications – such as a smiley emoticon – might be read as excluding or ‘wrong footing’ the reader if that reader could not see it in the form the original author intended, for example, as an icon of a smiling face, because the technology (e.g. the software or settings being used by the recipient) had changed it back into punctuation marks as it was en route. Limited negotiation There was only limited potential for participants to negotiate (and build a culture of use) with many technical functions in the class; for example, students overwhelmed by the number of messages they saw on the discussion boards had no way of filtering them – by topic for example – to suit their own needs. They could opt to display only new messages, but message body content could not be pre-viewed before full display and so unless message authors had amended the title lines to make them unique, many messages appeared to be duplicates, despite their content being different. Discussion board messages, once read, nonetheless reappeared every time the board was loaded – they could not be erased permanently, only ‘deleted’ in the sense of being ‘marked as read’. Attempts by users to adapt the platform to their own needs and preferences were futile. The flexibility users had been promised by prevailing discourses of online learning (and promulgated by the University as part of its marketing strategy – the anytime, anyplace, anyone, anyhow, etc. noted earlier), did not emerge. This led to confusion as it became clear to students that control was not, despite the promises of the marketing, in their own hands. For example, asynchronicity offers

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the option to do things (e.g. post messages, complete course tasks, etc.) when the participants wish, but historical and geographic time mean that the results of this activity are often unpredictable. What you see is seldom what you get There was no way for any participant to be certain that what they saw on the screen in front of them was either the up-to-date picture (in terms of being all the messages that had been posted to the board so far), or the same view that any other participant was seeing (in terms of being all the messages, or of looking the same, i.e. screen layout). Although not clear to (nor understood effectively by) most participants, there was no single ‘real’ view of what was going on online at any time – it was always framed by the technology at work for any individual viewer. In sum, technology was neither neutral nor passive in this online class. On the contrary, it was a very active participant. Its interactions with other elements led to unpredictable results and matters were complicated further because technology was not a single unified element, it had many strands that could conflict with each other. For example, posting a message was not just the technology of creating the message and pressing the button to send, but also how the software was designed, how well the server was working on any particular day and, even, whether or not the electricity stayed on throughout the activity. Since participants were not dealing with a single element they found it hard to learn its ways and idiosyncrasies and thus how to negotiate with it. Even with practice, over time, the consequences of any interaction with technology remained unpredictable and unreliable. An online class depends on technology for its continued existence but technical features that might support community and collaboration serve equally to undermine them because of their unpredictability – servers fail to connect, downloads are lengthy and interaction is disrupted by the design of message threading. Interaction mediated by technology often serves mainly to provide evidence to individuals that they are not alone online rather than to provide them with the opportunity for collaboration to help them with their learning.

Interpreting practice: the potential of an ecologies approach Clearly, the technology used in virtual learning needs to be conceptualized as an active player in the online class. It does not have free will, but the nature of its connections to other elements online gives other participants the impression that it operates with deliberate intent. This makes it an evolving

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input to the negotiation of culture online. In the broad literature of online learning the idea that technology has agency – or something anywhere like it – is little documented except in terms of Actor Network Theory (Latour 2005). This is a theory that is predicated on the idea that in any network (in this case the group of elements that make up the online class) all human and mechanical elements ‘may be regarded, in different ways, as actors – entities that can act (or fail to act) to support the network as a whole’ (Cornford & Pollock 2002: 174). All are participants in maintaining the functioning of the network such that ‘any of the elements in the network might cause the breakdown [. . .]. In short, all these elements have to work together’ (2002: 175). However, while all the players in the online class considered in this chapter may function at the same time, they do not necessarily work together in the sense of co-operating or supporting each other. Alternatively, an approach to understanding similar contexts, and based on the idea of an ecology, is presently emerging from new research studies like PROWE (2007) (see PROWE project, which is discussed next). This approach takes its starting point from work on information ecologies by Nardi and O’Day (1999) who suggest that there are certain key characteristics of ecologies, such that an ecology is a system, ‘marked by strong interrelationships and dependencies amongst its different parts’ (1999: 51). These parts may be very different but they are closely interconnected and develop in relation to each other, ‘change is endemic’ (ibid.).

The Joint Information Systems Committee (JISC) PROWE project The PROWE project created an online community workspace and file storage facility to allow distance tutors from the UK Open University and the University of Leicester to develop, store and share materials for professional self-development and has tried adopting the ecology approach, as a means of investigating and characterizing the nature of the environment they have created. The close interrelations between all the elements in the PROWE workspace were soon clear using an ecologies lens, as were the consequences of introducing change into the system. Any change did not just affect individuals – arguably, in fact, they were the least affected – but had quite sweeping effects across the board, like the effect of throwing a pebble into still water. An instance of change in such an environment, for example, a system software upgrade, ‘does not just affect the software but there will need to be corresponding adjustments for other elements because their positions in relation to each other will have changed too in someway’; for

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example, features and functionality of the environment may have been changed (Hewling 2007: 3). The same PROWE documents report that at one point it was easier not to implement a system upgrade and have to deal with the disruption to the whole community but, instead, participants were encouraged to use certain known workarounds to address the most pressing issues. For example, subject tags on original messages in discussion areas were copied automatically to reply messages even if the topic of the reply moved the conversation to new areas. So users were advised not to use the auto-reply function but to create new messages when they wanted to reply and change the subject. In an online classroom, as opposed to in a more open environment like PROWE, some of the interactions and conflicts provoked by ongoing change are visible, and some are not. For example, the students see how messages appear on the screen as they write them but they cannot see what recipients see sometime later and after the original message has endured the journey from one student desktop to another via different servers and ISPs. It could be argued that, in the online class, these adjustments are simply indicators that new software or hardware has been introduced, some kind of normal introductory inconvenience, in the same way that new tools (e.g. a slide projector, whiteboard, etc.) might be introduced into a face-to-face class and create some initial ripples of dissent and disruption. But, there is a significant difference that must be taken into account. In the case of the new online class technology the locus of control for the introduction of change is widely distributed. In the face-to-face example the management of the introduction of the projector would probably be within the control of the teacher but, online, control is shared by users; software; hardware; the system manager; the system developer; the internet service provider and all the other ‘species’ within the environment ecology. This change in the locus of control constitutes part of what Lankshear et al. (2002) refer to as ‘the double impact of rapid and far-reaching technological change and the massive assault on longstanding narratives of foundation and legitimation’ (2002: 16) and undermine, potentially at least, the effectiveness of the learning environment. What conclusions can be drawn from this discussion in the context of the theme of this book? Learning cultures online are diverse and constantly evolving; online is not a single ‘third’ culture. They are neither just influenced by history, nor simply by those participating in the class. In fact, players in the negotiation of online culture include the delivery technology itself. Doing learning online is not just a matter of recreating face-to-face practice virtually but requires examining and understanding new metaphors – such as the ecology model used for PROWE.

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Moving forward Introducing technology when that technology is a virtual learning environment is an act of courage, and a huge challenge to previously held views of learning culture. If the nature of the online learning culture and how it is experienced by users is to be fully understood, future research will need to explore in greater depth the interrelations at work between players in the online class as much as establish the advantages and disadvantages, or ideal configuration of, or for, different players – as has been the focus of much research in on- and off-line learning environments to date. At its most basic level evaluating a learning delivery platform, for example, will need to take into account how it interacts with the way content has been structured, or what happens to technical performance and on the students’ screens when an internet connection is slow, or erratic, as much as knowing how many students can log in, or whether or not it has an audio-chat facility. Technology is not a learning accessory but an integral part of how students perceive and receive content and, thus, learning; WYSIWYG (‘what you see is what you get’) is not – in online learning practice – always what you get.

Chapter 7

Trouble and Autoethnography in Assessment Genre: A Case for Postnational Design in Online Internationalized Pedagogy Catherine Doherty University of Queensland, Australia

Introduction When visiting someone else’s place, one tends to be mindful and alert to how things might be done differently there. It’s not that you don’t know how to behave in general, but you’re keen to understand what the local expectations are so you can fit in and be seen to act appropriately. What to do and how to act won’t be something that will necessarily be spelt out explicitly when you arrive – it will more likely be unspoken, tacit understandings of how things are done around here that nevertheless will be used to read and judge your behaviour. You’ll learn by watching and checking whether your own reading of the setting’s norms is correct. In contrast, spending time in an international airport is a very different experience – everyone and no one belongs in this setting – it’s a transit zone, a point of intersecting worlds, so one can’t presume too much in the way of common language, knowledge or shared habits. Thus everyone who passes through is treated as a visitor and any signage is accordingly explicit and carefully designed to prompt the flow of visitors through the necessary transactions. It is this kind of difference, between local places with implicit codes and more global spaces with explicit directions, which this chapter is interested in, with reference to the design of online internationalized education. Leask (2000) suggests that in online internationalized learning, all students, including those enrolled locally by the provider, could and should be considered international students, given their virtual mobility and globalized interactions. As ‘international’ students they would stand to benefit

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from broader horizons and new perspectives. This chapter explores how such a vision may not necessarily play out, and how an implicit local frame of reference can operate through pedagogical default settings. By ‘default settings’ I mean any unexamined implicit cultural codes embedded in the pedagogical design; in other words, the operative learning culture. This chapter draws on aspects of an ethnographic study (Doherty 2006) of an online internationalized unit offered in a Masters of Business Administration (MBA) program by an Australian university to students from Australia, China and Malaysia. In many ways the practices described in these analyses would be considered exemplary in the field of online pedagogy as peer collaboration was highly valued, and students’ cultural differences were respected. However, it is argued that by overlooking how the ‘default settings’ of genre and associated presumptions privileged some and disadvantaged others, localized learning cultures continued to operate implicitly. Suggestions are made for how educators can actively dislocate the local students’ experience through conscious ‘postnational’ pedagogical design, so they too can participate as ‘international’ students enjoying broader horizons. To this end, this work expands Pratt’s (1998) idea of ‘the pedagogical arts of the contact zone’: how to make that crossroads the best site for learning . . . (with) ways to move into and out of rhetorics of authenticity; ground rules for communication across lines of difference and hierarchy that go beyond politeness but maintain mutual respect; a systematic approach to the all-important concept of cultural mediation. (1998: 184) The chapter is offered in seven sections. First, identity processes are reconsidered in light of globalization’s cultural processes, cyberspace’s networks and the more fluid life worlds thus enabled. In these conditions, online learning is understood to offer new ways of belonging in ‘postnational’ communities less reliant on locality for their frames of reference. Second, the concept of genre is then described as the textual expression of the context of culture. Next, pedagogy is theorized as a filter on such processes, shaping and promoting certain identity positions at the expense of others through its design – a potential that could be exploited more consciously. Then the empirical study and the nature of the case study unit are outlined in more detail. The two following analyses focus on the unit’s required assessment genre. In the first analysis, a series of troubles over the international students’ desire for more explication of the desired genre for their assessment tasks is described. In the second analysis of students’ assessment texts, the analysis explores how a differentiated genre structure emerged whereby

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some students included an extra step that explicitly unpacked their own national contexts in ways that others could understand and engage with. The final section looks at practical implications of the analyses for the future design of online internationalized education.

Identity processes in globalizing times – living beyond the nation When local providers court global enrolments there will be tensions if the practices of the educational institution remain framed within the nation that hosts it physically, and if they continue to be constrained by local conventions, traditions and particularities, while the students who pass through occupy transnational life worlds: ‘What might be at bottom a cosmopolitan microcosm is still filtered along national and state lines. The relation between national structures and transnational realities is thus full of contradiction and contingency’ (Beck 2004: 150). With escalating flows of people, images, social movements and cultural products across the globe, new opportunities have fuelled new social imaginaries, which in turn drive individuals’ biographies: ‘More people than ever before seem to imagine routinely the possibility that they or their children will live and work in places other than where they were born’ (Appadurai 1996: 6). In addition, the expanding networks of information and communication technologies offer access to virtual travel, new communities and additional cultural scripts and resources with which to pursue aspirations and craft new identities (Castells 1996, 1997). These social conditions and their identity potentials are clearly evident in the online internationalized classroom, where the ‘intersecting horizontal mobilities’ (Urry 2000: 3) of far-flung people in shared virtual spaces produce new social interfaces. Educators in such settings need a renovated template, a ‘postnational cartography’ (Appadurai 1999: 49), whereby the trajectories of such lives lived beyond the nation can be better acknowledged, understood and facilitated. Meanwhile, local students who fail to recognize that such potentials are on offer will overlook rich opportunities. The nation and the local have in the past been most clearly and forcibly asserted through space and boundaries, but how might any premise of territoriality be invoked in online space and virtual interactions? Flows through virtual sites could on one hand produce ‘translocalities’ (Appadurai 1999: 42), similar to the international airport. In such circumstances, flows of people through the sites will ‘undermine endogenous social structures’ (Urry 2000: 1) leaving the sites’ local practices changed, de-centred and disembedded from their local contexts – in, but no longer of, the local. On the other hand, it is argued here that a virtual ‘locality’ can be produced (Appadurai 1999) through the default privileging of certain ‘local’ frames

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in the virtual sites’ language practices. Thus locality will depend on whose terms and in whose terms the virtual site operates, which will decide who is to be treated as visitor and who gets to play host. This may be an obvious point when it comes to choosing what language to use, but more subtly, it will be played out in how any shared language is regulated, as explored in the next section regarding the concept of genre.

Genre in cultural context Online education is textually saturated – it only exists through its textual interface, which needs to be interrogated not just as interaction, but also as text per se (Hine 2000). The concept of genre refers to the layer of cultural conventions that shape texts according to their purpose. These conventions are derived from the intertextual chain of ‘like’ texts preceding and surrounding any individual text. While any language can be inherently creative, choices about how meaning is to be made tend to cluster around certain systemic patterns or grammars that become conventional for the particular context of use. Systemic Functional Linguistics (Halliday 1985) offers a sociolinguistic grammar, which situates any text in both an immediate ‘context of situation’, and within a broader ‘context of culture’, with the outer layer understood to be shaping or re-sourcing the inner, and the inner as realising the outer. The two levels, context of situation and context of culture, should be understood not as two separate things but as a continuum for how close the focus needs to be, the immediate situation being a particular instance of the larger ‘outer’ culture (Halliday 1991: 12). ‘Culture’ here is understood as the sociolinguistic notion of the speech community whose conventions presume some focal or convergent agreement on who constitutes the referent community and what its practices are. In this sense, the loose network of business education professionals that regularly read or write case studies in the Harvard Business Review would constitute a ‘context of culture’, which sustains agreement around what constitutes a competent case study report. However, in situations such as online internationalized education, that baseline premise of a convergent community supporting and sustaining genre conventions becomes problematic. Does such a neat nesting of the context of situation within a notionally coherent context of culture do justice to globalization’s disjunctural flows (Appadurai 1996) in which English is being appropriated and adapted (Widdowson 1997; Seidlhofer 2002) into new settings and new communities? Can we presume that some common ‘context of culture’ coheres around such a translocal context of situation? More and more communicative situations in a globalizing world will involve

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the intersection of multiple and disparate contexts, so a presumption of ‘co-membership’ in a singular ‘common community’ (Firth 1996: 239) may not be warranted when the linguistic code, in this case English, serves as the situational lingua franca. To illustrate this point, Kramsch and Thorne (2002) offer a pertinent account of ‘genre wars’ in online interaction between French and US language students and highlight the crucial role of genre in globalized (mis)communication: Because genre is bound up both with global communicative purpose and a local understanding of social relations, genre is the mediator between the global and the local. It is all the more pervasive as it is the invisible fabric of our speech. It should not be surprising then, that at the end of our analysis we find genre to be the major source of misunderstanding in global communicative practice. Because we tend to take our genres for natural and universal, we don’t realize the local flavour they bring to the global medium. (2002: 99) Genre theory has a long history with debates over persistent, idealized or universal forms and the empirical proliferation of new ‘species’ (Williams 1977: 183) of texts in response to new social conditions. ‘Genre’ as a concept thus has to account for both continuity and change over time and contexts. Assessment tasks in higher education provide a good example of how genres embedded and sustained in local learning cultures can be both resilient and changing. Genre such as the essay and the research thesis have long retained and enforced their form and status, while new innovative genre ‘species’ (the reflective journal, the web page, the wiki) have evolved their own particular textual templates more recently, which continue to shift and morph as they are put to work in different settings. Bakhtin’s (1986) contribution allows this dynamism-within-conventions to be understood as an intertextual process. Bakhtin argued that genres operate as conventions within social domains, not immune to change or the author’s individuality, but relatively stable over time, each instance serving as a link in the intertextual chain that sustains or evolves such conventions. This raises the question of which intertextual experiences the various students who arrived in the MBA unit of interest here, might draw upon to derive their genre repertoires, and whether their socializations into ‘like’ contexts were in fact commensurate. In addition, Bakhtin argued that speakers/writers acquire their extensive, heterogeneous repertoires of genres without realizing or articulating that expertise. In other words, genres are more likely to be ‘caught’ than ‘taught’. Moreover, ‘the better our

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command of genres, the more freely we employ them, the more fully and clearly we reveal our own individuality in them’ (Bakhtin 1986: 80). This, in turn, raises the question of whether those who have achieved such tacit and flexible mastery can assist those who haven’t. These questions are explored in the first analysis in this chapter. The other point from Bakhtin’s work is the dynamism and the capacity for evolutionary change as new practices and participants are drawn into the intertextual chain. This potential is demonstrated in the second analysis in this chapter. One more consideration at play in this context of situation is the power invested in assessment regimes and how the implicit assumptions about which/whose genre is considered normal or appropriate can differently position groups of students. Bernstein’s (2000) distinction between rules of realization and rules of recognition help unpack this play of power in legitimating and ‘normalizing’ certain genres in pedagogical contexts. Bernstein distinguishes between rules of recognition and rules of realisation in pedagogical transmission. The rules of recognition refer to understandings that allow individuals ‘to recognize the specialty of the context that they are in’ (2000: 17); that is, to distinguish between the particular pedagogical context and external contexts with regard to its required roles, discourse, register or practices. In this regard, formal academic texts are ‘recognizable’ by their conventions of citation, use of abstracts, their technical register and so forth. Bernstein goes on to give an example where a ‘weakly classified context can create ambiguity in contextual recognitions’ (ibid.). Thus students could be unsure what might distinguish a reflective journal from notes or a diary. For Bernstein, the rules of realization refer to understandings that allow individuals to ‘produce legitimate communication [. . .] to produce the legitimate text’ (2000: 17–18). The distinction between recognition and realization allows for the possibility that participants might recognize the kind of text and discourse required, but be unable to produce it.

Identity processes in pedagogy The pedagogy that takes place in any educational site is not a neutral, benign stage on which students perform their identities. Rather, it is a catalyst that projects or casts particular identity positions for teachers and students through its design. Bernstein identifies a variety of such orientations ‘for designing and distributing pedagogic identities’ (2000: 205). Each of these orientations works through curricular selection, pedagogical design and the assessment regime to encourage ‘in teachers and students a particular moral disposition, motivation and aspiration’ (2000: 65). Thus, certain identity orientations can be promoted and legitimated over others in the

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pedagogical design. It is argued here that this capacity within pedagogic relations could be purposefully harnessed to project more global or ‘postnational’ identities for all students (both domestically and internationally enrolled), casting them as citizens of an interconnected world, potentially living beyond local boundaries. While pedagogical design can channel and nurture particular identities, students themselves bring their own complex of identity orientations and tactics: ‘what I am, where, with whom and when’ (Bernstein 2000: 205). Online internationalized education is an interesting case in point, where students can access new cultural resources from beyond their local setting to fuel personal trajectories. This may describe all education in a way, but such potential is amplified and its reach is extended in the online internationalized classroom. There is thus a necessary process of ‘articulation’ (Hall 1996: 14) between personal and pedagogic identity orientations, which can produce degrees of goodness-of-fit in the connection between the student’s self project, and the identity positions offered to the student in the educational setting. The trouble reported in this chapter suggests that a degree of friction was produced between who the internationally enrolled students wanted to be (members of an international community) and how the setting positioned them (as outsiders, guests, in need of induction into how things are done locally ‘here’, in the host university). The solution offered purposefully undermines and de-centres the operative local frame, inviting all students to venture beyond the local.

The study The data are drawn from a case study of a core Masters of Business Administration (MBA) unit (‘Unit A’) offered online in 2003 by an Australian university (‘Uni A’) to an internationalized student group (Doherty 2006). As well as approximately sixty local and expatriate Australian-nationals (hereafter referred to as the ‘domestic’ students), the unit enrolled approximately thirty students through a partnership agreement with a parallel Malaysian institution (hereafter referred to as the ‘international’ students). These students were Malaysian citizens and citizens of the People’s Republic of China temporarily located in Malaysia for their studies. ‘Online’ delivery meant that, by design, the lecturer communicated with all students in this unit only through the web-based courseware in the many-to-many mode of ‘discussion forums’, or in one-to-one mode through the courseware e-mail function. All students used the same English language curriculum materials and textbook, and participated in the same online space with English as the language of instruction. The researcher was not an active participant in the

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unit, but had ongoing access to the shared web-based interaction in the unit’s website, following ethical clearance and the informed consent of the unit participants. The research was conducted as a critical ethnography (following Carspecken 1996) adapted to virtual environments (following Hine 2000). As ‘critical’ research it was mindful of ‘the relationship between power and thought and power and truth claims’ (Carspecken 1996: 10). As ‘adapted’ ethnography, it had to translate ‘an approach traditionally applied in specific bounded social settings to a communications technology, which seems to disrupt the notion of boundaries’ (Hine 2000: 10). The research involved: frequent observations and recording of the online interaction in the unit’s web-based courseware discussion space; semi-structured interviews with the lecturer and educational designer involved before, during and after the conduct of the unit; and e-mail interviews with a sample of the students. The larger study reported how the design and conduct of the unit produced cultural difference in one way as a curricular asset (Doherty forthcoming), and in another, as a pedagogical problem (Doherty 2008). This chapter is concerned, first, with the problems stemming from the implicit local culture of learning made evident in online discussions around the unit’s assessment tasks, and second, the emergence of a more self-conscious sensibility in some students’ assignments, which it is suggested, points a way forward in how we might think about the design of online internationalized education and its learning culture. The assessment tasks across the unit are summarized in Table 7.1. A significant feature of the lecturer’s design of the small group discussion tasks (Task 1a and 1b) and subsequent individual reports (Tasks 2 and 3) was his version of the business discipline’s tradition of heuristic case studies (see for example the Harvard Business Review). Rather than using classic case studies produced by high-status academies, the lecturer’s assessment tasks required students to produce their own case study narratives, drawing on real or hypothetical scenarios in their own particular work situations. These case studies were to be discussed online and developed collaboratively in small groups before each student submitted his or her individual case study and analysis for assessment. The students were purposefully allocated to mixed small groups to stage a cross-cultural encounter between the ‘international’ and ‘domestic’ students. Thus each student’s work was intended to be enriched by the insights provided by group members, that is, by mutual student subsidy (Doherty forthcoming). The final written submissions for Tasks 2 and 3 were described as ‘formal report [. . .] (with scholarly references . . .)’ in the unit requirements. For each task, the instructions for students stipulated a word limit, broke the task down further and outlined five criteria for assessment, each allocated 20

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Table 7.1 Unit A’s Required Assessment Tasks Task no. (% of final grade)

Task

Related to

Date due

1. (10%)

Online discussion (peer-assessed) in small groups prior to the submission of each case study task

(a) Modules 1, 2 (b) Modules 3,4,5

(a) End Week 6 (b) End Week 11

2. (20%)

Case Study A – a narrative and analysis of problematic group behaviour in a workplace

Modules 1, 2

Week 7

3. (35%)

Case Study B – hypothetical case study about managing a change program in an organization

Modules 3,4,5

End Week 12

4. (35%)

Self-reflection reviewing own management behaviour across a number of dimensions

Complete course content

End Week 13

percent in the final grade for that task. The final criterion in each task addressed ‘quality of report presentation’ . The genre invoked and legitimated in Assessment Tasks 2 and 3 could thus be considered a reinterpretation of the tradition of using case study narratives in business education to resource cross-cultural exchanges. In contrast, the final reflective assessment task, Task 4, was more personally and individually oriented. The first analysis, which follows, describes and interprets a series of queries regarding appropriate genre for these assessment tasks, played out in a general ‘troubleshooting’ discussion forum. The second analysis examines how students

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in their practice re-shaped the genre to embrace the new set of international participants, and the more problematic ‘context of culture’.

First analysis: troubles around assessment genre Across the unit’s 13 weeks, there was much open discussion and complaint around issues of assessment. In particular there was widespread protest in the unit’s open troubleshooting forum (Forum F) in Weeks 9 and 10, following the students’ receipt of their first individual assignment grades from Case Study A. Many students were unhappy with their grades, or the lack of detailed feedback with which to improve their subsequent grades. As these escalating complaints played out, the only ‘High Distinction’ student, and others, agreed to post their assignments as models for discussion. With this precedent, students successfully pushed for model assignments to be made available for the following two individual assignments, and then proceeded to dissect and contest each of these models. This section summarizes a string of postings in Forum F by students in Malaysia, and the lecturer’s responses. The selected postings dealt with unpacking and querying assessment requirements, first prior to submission dates, and then in response to offered models, grades and criteria. This section suggests that some of the Malaysian and Chinese students were differently resourced to produce the requisite genre, demanding additional support to decode the genre’s tacit rules of realization. The lecturer endeavoured to provide this support, but only to a limited degree. Zone F saw twenty-three postings by students in Malaysia enquiring about assessment protocols and tasks. There were sixteen queries of a similar nature from the larger body of domestic students, but the disproportionate majority (59 percent) were from the students in Malaysia, who constituted approximately one-third of total enrolments across the life of the unit. Postings before submission dates typically requested details such as: r bibliographic referencing styles and conventions: ‘Can you tell us what style of referencing (Uni A) or your goodself want us to use? Is it Harvard referencing, APA, etc?’ (F3); r what was to be included in the word count: ‘Will the referencing mentioned throughout the essay be included in the [. . .] word limit? (F11); r what textual formatting was required: ‘Can you tell us the kind of formatting we need to follow to write our report? I mean in terms of line spacing, headers and footers, page numbers (on the top right hand corner of the page) etc.’ (F24); r and how to complete and include the required cover sheet: ‘Can someone please tell me how these should be filled?’ (F68).

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As a group, these queries seemed to be confined to superficial technicalities, seeking a definitive correct answer. The heightened degree of anxiety exhibited by the students in Malaysia could be understood as attempts to seek some explicit affirmation, given that they had limited experience of the norms in the Australian university sector. Positioned as guests, they understood that they had to operate within ‘local’ expectations, but needed these to be spelt out more explicitly. Sometimes the lecturer responded to such queries with a definitive answer: ‘Yes, the word count includes the 400 word (approx) narrative’ (F39). At other times he offered a more flexible suggestion: ‘The precise format is up to the individual student. The requirement is that your report is professionally presented with appropriate use of headings and subheadings to give it structure’ (F25), or supplied a model paper: ‘I have added two of my papers to the (website) [. . .]. They can also serve as models on how to format your assignments (though an equally professional format is acceptable)’ (An12). This oscillation between firm rules and more flexible guidelines to inform personal judgment may have helped produce the frustration that was evident later when the students contested models against the espoused ‘rules’. Less typical queries from Malaysian students sought to clarify the question and structure of the writing task: Is it possible for you to clarify in more specifics regarding case study 2? I’ve a few problems trying to understand what I’m supposed to touch on . . . [outlines a possible structure] Am I on the right path if I follow the above understanding? (F113) There were similar queries for additional clarifications before each assessment task, to the point that for the third task, one student in Malaysia simply asked: ‘Please provide guidance how to prepare the above report’ (F241). In the wake of receiving grades for their first assignment, there was a call led by ‘domestic’ students for more constructive feedback, which grew to become a request for models of good assignments to ‘learn from’ and to inform their next efforts. The lecturer approached the one student who had received a High Distinction grade, who agreed to have the assignment uploaded as a model. The HD exemplar was widely applauded, but then subjected to detailed scrutiny by some students in Malaysia, against the rules that had been discovered in the preceding enquiries, for example: Pertaining to the sample HD’s case, the word count was 3,944 words inclusive of the Case Narrative [. . .] and 3, 486 words if excluding the CN. If the word count for the sample HD case was also 3,000 words, then it

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has exceeded the limit by 31% and 16% respectively. I am just wondering if there is a margin allowed before the student is being penalised for exceeding the 3,000 word limit. I would appreciate your clarification on this matter. Cheers [. . .]. (F230)

Significantly, the electronic mode of this pedagogy offered word processing tools such as ‘word counts’, ‘table of contents’ and an array of formatting options. These affordances in turn, made such concerns, scrutiny and complaints possible. Students in Malaysia enthusiastically greeted the student models offered: ‘Thank you for your unselfish spirit. I reach across the waters and give you a BIG HANDSHAKE!’ (F190), and then asked for models of subsequent assignments to be available before the submission date, rather than after, as was the case with the first assignment. For example: ‘It would be nice if U can show us a HD sample for this assessment. If fact it would be great to show a PS sample so that we can judge for ourself and know where we stand eventually’ (F239). By the third assessment task, however, the lecturer was less accommodating of such requests. In response to the generic request quoted above (F241), he responds: ‘The official guidance has already been provided in the specification for the assignment. However, I will be posting an example soon (on the understanding that it is not a “model” but only an example)’. Thus by the third assignment, the provision of a model had come to replace explicit enquiries and instructions, though the lecturer’s caveat that ‘it is not a “model” but only an example’, suggests that he was actively working to pre-empt and disallow its scrutiny. Thus the various parties exercised forms of power and influence to negotiate how the unit was to be conducted. The practice of providing exemplars of assignments was not without its critics. On two occasions, individual students voiced their concern that they might be accused of plagiarism as their work-in-progress resembled the models provided before submission dates. Other students, in their course evaluations and e-mail interviews, criticized the practice: ‘I think an HD example could have consisted of a completely different subject whilst emphasising the points in writing good essays rather than basing it on the current actual assignment that we were working on’ (A7). The lecturer chose not to include classic case studies anywhere in his curricular selection, which in effect meant that the students were not supplied with high status models of the relevant genre. Rather, they were exposed to each other’s draft versions thereof, perhaps giving mixed, ambiguous messages about what was to be considered legitimate. In this light, the questions from students in Malaysia sought to find out the implicit rules and local learning culture surrounding assessment practices, and their scrutiny

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of student models as described above could be understood as testing the strength of the implicit rules operating in each assessment task. Their questions might also be interpreted as checking how similar or different this ‘local’ educational setting was from others they had experienced. To articulate Bernstein’s rules of recognition/realization with linguistic understandings of the context of culture, I would argue that rules of recognition read or sample the linguistic surface level of register, that is, the text’s realization in its wording choices. Thus the students’ typical fixation on surface issues such as word limits, referencing conventions and formatting interrogated only what was empirically evident at the surface of the text. However, to produce legitimate versions of the target genre, rules of realization also need to read/sample the sublinguistic or structural level of genre. This realm is less articulated as argued by Bakhtin, more a matter of socialization through intertextual experience. Thus students found it hard to find the words to interrogate this dimension for producing the legitimate text, except with reference to surface features. Similarly, the lecturer did not articulate what makes the HD assignment textually effective, but, understandably, described it in more substantive terms: (the HD student’s) assignment was outstanding in terms of the quality of analysis and the demonstrated understanding of conceptual frameworks. For example, she didn’t get an HD grade for having a certain number of references but rather for effectively integrating scholarly perspectives into her analysis [. . .]. The final marking criterion is about the overall professionalism of the report presentation – to score an HD it has to be outstanding. (F214) He resorted to making the intertextual resources of the models he and others supplied do the work for him, in the hope that the necessary understandings would be ‘caught’. Bakhtin’s additional point, that flexibility comes with genre mastery, is illustrated in the students’ scrutiny of the model. As they attempted to pin its features (for example, word counts) down to the rules stipulated by the lecturer, and hold him accountable for any discrepancy, he, with his tacit mastery, could respond with a flexible tolerance, taking the criteria as indicative guidelines, not prescriptive rules. To summarize the above discussion, the stream of trouble regarding assessment tasks and their textual presentation was dominated by students in Malaysia, who displayed a disproportionate thirst for guidance and models at this entry point to their transnational educational program. Such needs were explained with reference to the linguistic construct of genre, which is understood to structure and shape text in culturally appropriate ways.

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Mastery of genre conventions is achieved by experience in an intertextual chain of ‘like’ texts. Such mastery is often tacit learning or socialization. With mastery of a genre comes a degree of flexibility in applying it. It was suggested that mastering a genre requires both learning the rules of its recognition (what distinguishes it from other text types), and the rules of its realization (how to produce a legitimate instance of the text type). The former was understood to interrogate the surface, or linguistic realization of ‘like’ texts. The latter was understood to require insights into the extralinguistic structuring of text, that is, its genre. Students and lecturer alike, in this case, seemed to find it difficult to interrogate textual forms and structures beyond surface details, limiting their exchange to issues of word counts, referencing conventions, ‘format’ and ‘setting out’. Thus the eventual call for and supply of model assignments filled the void produced by inarticulate tacit knowledge. Such ‘genre trouble’ and the differencing of students in regard to the ‘default settings’ of implicit genre in assessment tasks could perhaps be predicted in any educational program, but particularly so in transnational education with its interactions between spatially distributed actors and its reliance on textual exchange, at entry points into programs and in university settings with their high value on disciplinary textual conventions. The students in Malaysia, who were new to the settings of the Australian university, may not previously have been exposed to other ‘like’ texts from which they could draw their generative understandings, or may have been unsure whether their previous intertextual experiences were relevant in this ‘local’ setting. The lecturer, by not using the classic case studies common in such courses (a tradition on which his innovation of workplace scenarios in this unit was modelled), has inadvertently stripped the curriculum of high status models of how such texts, typical of and unique to business education, are staged or presented, leaving it to students to define the ‘like’ intertexts. At this stage of some of their careers, this issue posed a temporary and predictable problem. As the students in Malaysia progress in their studies in this context, they will accrue experience in, and come to share, the intertextual coherence that sustains such specialized genre. Thus their cultural referents for such tasks will shift in line with their new contexts and new experiences. By this framework, such transnational students are not fixed, essentialized, or locked into atemporal cultural identities; rather they are perceived to be in the process of gaining access to new cultural resources as required by the contingencies of the context, as previously separate worlds are brought together in the networks and routes of internationalized education. Nor will the genre templates remain essentialized and fixed, but rather the conventions surrounding this type of text and its structuring could well be impacted upon by the inclusion of new members in its intertextual chain, as the following section illustrates. From this

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analysis it is argued that the disproportionate distribution of genre troubles is predictable and should alert educators to the international cohort’s relative disadvantage as a group, though not necessarily as individuals. All students may well have such needs, but educators should be particularly alert to such potentials when designing entry point programs for students arriving from diverse educational backgrounds.

Second analysis: differentiated genre for different orientations The second analysis focuses on the students’ second workplace scenario texts, as posted in the small group spaces for Assessment Task 1b, and later revised for Task 3. By this stage, the students had been offered multiple models of how such texts were to be done, suggesting that student performances of the genre would be converging. The analysis explores how a genre variation emerged across the corpus of workplace scenarios, whereby some students included an ‘autoethnographic’ insert in their accounts. The concept of ‘autoethnography’ is drawn from Pratt’s (1992, 1998) writing about ‘contact zones’, being places where diverse peoples meet and grapple, often in unequal struggles. This concept has been applied to university campus sites involving international and culturally diverse student groups (Pratt 1998; Bullen & Kenway 2003; Singh & Doherty 2004) and is extended here to illuminate online learning environments. Autoethnography is not to be understood as a research method but rather as a rhetorical ‘phenomenon of the contact zone’ (Pratt 1998: 178). It refers to ‘a text in which people undertake to describe themselves in ways that engage with representations others have made of them’ (1998: 175), in particular the representations in contact zone encounters whereby the less powerful account for themselves and their difference in the terms made available to them by the more powerful. It is thus a form of self-representation expressing an identity distinct from a normalized default. Autoethnography is used here in a weaker form to identify textual moments when a student’s case study offered some ‘insider’ information to enable ‘outsiders’ to engage with their meanings and narratives. The typical genre for the workplace scenarios will first be described; then the emergent variation with its autoethnographic elements will be illustrated. Following Bhatia (1993), the purpose is to move through description, to explanation of what the variation strategically achieves for its writers, illuminating ‘the importance of tactical aspects of genre construction, which play a significant role in the concept of genre as a dynamic social process, as against a static one’ (1993: 16). Across the seventy-six workplace scenarios posted in the second smallgroup discussion tasks, there was remarkably coherent patterning in the type of information included and how the texts were ‘cognitively

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Table 7.2 Typical genre structure of workplace scenario texts Typical moves Orientation to company

Writers role as CEO Problem/ change 1

Problem/ change 2

Questions for discussion

Possible elements

Examples

Nature of business Location, size History of company Organizational structure

X-Bank is a national bank that has dealings in the Pacific region [. . .] G&H group, previously named J&K, was a private stock enterprise built in 1991 [. . .] Now the company has forty-one subsidiary companies and branches [. . .] As a new CEO to the business [. . .]

Statement of issue Recent history Analysis of contributing factors Accounts of past strategies and their outcomes Statement of issue Analysis of contributing factors Accounts of past strategies and their outcomes

The takeover and the bleak economic outlook created uncertainty and apprehension in the company. Moral was low. Things slowed down. There was room for increased usage of technology. Despite a remuneration package This often caused delays, which impinged on profits and meeting of targets [. . .]

If you were CEO, what theories would you look to [. . .]

structured’ (Bhatia 1993: 21), despite the wide variety of businesses, settings and problems profiled. The following schema outlines the standard moves and their elements, with illustrative exemplars. The move, ‘Writer as CEO’, tended to float in the structure – sometimes placed towards the beginning, other times towards the end. Occasionally scenarios started with problems, but the majority followed the order outlined in Table 7.2. The variation of interest occurred in a few workplace scenarios posted by both ‘domestic’ and ‘international’ students. It was the inclusion of a ‘context of situation’ move that offered the reader more contextual information with which to understand the particular workplace problem in a

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Table 7.3 Optional, autoethnographic genre: more in workplace scenario texts Optional move

Possible elements

Examples

Context of situation

Global context National context Industry context

Following the consolidation of local banks, the Malaysian government announced that the thirty-odd finance companies were to be consolidated into ten, to prepare the financial industry to meet the challenges and competition of globalization in 2007 [. . .]. The country was still recovering from the economic slowdown of 1999 [. . .]. This case deals with the problems that are prevalent in many of the private companies in the People’s Republic of China. The financial planning industry as a whole has experienced turbulent times [. . .]. This was largely brought about by a report conducted by the Australian Consumers Association. Some findings from this report were scathing [. . .]. The clock is fast ticking for the domestic banks in Malaysia, for, by 2007, the country will be opened to foreign banks

larger national or global field, as illustrated in Table 7.3. The information offered was ‘insider’ information – that which was essentially being taken for granted in other scenarios. This move sometimes came at the beginning as presage, funnelling down from a larger context to the specific workplace. Other autoethnographic moves were embedded within other moves. A domestic student included one such embedded move in his analysis of contributing factors for a problem: ‘One reason could be the fact that the financial planning industry has been in a downward spiral since the collapse of the global share market.’ A student in Malaysia inserted an autoethnographic clarification in his business orientation: ‘(note: Kuching is the capital of Sarawak)’. Another student in Malaysia included an autoethnographic comment outlining the national context in his analysis of the problem: ‘A quick scan of the environment reveals intense competition in

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the industry; stricter government legislations regarding the minimum qualifications of lecturers [. . .] and government’s aspirations to see more ‘thinking’ graduates produced’, while another international student offered an autoethnographic commentary on workplace culture that needed to be understood in the problem analysis: ‘Most employees will keep silence whether they having opinion or not as this is the norm of traditional Chinese organisation’. Whether a distinct stage, or an embedded aside, these autoethnographic comments are important rhetorical moments that acknowledge that the writer’s life world has in some ways been de-centred and relativized (Robertson 1992) by the flows of people through the virtual site – it can no longer be an assumed, default, setting. The fact that such context was made explicit in the text suggests that the writers were orienting positively and pro-actively to the needs of their respective nonlocals, and thus to the setting as a ‘translocality’. To engage with the international readers dwelling in the virtual site, they made the effort to speak ‘out of context’, by invoking a postnational cartography. A degree of effort to compare and translate life worlds has often been expected of nonlocal students. It is significant that several ‘domestic’ students used similar reflexive devices. They also ventured beyond their ‘local’ horizons to engage with ‘Others’ on more equitable terms, thus casting themselves as ‘international’ students as well.

A case for postnational pedagogy Pratt (1998) points out that the usual approach in university pedagogy is to: readily take it for granted that the situation is governed by a single set of rules or norms shared by all participants [. . .] it is assumed that all participants are engaged in the same game and that the game is the same for all players. Often it is. But of course it often is not, for example, when speakers are from different classes or cultures, or one party is exercising authority and another is submitting to it, or questioning it. (1998: 181) The empirical analyses above have illustrated the play of assumptions, norms, authority and questioning. There are two further points to make. First, assessment genres exercise power in the internationalized classroom, and if left unexamined, can privilege local practices and learning cultures operating within the host university. This is all the more problematic in that such local knowledge/practice (and therefore comfort in the local setting) is often acquired tacitly. The first analysis showed how nonlocal students

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worked to find out the implicit rules behind the desired genres. Their anxieties were understood to arise from uncertainties about the relevance of their prior textual and educational experiences. The precipitated use of model texts (what could be termed ‘show-how’) provided some support in the absence of explicit ‘know-how’. Given the entry-point intake of international students, such trouble was perhaps predictable and could have been better managed with a more conscious strategy of offering high status models (rules of recognition) with explicit guidelines for constructing such texts (rules of realization) and permissible degrees of flexibility. This strategy would help all students in one sense, but in another, would merely work to sustain and reproduce the ‘single set of rules’, that is, the local learning culture, by inducting the guest into how things are to be done ‘here’. Second, local assessment genres could be subject to change when new participants contribute to the genre’s intertextual chain. The emergence of an autoethnographic move in some of the workplace scenarios reflected the fact that the readership for these texts had shifted and the genre structure had to accommodate a more complex, fractured ‘context of culture’ where shared premises of local knowledge could not be presumed. That some ‘domestic’ students included an autoethnographic move suggests that they were venturing into the virtual translocality on more postnational terms, where everybody is cast as a visitor and nothing can be taken for granted. It is the tactic of troubling any privileged local frame, so that it cannot operate as the unexamined default, which I want to highlight as the key to ‘postnational’ pedagogy. In the Introduction to this chapter, it was argued that pedagogic design could promote and nurture certain orientations. There is the capacity and the power in assessment regimes to consciously shape how students orient to the learning experience and its relations. Rather than just reading these potentials as risks or problems, they can equally be seen as potential devices to exploit, and potentials with which to craft a virtual translocality in which all students get to participate as transnational visitors, in transit beyond their local frames. By dislocating the ‘domestic’ student from familiar, presumed defaults, a postnational pedagogy would assist them to recognize and assess their own local frames from a distance, as they are thrown into relief through contact with other contexts and their associated frames. To this end, any assessment genre in which students are required to draw from local experiences or contexts should also formally require an autoethnographic move. This move would explicitly contextualize any local particulars with reference to broader settings – be they global trends, national policies, regional debates or local histories – that transnational peers may need spelt out in order to engage with the material. Looking outwards, this would force students to explore and understand global

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interconnectedness as well as local particularity, similarity, confluence and contact as well as difference. Looking inwards, it would also bring presumed local knowledge to the surface for scholarly scrutiny. Postnational pedagogy, ironically, means making the variety of operative national and local frames visible, in order to explore their interactions with transnational flows and identities. Online internationalized learning supports such explorations as one of its unique affordances.

Chapter 8

New Learning Cultures: Identities, Media and Networks Jay Lemke and Caspar van Helden University of Michigan, USA

Introduction: identity, community and learning In this chapter we will offer some elements of a re-conceptualization of the relations among identity, community and culture that we believe are necessary to support lifelong learning in highly diverse online and off-line social networks. We will synthesize arguments supported by research on new learner biographies, the role of popular culture media in youth identity projects, and the marketing of identities and cultures in commercial mass media. Learning is an aspect of personal (and community) development that is never not happening. Significant learning is that which is sustained over longer time scales by connections with our identities: not just who we say we are, but how we typically respond – our dispositions, habits, preferences and values. Our life biographies and our learning biographies are increasingly indistinguishable, and both in living and learning we participate in diverse, multiple communities, each with its own culture of resources and models for identity development. For many new learners (Diepstraten et al. 2006) and active users of internet-based resources, cultural diversity is increasingly being framed by social identities produced in significant part through participation in online communities and social networks. For all learners, and particularly for younger ones, popular culture media and personal social networks (including online communities) represent two key sources of identity models and cultural resources for affiliation and identification. Popular culture media for young people today include not only television, film, magazines, music and books, but also video and

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computer games, commercial media websites and media in all these genres distributed online (e.g. through iTunes, YouTube, MySpace, Facebook and other sites). Identity and affiliation today are increasingly sites of contestation between market forces aiming to recruit consumer loyalties through popular culture media and individuals and social networks seeking to re-appropriate popular culture content and forms for our own purposes. As we ‘potential customers’ live our lives more unpredictably, jumping across sites, activities, media and communities (our traversals), marketing strategies respond by distributing consumer-identity cultures across multiple media that can span these sites and activities (their transmedia). We will argue that such mediabased identities are always already differentiated and hierarchized in ways that try to harmonize the twin goals of recruiting consumers for products and reinforcing dominant beliefs and values. Individuals and our informal communities, however, transform and re-appropriate media to fashion identities and subcultures that may often be subversive of marketing messages and dominant economic interests. Contemporary culture, accordingly, has become more and more a heteroglot mix of marketed identities and media cultures in uneasy relation with the spontaneous productions of individuals and online communities. All draw on traditional ethnic/national, class/age, gender/sexuality and other subculture resources and values in the creation of specific identities, preferences and practices, but the results are far less well-defined and stable than the term ‘culture’ normally implies. What are the implications of such an analysis for education? Both for traditional schooling and for alternative, at least partly online, learning networks? If we are to help design better learning support systems for the future, we will need to re-conceptualize both ‘cultural diversity’ and ‘identity’ in less categorical terms and analyze them more fully across multiple time scales. Educational support systems for the most part have stubbornly ignored basic changes to contemporary learning cultures. School curricula disdain the popular culture capital, which forms a primary identity resource for students. School-based learning cuts itself off from the social networks, online communities and peer- and media-based learning practices of students. Nonschool learning may be far more effective in connecting with students’ identities and therefore in contributing to long-term development than is school-based learning, most of which is forgotten within months. Online learning networks comprise many kinds of communities and potential learning environments. They do not need to repeat the errors and failure of school-based education, and if they remain more in the control of their users, then we can imagine how they might form effective bridges

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between interest-based and identity-based learning on the one hand and whatever new shape traditional education may take on the other. Individual identities and community cultures today are dynamically responsive to immediate opportunities. They are highly adaptable constellations of identifications and affiliations, with threads of continuity braided into unique life-and-learning biographies. It is the individual and unique differences among participants, resulting from their traversals across and participation in multiple other communities, which matter for the richness of learning opportunities in any particular community. Our arguments in this chapter lead us to conclude that the structural design of school-based, classroom-centred, standardized-curriculum education is irremediably dysfunctional. We need to envision alternative support systems for lifelong learning across multiple sites, communities and timescales. We need to imagine online learning networks grounded far more in the cultures and identities of their users.

New learning biographies and social networks The culture of online learning will inevitably evolve in the directions being pioneered by young people today, particularly by those who are not satisfied with current educational options and are finding alternative ways to educate themselves. The European Union and other political entities have been producing volumes of reports and recommendations over the last decade or so that describe the ‘desired’ future for learning and education (e.g. Council of the European Union (2001); European Commission 2001; OECD 2004). Many of these documents speak of globalization, knowledge economies, competing with other economic blocs and preparing our youth to handle this challenge. They also speak of education support structures that should more thoroughly involve the learners, and even integrate much better into their lives and lifestyles, taking into account rapidly changing paradigms of employability, economic productivity and personal interests and development. In short, a lot is being said about what kind of future we think we are approaching, but in reality, not much is known about how realistic these predictions may be, nor how today’s new generations of learners may feel about being pressed into a mould that claims not to be one. The goals of increased freedom, flexibility, adaptation, life-long learning and rapid traversals among careers and knowledge domains seem to somehow create a grand buffet of opportunities, but in this nonetheless rather conservative vision we may still be stuck with learning at someone else’s buffet.

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There are few education experts or politicians today who believe our present formal educational systems are doing a good job. In The Netherlands, a full parliamentary investigation (the most serious tool the parliament has to critique ministerial policies) has recently investigated how decades of educational science, policy and reform could get it so wrong (Tweede Kamer [Netherlands Parliament] 2007). However, the investigation, most likely, will bring us little to work with in the end, if only because no mere reform of an enormous, ponderous formal educational system could possibly serve the needs and desires of today’s trendsetting learners, who are looking to smaller-scale, more genuinely relevant and adaptable social networks for their learning (Diepstraten 2006). There are several reasons why traditional systems are failing. One is that few university Faculties of Education are actually investigating possible new futures for education. All we seem to do is try to keep fixing the broken system we have, or else we ‘experiment’ with well-intended initiatives that may help small numbers of socially marginalized students here or there. None of our big ideas about schooling reform look to be both scalable and affordable, and certainly none of them seem to offer genuine hope for radically new social approaches to the future of our society and our planet. A second reason is simply the inherent contradiction in any mega-scale, hierarchically organized system trying to teach people swift, creative, tailored adaptation to rapidly changing conditions. Another factor is that education is itself a powerful establishment force with a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, in society and for itself, so as to not be rendered obsolete. Most important, perhaps, our large-scale mass education systems have only been able to survive for as long as they have because no other institutions in our society were able to take over their market share in the attention economy (Davenport & Beck 2001). Commercial popular culture, however, integrated with sophisticated marketing machinery and new technological developments, has now successfully conquered a large market share of our students’ attention. And where more of the attention is, more of the learning takes place (cf. Lankshear & Knobel 2006, chapter 5). The rise of the modern media empires and the success of the social science of marketing have created successful new techniques to capture and develop the interests and attention of consumers. The marketers have realized what we forgot in our classrooms while we were busy handing out ‘information’ to students: the relationships among interests, learning and identity. Even when education specialists recognized the role of students’ identities, we refused to integrate the key elements that would make most students become passionate about learning: we ignored their own interests beyond our predetermined, one-size-fits-all curricula, their values when they were not our own, their feelings and emotions and the processes of

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identification between their worlds (interests, values, feelings and emotions) and what we may call the popular culture social capital that does address what education does not, and is therefore meaningful for students in ways the curriculum is not (e.g. Alvermann et al. 1999; Moje & van Helden 2005; Lankshear & Knobel 2006). ‘Popular culture social capital’ here refers to the peer-group value within social networks of being able to talk knowledgeably and often also critically about the content of popular media, old and new (television, film, music, internet media, etc.). Recent sociological research shows that most ‘trendsetting learners’ who are living the globalized, individualized, lifelong-learning biography that policymakers think is ideally adapted for the twenty-first century, found their formal education to be an obstruction to their development. Not merely unhelpful, or only slightly helpful, but definitely counter-productive, diminishing their chances in the real world, as well as an uncomfortable, boring and (for society) ruinously expensive process (du Bois-Reymond & Walther 1999; Diepstraten et al. 2006). Trendsetting learners (who are mostly in their late twenties and early to middle thirties) by and large name two other components of their lives as keys to their career and personal success: popular cultural capital and strategic social networking. Strategic networking is the practice of combining popular culture capital and the social capital of meeting like-minded people online and offline to find those whose knowledge can be shared and can be mobilized towards one’s own goals. These concepts are, of course, re-framings of Bourdieu’s influential notions of cultural and social capital (Bourdieu 1979, 1990). Diepstraten’s research is particularly disturbing in that it reveals opportunities our educational systems have missed to effectively support learners. Commercial popular culture is not an innocent resource for anyone, including young people, online or offline. It pushes an agenda of what is now sometimes called by corporations and marketers coordinated lifestyle reinforcement (Bogart 1994): the synergies (for profit) of linking consumer identities with a wide range of different products and services (see the discussion of ‘identity markets’ below). Meanwhile, educational systems are not offering young people effective support in dealing with these powerful forces critically. Popular culture and popular media, old and new, and students’ pervasive practices in consuming such media offline and online, by computer networking, mobile phones and game devices, are simply invisible, as if by fiat, to the world of schools and ‘serious education’. Considering our governments’ extreme focus on ‘the economy’ and strong involvement with business in general it may not be a surprise that formal education does nothing to support critical consumption of marketing media, but it is at least the duty of educators to talk with students about a phenomenon that engulfs them (and us) ‘24/7’: commercial popular culture. The culture of

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most online learning, which is that of informal, voluntary learning, is also that of popular media and marketing. Much of informal online learning today consists of what young people make and re-make of popular media culture as they use it and re-appropriate it for their own worlds and purposes (Alvermann 2002; Black 2006; Jenkins 2006a, 2006b; Leander & McKim 2003). Young people are strongly invested in popular culture in many ways, and use popular culture in many ways, including ways that are not ‘intended’. Even these processes of subversion or deviation, however, are now often acknowledged and appropriated by the marketers’ media, and become part of the more complete media cycle in which we spin. Marketers seek to coopt even consumers’ sceptical stances to marketing media. For example: ‘underground’ music is imitated and incorporated quickly by major record labels. Popular culture immersion, though, is only one side of the story. Apart from the individual media consumed and produced, the meanings made and the products bought as a result of them, the associated popular culture capital also serves to generate and amplify identifications that, for better or worse, draw substantial time and attention away from even wellintended curricula. Media invite identification by creating interests, emotions and desires in the products they display: the type of pretty girl you like drinks Diet Coke; the kind of sexy, athletic boy you like wears Abercrombie shorts. How can classrooms compete? What is the probability in today’s curriculum and educational accountability climate of a highly engaging lesson on the chemistry of Diet Coke? Or on the third-world cotton fields and sweatshops from which come Abercrombie shorts? These are obvious pedagogical tasks our educational systems should be concerned with, but don’t seem to be able or willing to pursue. It seems a very uneven competition if we compare educational media, even at its best, with the ads, the TV shows, the clubs and sponsored parties, the music, the products, and the network of friends who identify with similar media and products: a transmedia complex in which generations of young people are already integrated, and one that is saturated with sensuality, feeling and desire, and presented with visual beauty, exciting sound and even through live participatory events. There are lessons to be learned from these competitors for the hearts and minds of today’s learners, but they are not ones that can be implemented in the educational systems we have now. The systems will have to change in such a way that they can adapt to and implement these lessons and respond to the new ways in which young people are learning. The alternative, that commercial interests will successfully market attractive new, more explicitly educational media to affluent families, leaving other students even more marginalized, is a very real, and socially dangerous one (Lemke 2007).

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du Bois-Reymond favours supporting the development of ‘valid learning biographies’, co-produced between learner and institution (du BoisReymond & Moerch 2006). A ‘valid learning biography’ is a trajectory of actual learning experiences, which represents an interactive history with education in the broadest sense. It is ‘valid’ in the sense that holistically it is both viable for and valuable to the learner, and will help the learner to build the careers and life(styles) that she or he desires. Only in this way, she claims, can we have a chance of addressing the complexity of a young person’s life and future, and have at least a chance of offering real, effective support. As long as traditional educational institutions keep insisting on rigid, linear learning structures rather than flexible, accommodating and innovative support systems, more and more young adults will fail to be successful in leading satisfying and productive lives. These conclusions are based not only on interviews with young adults but also on sociological analyses (as discussed below) of the complex trajectories of young people today into and out of the formal educational system, transitions to the world of work, and new highly nonlinear career trajectories. We want to argue that in order to consider even the first steps that educational systems might make to help young people succeed with these new learning biographies, we have to take a much closer look at why and how popular culture capital, identification and social networking play such a crucial role in young people’s lives today. We need to study how meanings are made in and between all these sites, networks and processes, and ultimately abandon the old educational fortresses before they collapse on top of us. It’s not the institution of schooling that we primarily need to study and reform, it’s the complex dynamic between learning biographies and media complexes that we believe ought to be the focus of future research on new educational alternatives. Understanding the new translations (Latour 1987) that are taking place within that dynamic today can potentially tell us how to re-envision and re-engineer social support systems for learning that go beyond both the offline culture of schools and the online culture of media. In re-defining the object of education research away from ‘research on education as we do it now through schools’ and towards refining our understanding of how people learn through life: at home, at play, at work, in schools and especially through social networks, popular culture media and new online networked communities, it may be useful to apply Latour’s concept of ‘actor networks’ in which we ‘follow the actors’ – whether humans, artefacts or concepts – as they are ‘translated’ from place to place by their interactions with one another, acquiring new properties and meanings from their changing roles in changing networks and spaces (Latour 1987, 1999). The European Union (European Commission 2001) and much current youth sociology there (e.g. Chisholm 2000; du Bois-Reymond & Chisholm (in press; du Bois-Reymond

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et al. 2001; Diepstraten et al. 2006) has redefined ‘lifelong learning’ from a clich´e that in practice has meant little more than periodic returns to the irrelevancies of school-based learning to a new vision of learning in all settings, where the true educational task is to support people in integrating and synthesizing all that we learn from so many sources and through so many activities (see also OECD 2004). How can better ‘networks’ (in Latour’s sense, broader than the narrower ICT sense) be built to support such integrational learning? To answer this we at least need to know much more about how current integrational or traversal (Lemke 2002b and Lemke forthcoming) learning is now occurring. We will return to this concern later. We want to examine first the kinds of linkages between learning and identity that appear to be making commercial media superior competitors in the attentional economies of lifelong learning.

Media culture and identity Popular culture capital is often an entr´ee to new social networks as well as a key topical medium for that phatic communion (Jackobson 1960), which helps maintain and nourish social solidarity in affinity groups. But reliance on popular culture media to help develop our social identities also opens us up to the covert messages and implicit ideologies they carry. Individuals and communities do in fact re-interpret and re-appropriate the beliefs, values and naturalizations inherent in popular culture worlds, but there is an on-going dialectic of implicit acceptance versus active re-appropriation. We are accustomed to thinking in terms of a radical imbalance of power between corporate media producers and distributors versus individual consumers, but recent research and arguments examining the ‘fan communities’ around television programs, computer games, movies and the more complex transmedia franchises (Jenkins 2006a), which may link all of these media (and more) together suggest the emergence of a different picture (Lemke 2005a and Lemke forthcoming), consider for example the Harry Potter franchise, one of the most popular in the world today, with particular relevance for both young learners and the formation of attitudes to schooling. In addition to the seven principal books, four feature films (as of 2007), six or more computer games, numerous official websites and endless branded merchandise from toys to candy, which form the ‘franchise’ proper, there are also, for example, over three hundred thousand fan-authored online stories set in the Potter universe, and substantial numbers of fan-produced art works, music videos and detailed analyses and commentaries on both the official stories and the fan-produced work (see links to representative

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websites following the References section). Fan-authored fiction, in particular, has now begun to receive serious scholarly attention (Black 2006; Jenkins 2006a), and a significant phenomenon within this genre will illustrate re-appropriation for us particularly well. Unselfconsciously, the official Harry Potter world re-inscribes the cultural values of Anglo-Saxon heteronormativity, but a significant genre within its fan fiction community is so-called ‘slash fiction’, for example, ‘Harry/Ron’ stories elaborating the romantic involvement of Harry Potter with his ‘best friend’ Ron Weasley). Such stories are written by young women, almost exclusively. This genre is very similar to some popular culture fiction traditions in Japan (yaoi, doushinji) but appears to be an independent, parallel development. While no doubt re-inscribing some traditional ideologies of romantic love, the subversion of the otherwise powerful taboo on samesex relationships, particularly among young boys, shows the potential not just of individual writers, but of large mutually supportive online communities to re-appropriate popular culture media and identities in potentially transgressive ways. Slash fiction occurs for most of the popular transmedia franchises of the day, from Star Wars to Star Trek, Naruto, The Lord of the Rings, etc. It occurs within very large online fan communities (tens to hundreds of thousands of members), where all genres of fan fiction, fan art, fan-made videos, commentaries, discussions, etc., thrive. The meanings and significance, the range of possibilities for identity development, the ‘culture’ of the transmedia complexes and their fan communities depend not just on the official ‘franchised’ media, but on an intertextual system, which also includes the large-scale fan production of collateral media. For readers who may imagine that such fan communities are mere by-ways in the general mass consumption of popular culture media, it is perhaps worth pointing out that the combination of passionate fan interest, the daunting complexity of these transmedia worlds and the potential social capital and desire for social sharing and affinity group acceptance, make the online fan-produced media and discussion websites a customary resource for the even larger numbers of consumers of these media who are not themselves active producers of fan media. In the case of complex computer games such as the Final Fantasy series and many others, it is hard to imagine playing them seriously without seeking some online advice and assistance. We suspect there will be academic readers who disdain popular culture media especially when it is oriented to youth markets, and who are sceptical of its political significance. We will simply mention that another of the most successful transmedia franchises and online communities is based on the computer game America’s Army, produced by the US military as a recruitment

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tool and a vehicle for teaching about US military doctrine, and proudly or unselfconsciously propagating its questionable geopolitical assumptions. Equally significant, we think, is the general thesis that corporate marketing sells ‘lifestyles’, or in our terminology, identities, which incline consumers to become their customers. In the case of popular culture media, there is no clear line between what counts as the product and what counts as marketing for the product (look at the official websites for any of the major fictional universe franchises, or of current ‘blockbuster’ movies). What marketers call ‘synergy’ – the linking of their marketing strategies for products, corporate identities, and consumer identities through films, television, music, games and websites – produces transmedia complexes, which, we have argued (Lemke 2005a and Lemke forthcoming), are potentially far more effective carriers of ideological messages than are traditional single media, because they are pervasively available across many different sites and activities in daily life, and because they invite or demand an exceptional degree of buy-in by consumers. The latter is occasioned by the degree of consumer effort required to synthesize meanings across these many media in order to obtain the popular culture capital and social-networking benefits of time invested in such transmedia products. Marketers, and, if you wish, corporate-globalist propagandists, have felt somewhat thwarted in recent times by the advent first of cable-television viewing habits (channel-surfing, advertisement muting) and then of the diversion of ‘eye-balls’ (time and attention) from earlier marketing media like television to websites, video and computer games, mobile phone subcultures, internet chat, online blogs, etc. In seeking to more effectively colonize these more diverse and, from their point of view, message-diluting media, marketers have turned to transmedia strategies, which enable them to keep their messages (and ideological naturalizations) in view in ways that are more integrated with the media content themselves (e.g. Bogart 1994). Corporate advertising has never just sold products (Williamson 1978), and its methods are now also the primary communicative strategy of political interest groups as well. Who can doubt that transmedia analysis methods would apply just as well to The Iraq War franchise as to any fictional complex? Today wars are marketed just like the games that simulate them. When we consumers attention-surf across hundreds of channels and millions of websites, or even go out and leave our houses and televisions behind, we enact traversals (Lemke 2005b and Lemke forthcoming) that marketers seek to encompass in their wide-ranging transmedia webs. A transmedia franchise, whether fictional or merely political, ramifies through our televisions, computers, mobile phones and friendship groups. The systematically differentiated and hierarchized collections of standardized consumer identities defined and proffered by transmedia corporate marketers – what we

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are calling here identity markets – can still become merely resources for individual and group identity construction along our traversals. In a very postmodern spirit, young fans edit together moments from commercial films to make their own, sometimes very transgressive, versions of the Harry Potter or Star Wars mythos. They post these to hosting sites such as YouTube.com as well as to fan sites like The Leaky Cauldron. Corporate identity cauldrons are leaky indeed in the hands of these consumer-producers.

Online cultures and learning What are we to make then of the notion of ‘online culture’ in relation to the learning potential of such fan communities? There is a curious notion inherited from the nationalist eighteenth and nineteenth centuries in Europe, by way of the early cultural anthropology of those times, that ‘cultures’ are, if not homogeneous, at least significant primarily insofar as they are shared. But a more recent view in cultural anthropology (since Wallace 1970) is that social systems are ordered heterogeneities held together not so much by shared values as by our mutual interdependence on one another’s diverse skills and knowledge. Postmodern cultures cohere because we need each other, not because we resemble one another, or indeed even very much like one another. Our modern communities, whether great metropolitan cities or even smaller towns, are filled with a broad diversity of often conflicting religions and cultures, yet for all that we are still bound together by our economic and practical dependence on one another’s existence and efforts. Historically, men’s cultures and women’s cultures in the same community were often quite different (for all that men pretended otherwise), yet remained bound together by mutual interdependence. Online communities are no different. It is the diversity and divisions of labour within such communities that produce the added value for each member (Levy 1997). Yes, we flock together around our shared passions for this or that, but we benefit most not from communities of our own clones, but from the different points of view, distinct experiences and diverse contributions of other members. We have learned in recent years a great deal more about the role of online culture and new media in the lives of school-age students and something of how they are and are not being integrated into classroom education (e.g. Lankshear & Knobel 2003; Leander 2003; Lankshear & Knobel 2006). Lankshear et al. in particular have criticized approaches to co-opting ‘the digital’ into national curricula rather than thinking through how digital literacies might change the relationship between students and the wider society. They imagine that schools might evolve, as universities have, into knowledge-generating institutions for their communities, as well

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as being sites of knowledge transmission. Such an approach might well represent one new educational option that we could endorse, insofar as making such contributions also represents a rich learning opportunity for students. But the experience of universities may indicate that the agendas of knowledge generation inevitably sit very uneasily alongside any canons of what knowledge must be taught. The former are responsive to and emergent from local contexts, while the latter remain relatively static and comparatively uninspiring for more present-oriented learners. How different all this is from the ‘culture’ of schools and their onesize-fits-all curricula. Natural human communities, whether in village or neighbourhood societies or online, promote learning across difference: we learn from elders and by teaching juniors, we learn from peers who have a different view of things from our own (Lemke 2002a). We discover online that our interests, but not our attitudes, are shared by Japanese, Korean and Finnish gamers, readers and fellow producers of fan-made media. There are canonical texts, but not authoritative readings (not even those of authors or producers). There are familiar genres, but fan-made works are valued for their unique ‘twists’ (and often for their transgressions). The fan communities are created, maintained, run and managed by fans themselves, not by paternalistic elders. The communities appropriate and transform what the commercial media offer; they do not simply reproduce it. Along the way, members learn from one another, often by the route of apprenticeship to more experienced peers (Lave & Wenger 2002[1990]), and often far more effectively than in schools (Alvermann et al., 1999; Alvermann 2002; Steinkuehler et al. 2005; Black 2006), how to improve their writing, their visual design, their web skills, their video editing and in similar contexts in other online peer communities their computer programming, their research skills, their music, etc. The official culture of schools, in contrast, is authoritarian and morally offensive. Rather than an educational support system that makes available, as resources for new production, the valued art, literature, music and knowledge of the world’s cultural traditions, we have allowed ourselves to settle for an institution that attempts to force the next generation to simply emulate the last, which imposes an arbitrary canon of ‘content’ on mostly unwilling students, and which propagates a single, still mostly upper-middle-class, nationalistic or euro-cultural, masculinist and heteronormative curriculum of very little demonstrable value to most people’s real daily lives. We are not speaking here of basic primary education, some of which is enlightened and playful in its activities, and much of which is actually of use (though many primary schools are still culturally diverse only in their students and not in their teachers or curriculum). We are talking about all that follows those first years, up to the point where students are finally allowed to choose

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what they wish to learn. Is it a surprise that students are alienated from our current educational systems? That they do not wait until after their formal schooling to begin the real work of their identity development or learning about what really interests them and how to discuss it? That they turn to peers, to online communities, to social networks, to mass media and popular culture? Or that this is happening even while educators, curricula and indeed most adults steadfastly ignore everything that matters to our students in their worlds outside of the school? When students genuinely seek to learn, to what kinds of communities, with what sorts of norms and practices do they turn? They turn to more knowledgeable peers, because they cannot trust ‘adults’ to treat them democratically rather than paternalistically (much as women often prefer learning communities that exclude men). They turn to communities that are engaged in projects over fairly long periods of time, where there are opportunities to do something, make something, share something that really matters to the members. They turn to communities where there is a passion for what is being done and learned. None of these are features of our ruinously expensive formal learning institutions. Schools do not draw on the diverse experiences of students, but impose a single voice on all. They do not encourage and support students to develop unique learning and experiences, unique voices or viewpoints. They are famously intolerant of creativity and transgressive attitudes. They prefer readers to writers, learners to peer-teachers, answers to questions and consumers to producers. They imagine that pencil-and-paper tests, done in an hour or less, can give valid indications of intellectual and social-emotional development or the ability to conduct long-term, self-guided or group projects. Or, worse, that what such tests can indicate is more important, or more fundamental, than what students, parents, employers and educational leaders generally agree are the ultimate goals of learning (e.g. critical judgment, learning autonomy, skilled collaboration, etc.). Long ago, the alternative to the free public school was the free public library, but solitary study appeals to only a few, even if it brings the freedom to pursue your own interests, in your own way, at your own pace. The great benefit of the school is the opportunity to ask your questions of a knowledgeable teacher, and to get some guidance as to what knowledge might really be useful to your quest. But how often in classrooms do students get the opportunity to ask the questions they really want to ask? Without their being refused as ‘off the topic’? What guidance do teachers typically give students to the world of knowledge that is relevant to the students’ interests and concerns? What teachers could give to students, the curriculum and the structure of the institution (short classes, large classes, overloaded content demands) typically prevent.

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The Web is, among its other functions, a library online. Online communities and their portal sites give guidance for learning on topics of interest to participants, and opportunities to join in projects. Mentors in online communities are unpaid volunteers, eager to help those who share their interests and passions. They are not well trained as teachers; they may provide misinformation (though this is less common in specialized communities where others readily correct them). Online communities are not just information resources; they are social networks, and often communities in the true sense. The degree of participation is voluntary; you can be a core member of the community, intellectually and socially, or you can drop in and out for what you need. The core community is usually a small fraction of all those who may participate over the course of a day or a week, yet it maintains its cohesion and direction. Online learning communities are hybrids of strong communities with tight binding and loose communities with weak binding (Wellman et al. 1996; M¨uller-Prothmann 2006). Correspondingly, their cultures consist of a certain core culture with a periphery that is more tolerant of diverse perspectives. It is possible to enter these communities and move from peripheral to core participant, and it is equally possible to come and go and to be left alone. Unlike schools, online communities have a culture of weak recruitment. They may entice, but they do not pressure, much less compel. Schools, even after the abhorrent age of corporal punishments, still do discipline bodies and enforce their demands on students through physical imprisonment. Online communities have had to evolve a different culture of learning because they have virtually no leverage over participants’ bodies, and only a little over their sensibilities.

Affectivity and learning Several times already we have referred to the passionate commitment to their projects in online communities. Learning the complexities of many of these fictional franchise worlds, or successfully completing the challenges of computer games, takes a great deal of effort and commitment. So does regular participation in, much less formal responsibility for, online fan sites, communities and forums. For all this time and labour, the activity itself is its own and only reward. These are labours of love, fuelled by passionate interests and desires. Students who would not spend more than 10 minutes on homework or textbook reading will spend 6 or 8 hours a day on their passions. Students who can hardly be coaxed to write two sentences or half a page, will write dozens (and hundreds) of pages about their passions. Students who cannot recall facts of history or science a day after the examination can recount minute details of computer and video games they have

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played, or stories they have read, months and years later. If very few students find any convergence between their passions and what is offered in school, whose fault is that? And whose loss is it? It is not news that we learn more readily what matters to us emotionally and in relation to our identities and our participation in affinity groups. Or that we then recall it longer and are better able to marshal it when occasion arises to make some use of it. But the only emotion to be found in most educational materials is that of dry disinterestedness, our legacy from the turbulent politics of the days of Boyle and Hobbes (Shapin & Schaffer 1989) that defined the official scientific stance of academic learning as dispassionateness. That mistrust of feeling and subjectivity has also deprived us of needed research and even a theoretical vocabulary with which to discuss the role of passion in learning, and in the culture of learning communities. What are the passions that support learning, retention and future use of knowledge and skills? What are the affective dimensions of social-emotional and intellectual development? What do we really mean by excitement, curiosity, playfulness or the joy of discovery? What are the actual emotional trajectories of learners over longer periods of time? What are the roles of other emotional processes that we term frustration, drive, conflict, anxiety or pride? What of the social emotions of solidarity, friendship, enmity, jealousy, guilt and gratitude? Do we doubt that all these and more play key roles in our learning processes over multiple time scales from minutes to years? Or that they are fundamental to social processes of learning? Roland Barthes, speaking of the pleasures of the text in literature, used the French term jouissance, with its connotations of erotic pleasure, very deliberately (Barthes 1979). Feelings are strongly embodied, and in the realm of bodily feelings and sensations there are no clear demarcations between erotic and other somatic desires, pleasures and pains. If AngloSaxon academic traditions viscerally reject such matters as peripheral to intellectual inquiry, if some of us may breathe a sigh of relief at no longer having to engage with Freudian theory, there are many colleagues in other cultural traditions who are not so skittish. You cannot read Harry/Ron slash fiction without awareness of its erotic pleasures, or experience the ilinx (a pleasure of vertigo; Caillois 1961) of diving through aerial space in a virtual game of quidditch with Harry Potter , and not realize that no analysis of the semiotics of fiction, film or videogames can be intellectually defensible if it does not also consider reader, viewer and player feelings. This is especially obvious for computer games, where interactivity is fundamental, and player moves that advance the game depend on player emotional reactions, fears and desires. It’s no less true in more traditional media. Popular culture media, including marketing media, have always played on the edges of the erotic, and have always appealed to emotional responses, yet we have

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relatively little well-developed theoretical language to give accounts of these basic phenomena. One reason is academic psychology’s historic rejection of subjective accounts as valid data. Perhaps this was justified in a particular moment of the discipline’s development, but it seems very clear today that we need to combine first-person phenomenological accounts of experience and feeling with third-person semiotic analyses of meanings and affordances, if we are to give adequate accounts of how people learn with media and social networks or provide useful guidance for the design of effective learning media, environments and communities.

New educational options ‘New educational options’ does not mean new and better schools. The technology of the school, its fundamental structural design for learning is today obsolete and dysfunctional (Lemke 2007). Most of our new learning theories hold this obvious implication, but we prefer to look the other way because we are afraid of the consequences. The dangers must be faced, but so must the necessity for new kinds of learning and new ways to support learning. It may not be customary in academic writing to go beyond recitation of facts and their conceptual explication, but it seems morally necessary here to draw out what we see as the significant social policy implications of our argument. Schools isolate students from the rest of society, but we know that they learn best by combining immersion in realistic, meaningful social activities with periods of critical reflection. Schools provide teachers, but not sufficient time for individual contact with students, nor the extended time scales of persistent relationships between one teacher and one student for the years needed to understand and guide individual learning. Schools divide life into artificial ‘subjects’ and teach about them in abstract terms, which are meaningless to students who have never experienced what those abstractions stand for. Students are taught to do well on tests that bear no resemblance to the activities of life, and whose results have no correlation with later success in those activities. Students learn to do tasks limited to time scales of minutes or hours, and do not learn to manage their own learning or complete tasks that take planning, revision and execution over weeks and months. Students are expected, indeed forced, to learn what does not interest them, at the same time and place as everyone else, and it is not surprising that they promptly forget most of what they learned within days or weeks. This is the situation most of the time, in most schools, in most classes, because these problems are structural features of the

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school-curriculum-classroom model of education. Dedicated teachers and willing students sometimes achieve significant learning despite these structural obstacles, but that is no recommendation for the system itself, nor does it really happen often enough to produce what we would want to call a truly educated citizenry. Critical studies in the field of literacy education (e.g. New London Group 1995; Kress 2003), with which we generally agree, have called for educational paradigms that focus more on the authentic empowerment of students, particularly with respect to their abilities to create and critique old and new media and to use these for their own purposes and in their own interests. Although clearly highlighting the political and power/interest dimensions of educational practices, they have at most proposed that new media and online learning offer additional educational opportunities, but have not, as we have sought to do here, directly challenged the institutional structures and educational assumptions of schooling itself as a social technology. Online informal learning and classroom learning are built on competing paradigms, which do not live well together. Online learning builds on the library paradigm: find what you want to know when you want to know it because you have a reason to want to know it then: a real reason, your own reason. More generally, online learning is conducted as a member of a community, a natural community that has come together because of a shared interest, not a group put together artificially by a teacher for a project students did not initiate themselves. Classroom learning is learning what someone else wants you to know, in their way, at their pace, in their time and their place. It is imposed, not free by choice. There is a strong moral obligation placed on those who would impose their choice of learning on others to demonstrate, first, the real value of their curriculum for the lives of students and, second, that no system grounded in greater student autonomy produces equal or superior value for time spent. When have these moral obligations to students ever been met? Education is not simply learning, neither the online learning of voluntary communities, nor the imposed learning of schools. Education is the development over time of knowledge, skills, attitudes and values that will support us in pursuing our own and our community’s goals for better lives and a better world. Schools are not doing that. Students are not becoming better able to envision a better world; they are not learning better political and moral judgment; they are not learning to understand the complexity and interdependence of a global network of social and ecological systems; they are not learning to more effectively critique an empty consumer capitalism; they are not learning to create their own media to intervene in the commercially dominated transmedia complexes that are shaping our collective visions of possible realities. They are not even learning very much to

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make them useful as exploitable knowledge workers. They might at best be learning to perform on tests in ways that make them eligible for a higher education in which they might learn something that they could be underpaid to do at work. They are also learning, through popular media and not through schools, to be more avid consumers of more varied products and services, and to identify with lifestyles that support consumer economies. But some of them, as the works of DuBois-Reymond and Diepstraten show, are learning a lot more on their own, or as members of the social networks they join and help create, offline and online. They are learning to use their popular culture and social capital, and to make new connections and bridges, new translations, connecting their own projects to those of others. They are connecting work and play; they are learning to shift rapidly among simultaneous and sequential projects, with different combinations of partners, on many time scales. Schools, even higher education, continue to ‘educate’ students for predictable careers in stable fields, which we all know are not likely to continue to provide livelihoods for the lifetimes of those now in school. The next generation of students will as often create their own jobs as take jobs in existing enterprises. They will have multiple careers in unpredictable occupations, projects and social groups. They will learn to work effectively by contributing to and leveraging the ‘collective intelligence’ (Levy 1997) of different online and offline social networks of people, information resources and very likely of computational intelligences. New educational options should be just that: options. There should be means of social support for many different mixes of the key components of the new, alternative learning biographies: online interest- and affinitybased communities, real world meaningful activities in existing institutions, service-oriented volunteer learning, commercial enterprise and public- and independent-sector internships, paid and unpaid; intelligent tutoring software and simulations, mentoring and guidance by trained educators and by diverse people of many occupations. And also, time spent in reflective seminars, face-to-face discussions and practice rooms, in buildings that might still be called schools, but which should house only one component among the many ways societies support lifelong learning and human development. Of course, there will remain a place for systematic instruction, for close work with teachers and for exposure to elements of knowledge and of the global human tradition that might otherwise be missed. But not on a uniform schedule, not with deadline dates or at specific ages in life. Not by requirements, but by capitalizing on connections to other interests and on an ancient motivator: genuine respect for the advice of a good teacher. That respect may be easier to come by when it is not undermined by making teachers mere delivery agents for an imposed and alienating curriculum.

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We are not unmindful that the changes we are talking about are already beginning among the more privileged sectors of society, or that they will likely be taken up initially and preferentially by those sectors. The needs of those who have been marginalized, economically and in terms of social and cultural capital of all kinds, may remain different for some time to come. More traditional approaches to education, for such students, have the advantage of providing a road map to what is valued by the politically dominant castes of society. Much of what is on that road map may be empty of real-use value, but retains some of its arbitrary exchange-value as a ticket of entry to further opportunities. It is unfortunate that these are the facts of our unjust society, but they too need to be faced. Perhaps it is at least more just that we have many educational alternatives, and not just one for the privileged and another for the marginalized. It should be easier for the marginalized to find avenues of mobility where there are more fluid criteria of success and multiple communities and social networks offering new opportunities. The future of education is not about schools, and it is not about online learning. It is about new ways of connecting all the ways that people learn. It is not about a single ideal culture of learning in schools, or about one culture of online learning. It is about supporting critical learning and creative production across times and places, work and play, academic knowledge and popular culture capital and across many different but interconnected social networks with many diverse learning cultures. These new educational options will need to be supported by new research agendas. We need to know how young people are successfully learning outside the model of the school and curriculum, no matter what it is that they are learning. We need to know how to help support the effective integration of learning across radically different activities, sites, institutions, media, networks and communities. We need to understand the role of passion, affect, emotion and feelings of all kinds in different learning and development processes. We need to understand how people are motivated to identify with particular elements of popular culture, particular affinity groups and particular personal and social projects and agendas. The study of online learning cultures is one good starting point for these inquiries. If we do not understand these matters well enough to make a better future, others will be happy to make us a worse one.

Conclusion: New Directions for Research in Online Learning Cultures Robin Goodfellow and Marie-No¨elle Lamy The Open University, UK

In the introduction to this book we argued that we were not setting out to fill a gap in the existing research on culture in online learning, but instead we were trying to take the whole debate in a somewhat different direction. This direction involves problematizing the very notion of ‘culture’ in connection with learning in online environments. We observed, in our discussion of some of the research literature that forms the background to these chapters, that much of the very useful work that has been done in this area has focused on the problems of appropriate learning design (or ‘instructional design’, to use the culturally inflected term favoured by our North American colleagues) for people from diverse national, ethnic, religious and linguistic backgrounds. Without in any way wishing to detract from the importance of this work to the many institutions, designers, teachers and learners currently engaged in multicultural and transnational e-learning, we set out to explore some of the implications of perhaps not going along with Geert Hofstdede’s view that ‘in most cases you do not wish participants in e-learning to notice’ how important culture is (Hofstede 2007: vii). Instead we wanted to draw attention to the rapidly changing face of ‘culture’ in online education, and, even more importantly, participants’ (including the institutions’, designers’ and teachers’, as well as learners’) active and continuing role in constructing it. Accordingly, the contributions we solicited for this book have not focused on issues of learning design, but have developed a number of themes around difference and diversity in online education, which highlight the ways in which cultural ‘problems’ are constructed. In bringing a wide range of theoretical and practical orientations (from philosophy of education to second language learning) to bear on the concept of ‘learning culture’, these

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authors have focused our attention on: the nature of identities online; the continuing importance of embodiment; the negotiation of cultures and the limitations of essentialist approaches to cultural difference; the centrality of language(s) and textuality; the under-acknowledged importance of the affective dimension, including resistance and creativity; and the increasingly unpredictable behaviour of technologies. In this concluding chapter we will attempt to draw these themes together and propose two key areas in which we have a particular interest, and which we suggest will be productive directions for future research into ‘learning cultures’ online.

Themes in this book A major topic in all of the chapters is the cultural identity or identities of participants, viewed from a variety of perspectives, including how they ‘see’ themselves and those they interact with online, and how they are positioned by the social roles available in the particular learning context in which they find themselves. The authors have focused variously on identities characterized as: ‘third’ or ‘hybrid’ (Ess, Gunawardena et al.); ‘selfidentity’ (O’Dowd); ‘cybernetic/virtual’ (O’Dowd, Macfadyen), ‘emerging’ (Develotte), ‘performed’ (Hewling, Doherty); ‘postnational’ (Doherty); ‘marketed’ (Lemke et al.), etc. In this they direct our attention to a key aspect of culture in learning environments, which is not usually addressed in work that is primarily concerned with the problems of design for online learning, that is, the relation between the embodied ‘self ’ and online social ‘identity’. The question how participants’ embodied selves are engaged in the processes of learning in online environments is addressed directly by Ess and Mafadyen, but it is also present implicitly in the accounts given by Gunawardena et al., O’Dowd, Develotte and Doherty, because of the role they attribute to physical and geographic located-ness in shaping participants’ approach to online interaction. It is implicit too, in Hewling’s references to the ‘isolation’ of distance learners, and in Lemke et al.’s observations on emotion and eroticism in popular culture media. While the cultural characteristics that are thought to shape a learner’s essential ‘self ’ have been the subject of much analysis in the research literature, the identities that participants develop through engagement with the social and pedagogical practices of the virtual environment itself (the national, institutional, corporate, professional, disciplinary and peer-group practices that frame the whole undertaking of learning online) tend to be seen as ‘social’ rather than ‘cultural’ phenomena. Four of the authors here (Ess, Gunawardena et al., Macfadyen, Hewling) have included critiques of the essentialist characterizations of cultural difference developed by

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Hofstede and others, viewing these frameworks as inadequate to account for all dimensions of culture in online interaction. They go on to deploy the concept of ‘third’, ‘emerging’, ‘constructed’ or ‘negotiated’ cultural systems, emphasizing the work that participants are required to do to satisfactorily develop and present an identity and achieve personal goals in online environments. They suggest that participants working together may be able to collectively transcend individual cultural ‘hardwiring’ and create new cultural spaces and hybridized identities. Doherty’s, Hewling’s, and Lemke et al.’s accounts, however, indicate that in order to do so, participants may also be required to transcend the values and systems of the powerful institutional, pedagogical and technical communities whose virtual infrastructures they inhabit. Five of the chapters have an explicit focus on language, both language as a means of expression (Gunawardena et al., O’Dowd, Develotte, Doherty) and more generally with language as text or genre (Macfadyen, Doherty). The role of the English language in framing the online negotiation of cultures figures implicitly in many of these accounts, and Doherty addresses it as an issue in itself. There is a reflexive twist here for us as editors and for some of our contributors, as we are aware that we are writing and publishing this book for an English-speaking audience, precisely because of the current dominance of English in the literature of online education (and indeed in academic publishing generally, not only because of the economies of scale available to publishers selling to vast Anglophone markets, but also because English is the only medium deemed likely to deliver international impact to researchers, whatever their native-writing language). We develop this point in our discussion of ‘institutional hegemony’ below, and in the proposal to adopt second language learning and intercultural studies research methodologies as a model for future research in online learning cultures, a proposal that we make in the last section of this Conclusion. Affect, including desire (Gunawardena et al., Lemke et al.), emotion in general (Gunawardena et al., Develotte, Macfadyen, Lemke et al.), play and creativity (Ess, Gunawardena et al., Macfadyen, Lemke et al.), and resistance (Macfadyen, Hewling, Doherty, Lemke et al.) is discussed at length by Lemke et al. Affect is indeed a theme which, like the topic of ‘culture’ itself, could usefully be applied to many accounts of participant behaviour in online learning environments in order to restore the centrality of the human experience to a research field that has become increasingly obsessed with measurable outcomes. We address some comments on research methodology to this theme in our discussion of psychosocial perspectives below. The final theme we want to draw out is again implicit in most of the chapters, because they address cultural issues arising in online, that is,

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electronic, learning environments, and Hewling addresses it directly. The issue of how the technologies themselves are perceived as ‘players’ in the social interaction through which online learning cultures are built, is one that is developing in importance as systems increasingly become identified with cultural ‘spaces’ in the universe of the Web 2.0 internet, for example, social networking sites such as MySpace (www.myspace.com), or the virtual reality site Second Life (www.secondlife.com) or whatever comes to supplant these, as fashions in internet communication change. Hewling goes as far as to extend a metaphorical ‘intent’ to technology, as the many systems and levels of service that lie behind the screen appear to conspire in order to surprise and sometimes frustrate their human users. In fact the conceit of the system as player becomes less and less metaphorical with each new development in autonomous ‘software agents’ and personalization systems, and with each new step towards immersive virtual reality environments. In summary, we think these contributions, and the main themes we have identified, point to a reconceptualization of issues of culture in online learning that distinguishes between three areas of investigation. The first is what we can call, for the purpose of this discussion, ‘cultural learning styles’, or the preferences of individuals, which are attributable to their socialization into specific national, ethnic, religious or other communities. This is the area that has been the focus of most of the research into online learning, which has used frameworks of cultural difference such as Hofstede’s. The second, which we can call ‘cultures of learning’ (again the label itself is not important) concerns the norms and values associated with learning in specific institutional contexts. This area overlaps with studies of learning in organizations, disciplinary learning and academic literacies. The third, for which we will appropriate the term ‘learning cultures’, is the area of emergent, informal, often innovative, collective approaches to learning in conditions that are wholly or partially characterized by remote communication. All three perspectives are relevant to our understanding of the social practices and communication processes that constitute online learning, but it is the last one, ‘learning cultures’ that we want to use this book to outline a research agenda for. Drawing together the themes we have discussed above, we propose two key areas where we think the major research questions for online learning cultures lie:

1. Investigation of the processes by which institutions and corporations develop hegemonies over the pedagogies of global online education, and the impact of these hegemonies on the emergence of autonomous online learning cultures.

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2. Investigation of the cultural dimensions of communication in online learning communities and the processes of negotiation of identities by their participants.

Institutional cultural hegemony over pedagogy We have tended, in this book, to use the expression ‘online learning/ education’, to signify the development of educational practices in virtual environments, and while the more current term e-learning has occasionally been used synonymously, it is our view that it tends to reflect a particular discourse of learning that emphasizes a technical-rational view of education rather than a humanistic one. This discourse and practice of e-learning is becoming ever more closely associated with the management of learning for instrumental (usually economic) purposes. See, for example, Lea’s discussion of the shift in universities from the teaching of disciplinary knowledge to the management’ of learning, in Goodfellow & Lea (2007: 18–22) or Clegg et al.’s 2003 account of globalization and e-learning in higher education. This is an important aspect of what we are calling institutional hegemony over pedagogy. Henderson (2007: 131) underlines this when she asserts that the design of e-learning needs to achieve a ‘praxis between [the learner’s culturally specific ways of thinking and doing] and the demands of particular academic, industry and government global cultures’. We have suggested that there is an implicit but significant connection between the ways that national cultures are conceptualized, as occupying positions along a continuum between ‘modern’ (individualistic, low context, risk-accepting, etc.) and ‘traditional’ (collectivistic, risk-averse, high context, etc.), and the social constructivist psychological and pedagogical paradigm that characterizes Western/Anglo approaches to online learning. The practices of online collaborative learning, for example, favour dispositions that are associated with so-called Western cultural types: independence, low power-distance, acceptance of risk and low context, etc., and the pedagogy of e-learning is strongly influenced by the equation of learnercentred and collaborative interaction with empowerment. McCarty (2007), in an account of the introduction of social-constructivist pedagogies and online learning to Japanese teacher education, argues that the ‘globalized classroom’ and ‘transformative learning and empowerment’ may be ‘external and internal aspects of the same overall picture’ (2007: 106). This is the goal that many Western/Anglo institutional and individual practitioners of transnational e-learning claim to aspire to in the attempt to promote these cultural dispositions in their multicultural student audiences. However, just as McCarty’s more subtle message concerns the ways in which his course

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matches the aspirations of his students (2007: 112), we draw attention to the subtle ways in which some of the interactants in the accounts given by the contributors to this book (e.g. those discussed by Gunawardena et al. and Doherty) sought to appropriate the technologies and communication genres for their own needs without at the same time seeking to transform themselves at any fundamental cultural level. It seems clear that we need a far more nuanced understanding of how individuals see themselves in relation to their own and others’ ‘essential’ cultural identities, and how they view the kinds of transformation that participation in multicultural online learning communities demands or makes possible. This, as we suggested at the beginning of this discussion, might involve bringing the question of culture to the fore, in the way that critical pedagogies have always sought to bring learner self-awareness to the fore as part of the process of empowerment (see, for example, Kellner’s 2001 discussion of the work of Henry Giroux). There is also a tension associated with the attempt simultaneously to counter the growing hegemony of Westernized constructions of online learning, and at the same time promote the emergence of learning cultures out of the free interaction of diverse individuals in mutually sustaining online learning communities. This tension relates to the contradiction identified in Lemke et al.’s concluding remarks when they note the need to provide educational structures for marginalized learners, at the same time as they seek to liberate more privileged learners from those very same structures. How do we identify and promote local alternatives to a Western/Anglo model of online learning (collaborative discussion and problem-solving, in English, with summative assessment of written assignments and a whole panoply of credentialing practices) without running the risk of marginalizing participants from the mainstream of global economic and cultural capital? Such alternatives would need to be explicit about underlying political questions, and about asserting respect for difference and the promotion of equality as significant reasons for wanting to resist cultural hegemony. Equally, a critical perspective on culture should be an important educational goal in its own right. Where Western/Anglo educational pedagogical philosophy is applied to online learning in multicultural contexts, it should not go unquestioned. ‘What kinds of knowledge are being promoted?’ And conversely, ‘what kinds of knowledge are being neglected or obscured?’ A key aim for research into online learning cultures must therefore be to understand the specifically cultural nature of our own online pedagogies and their relation to the discourses of cultural difference that have dominated research and practice in this area up to now. Only with such a perspective can we hope to promote the development of non-Anglo-hegemonic models of online learning within which educational goals appropriate to, and

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defined by, the participants do not have to be subsumed by those intended to equip them for economic competition on the global market. Such development entails investigating possibilities for counter-hegemonic models of educational success that may not be framed by global markets (see Akkari & Dasen 2004, in which, for instance, the authors provide a historical account of family based, practice-based learning in North Africa, set against what they term the ‘cognitive imperialism’ of the European colonizers).

Cultural dimensions of communication and the negotiation of identities What, then, is the relation to the nature of an emergent online learning culture of the identity-work that its participants do? Gunawardena and her co-authors show that aspects of embodied identity such as age, gender, current location, race, etc., are constantly being negotiated online, as individuals seek to disclose or reveal information that will position them in the way they want to be seen through the eyes of their fellow participants. Such positionings are influenced by the different values, expectations and cultural learning styles that individuals hold as a result of having been previously socialized into specific communities, but they are also constructed collectively as part of an emerging social environment. For example, several of the contributors here have given accounts of identity-work going on in response to institutional cultures of learning, We see evidence of this in Macfadyen’s ‘ritual of resistance’, in Doherty’s ‘troubling’ of the assessment genres of the host university, in the contradictory teaching practices that O’Dowd describes, and in the dissatisfaction with schooling that Lemke et al.’s media-savvy young learners report. It is characteristic of online learning cultures that the negotiation of personal and social identities is integral to learning, just as a critical awareness of culture is integral to a nonhegemonic model of online learning, as we argued above. As such, the negotiation of identities does not simply mark a stage in the socialization of an online learning group, necessary for the eventual construction of knowledge, as some social-constructivist pedagogical models would suggest. The identities of participants become part of the knowledge constructed as well as the means of construction, as Macfadyen’s and Develotte’s online learners’ comments on their identities illustrate. When individuals interact in online communication with each other and with the sociotechnical features and structures of an institutional online environment, they may develop, over time, ‘hybridized identities’ (Hawisher & Selfe 2000: 277–89) with the capacity to challenge and modify conventional relations of social power in that environment. Another key

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question for our research agenda, therefore, addresses the process by which the culture of learning that forms the institutional frame for the interaction undergoes a similar process of transformation of norms and values. Cultures of learning, as we have seen, are enmeshed in power issues. One aspect of power that has emerged throughout the book is the impact on educational cultures of the ways in which institutions construct and constrain the online activity of learners both directly and indirectly. For examples of direct impact, see O’Dowd and Doherty’s studies of participants underserved by their institutional context, thus ill-prepared for the academic task set to them, or Lemke et al.’s discussion of the attempts made by schools to co-opt ‘the digital’ into national curricula. For learning cultures as ‘third’ cultures to emerge in institutional contexts, this power must be modified, or any emergent hybridity will be dominated by institutional shaping of the learning context, allowing little room for negotiation of new identities by the participants. Online intercultural language learning theorists have catalogued mismatches of different kinds in the cultural learning styles of groups formally brought together into institutional online collaborations (e.g. Belz 2003, Schneider & von der Emde 2006). These difficulties, along with the excitement of the recent technological developments we discuss below, have led some researchers (Thorne 2008, Lemke et al., in this book) to turn towards noninstitutional online worlds in the hope that they can reawaken the desire for learning. We draw attention to Thorne’s characterization of language learning, and suggest that it may well be true for wider educational domains: ‘certain developmental trajectories occurring in informal learning environments may only be possible in self-selected activity marked by the establishment of relatively egalitarian, and situationally plastic, participation structures’ (Thorne 2008: 323). This commitment to adjectives like ‘egalitarian’ and ‘democratic’ suggest a scrutiny of ‘democracy’ would be an important aim for a critical approach to pedagogy in research on learning cultures, and we see at least two immediate needs. The first is for an examination of ‘democracy’ in international/transnational online learning contacts between groups with unequal access to economic and symbolic power. The second is for research into claims about ‘democracy’ made on behalf of noninstitutional online learning, particularly in its relationship with institutional schooling. In online contexts, social practices and relations are constructed in a purely symbolic ‘place’, made up of the collective verbal-iconic-kinesic elaborations that happen in textual and multimodal environments. The role of language use and understanding in the construction of identities via processes such as Macfadyen’s ‘ritual text acts’, or in contexts such as Develotte’s ‘graphico-scriptural’ environment, has been considered in this

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book. But what of the linguistic nature of Hewling’s unpredictably visible, then invisible, traces of interaction? What also of the role of language in multimodal environments currently developing in and around so-called ‘Web 2.0’ technologies, which offer an even more complex array of means of meaning-making? Techniques of design and the production of digital resources (for example: the use of phone cams, video editing, website and web log creation, syndication of digital resources, book marking) have made user-generated content simple and widely accessible. These tools, combined with social networking practices, appear to generate possibilities for the creation of new cultural resources, or the adaptation of existing ones, in the activities of online communities. Researchers need to pay attention to how learners negotiate these symbolic and material components of learning cultures. In particular, we need to build on the developing base of work on intercultural language studies that aims to characterize linguistic interaction in online communities where there is language hegemony of some kind.

Second language learning and intercultural studies research – a basis for research on online learning cultures This book has drawn attention to the ideological nature of the multicultural e-learning agenda and to the power imbalances that underpin it. The growing diversity of the learner pool gives researchers a particular responsibility for making sure that their attention remains focused on this. Here we argue that enquiries based on frameworks such as those offered by our contributors, investigated through the lenses developed by language learning and intercultural communication researchers, are likely to yield a much richer understanding of the real and diverse conditions in which learners learn with and from each other online. Negotiation of cultural identity in linguistic interaction is, as the authors in this book have shown, central to online learning. Block (2007) has flagged up a body of work in language learning from the late 1990s and the early 2000s, which has reconstructed the notion of (language) learner identity away from the idea of an unchanging given, towards the notion of identity as ‘a site of struggle’ [involving] ‘negotiation of difference, ambivalence, structure and agency, communities of practice, symbolic capital’ (2007: 867). This approach, as Block has suggested for language learning, and we argue is pertinent for other domains, implies a research focus on learning contexts and on power issues, and attention to the psychoanalytic perspective. Language learning and intercultural communication research initially made a distinction between three types of learning context: the naturalistic

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(learning a language when living long-term or permanently in that language’s own environment), the formal (classroom-based instructed learning) and ‘study abroad’ (learning a second language on short-term or medium-term visits to that language’s environment as part of home-based formal learning). In online settings this neat picture became blurred, however: not only may learners interact in environments that combine different contexts, but the categories of context lose their meaning: ‘abroad’ can be found online, and the normalization of technology supports perceptions that communicating with a computer is as ‘naturalistic’ a sociolinguistic practice as talking on the phone or in person. Moreover, contrasts such as learning in institutional versus noninstitutional contexts are less important, because, as Thorne shows (2008: 322) the conditions that are necessary for effective (language) learning can be met in noninstitutional learning online. Realizations of this kind have stimulated the entire second language community into taking stock and refreshing its thinking on the cognitive and the social in language acquisition, and we are arguing here for a comparable exercise on the part of multicultural online learning researchers. Just as, for language learning research, the thrust of enquiry moved away from evidence of language learning towards the sociocultural conditions for language learning (a logically prior objective, perhaps), so today the conditions in which multicultural online learning takes place should be scrutinized also. In sociocultural language learning theory, power has always been at the centre of research into migrants’ language development and heritage language research, where it has been associated with the dominant or subservient positions of language speakers according to their nation’s economic strength. We have considered some of the workings of ideological power in the discussion of institutional hegemonies above, but power has also emerged as an issue in intercultural exchange research, where it has been constructed in psychological terms, as a facilitator or an inhibitor of comfort in online groups, a condition seen as vital to successful language learning by a large body of anxiety research. Much to the fore in this latter has been the anonymity (and identity play) that text-only exchanges can afford. Block’s challenge to language learning researchers, which we embrace for other domains, is ‘to balance an overwhelmingly social view of identity with a more introspective psychoanalytically inspired one’ (2007: 873). We approach this idea with all the caution that the term ‘psychoanalysis’ requires, yet there are at least two unmistakably psychosocial themes in the findings of our contributors: embodiment and pleasure. Ess and Macfadyen’s chapters open up questions about the role of the bodies of the learners in the construction of the online learning culture. Perhaps because it has been assumed that text-based interactivity yields little information

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about bodies other than facial representation via smileys, research into the embodied conditions of intercultural communication has barely started. A notable exception has been Jones (2004). His work on polyfocalization by learners attending to multiple interaction windows on screen while interacting with people in their immediate physical environment holds great interest for researchers into online learning cultures, as it counters prevalent assumptions that learners are sitting at their keyboard, ‘out there’, in ideal conditions for receiving a language-based educational experience. Extending the question of embodiment from text-based to multimodalplatform-mediated learning, there is even more scope for re-examining learning cultures’ relationship with the body and the senses, but even less research is available (though see Lamy forthcoming). Lemke et al.’s chapter does, however, home in on one psychosocial dimension of engagement with multimodal worlds: pleasure. The relevance of pleasure to learning may be perceived by reference to Csikszentmihalyi’s (1990) concept of ‘flow’. A flow experience happens when participants are totally absorbed in an activity and forget everything around them. Csikszentmihalyi identifies a challenging activity that requires skills, clear goals and feedback, and a sense of control as preconditions that make such absorption possible. Thorne (2008) and Meskill (2007) have seen some learners’ passion for working with online artefacts as potential terrain for the enhancement of (language) leaning. Further research on the role of pleasure, passion and other aspects of affect on the development of online learning cultures in other domains is one of the recommendations to come out of this book.

Open Educational Resources – a proposed site for research on online learning cultures In the Introduction to this book we proposed that the drive from governmental widening participation policies, transnational e-learning and informal socialization practices on the internet, would result in increasingly unpredictable configurations of participants in online learning communities. While there is clearly much work to be done on cultural learning styles and cultures of learning in the more established contexts of formal education in colleges and universities, corporate training and governmental and international agency staff development, we would like to suggest one site for research on learning cultures in which this unpredictability might surface sooner rather than later. That is: the use and re-use of Open Educational Resources (OER). Open Educational Resources are learning and teaching materials (usually complete courses or modules and units from courses) that have been

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produced as part of a university’s curriculum for its own students and are being offered free to the public at large, via the internet. Major OER initiatives that offer materials globally currently include ‘Open Courseware’ from: Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT); the United Nations University, Osaka University; the Open Courseware Consortium; the European Union’s Open E-Learning Content Observatory services and the UK Open University (UKOU) Openlearn project. The philosophy behind the OER movement is a mix of philanthropy and self-interest. As Santos et al. (2007) observe, idealistic discourses such as ‘building a better world’, overlap with social policy discourses such as ‘widening participation’, and business interests such as the marketization of institutions and brands, and the recruitment of students. MIT claims a great deal of success in the numbers of users of their materials, with more than 40 million visitors to the site to date, divided between educators, students and ‘self-learners’, according to the statistics on the Open Courseware website. Self-learners are people who are using the resources outside formal institutional contexts, to expand their knowledge generally, or keep current in their field or plan future study. Open learners such as these, and the possibility that they might wish to learn collaboratively, are of particular interest to the UKOU Openlearn project. This group has created an environment that provides tools for communication and collaboration, as well as original learning materials, for those who wish to collectively adapt materials for re-use either in their original English form, or in translation. This is regarded as a platform for the development of online learning communities that exist independently of institutional cultures of learning. The use, and/or appropriation and re-use, of open educational resources, pedagogies and technologies, which are currently largely the product of Western/Anglo education systems, by learners from globally diverse backgrounds and cultural and linguistic heritages, is a site of great potential for research into online learning cultures. There is much to be discovered about whether learning communities do develop around these resources, and whether they can then develop norms and systems of meaning that sustain long enough to propagate themselves as learning cultures. Investigation of the cultural meanings that are attached to open educational resources, in contexts of use which are removed from the sites of production of those resources, is a promising direction for research in online learning cultures. This is because, although most major OER initiatives are owned and disseminated by Western universities, and the resources themselves embed the cultures of learning of those institutions, open-ness of access and a lack of constraints on the way they can be used means they may be taken up by people whose individual cultural learning styles

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differ considerably from those by and for whom the resources were originally developed. Such contexts might involve ‘different and contradictory rules or barriers to the uptake and motivations for using [the] resources’ (MwanzaSimwami et al. 2008: 7) from those envisaged by the providers, a situation that is likely to throw up a different set of problems to those associated with ‘appropriate cultural design’ (see our discussion in the introduction to this book). Cultural meanings attached to OER could encompass a wide range. Resources might be viewed as a kind of ‘gold standard’ because of their source, and promoted uncritically, but they might equally meet resistance precisely because of the kinds of arguments against cultural hegemony that we have been rehearsing in this book. Materials might be used unadapted by institutions as cost-free alternatives to locally produced resources, but they might also be taken up by designers and teachers as models for the development of their own locally appropriate open resources. Some individuals might simply use them to further their own personal development, but others might view them as a way to generate communities of shared interest. In all the latter cases the conditions would be present for the emergence of learning cultures, which might transcend both the institutional cultures of learning in which the resources originated and the cultural learning styles predominant in the sites where they were taken up. In all cases where research into online learning cultures does develop, it is important that researchers should include some who have an ethnographic involvement in the communities being studied. It is a key implication of the position that we have taken on institutional hegemony (and also on the centrality of language) that the research perspective should incorporate ‘insider’ views. This means that projects intending to research online learning cultures should not be conducted entirely from an etic perspective, that is to say, entirely by researchers who share a particular cultural perspective and who are looking in from the outside. Projects should, in our view, be conducted by teams, which are themselves culturally diverse, for whom the construction of their own learning culture would be an acknowledged outcome of the research. Such teams should include individuals who share either languages, national and/or ethnic cultural backgrounds, religion, class, gender or occupational and professional identities, with at least some of the learner participants, so that the emic perspective, the ‘insider’ view, can be adequately represented. This is likely to present a considerable challenge to many Western university departments wishing to conduct research on their own foreign or international students. However, research such as that reported in Baumeister et al.’s (2000) account of an European international online seminar project, Gunawardena et al. (in this book), or Lin and Lee’s (2007) account of the deployment of open courseware in China, Taiwan and Hong Kong, demonstrate that the international

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partnerships necessary in order to conduct multicultural research of this kind are far from impossible to set up. Moreover, insofar as research focusing on online learning cultures is concerned, the very systems of digital communication that have made the emergence of such cultures possible should be more than adequate to facilitate multicultural research by multicultural researchers.

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Author Index

Addison, T. & Sirkissoon, E., 21 Akkari, A. & Dasen, P., 176 Alvermann, D., 156, 162 Alvermann, D., Moon J.S. & Hagood, M.C., 155, 162 Appadurai, A., 133–134 Austin, J.L., 98, 104 Aviv, R., Erlich, Z., Ravid, G. & Geva, A., 96 Bakhtin, M.M., xi, 135–136, 143 Barker, P., 95 Barlow, J.P., 16, 18 ´ Barren Ameneiro, S. & Burillo Lopez, P., 59 Barsalou, L.W., Niedenthal, P.M., Barbey, A.K. & Ruppert, J., 94, 108, 110 Barthes, R., 165 Baumeister, H.P., Williams, J. & Wilson, K., 182 Baumgartner, V.J., 17, 22, 25 Bax, S., 70 Baym, N.K., 19, 35 Bayne, S., 9, 108 Beck, U., 133 Bell, C., 97–98 Belz, J., 5, 52, 177 Bernard, R.M., Brauer, A., Abrani, P.C. & Surkes, M., 119 Bernstein, B., 136–137, 143 Bhatia, V., 145–146 Black, R., 156, 159, 162 Block, D., 178–179 Bogart, L., 155, 160 Bourdieu, P., 98, 156

Bowl, M., 3 Bucher, H.-J., 27, 96 Bullen, E. & Kenway, J., 145 Burbules, N.C., 94, 116 Caillois, R., 165 Callahan, E., 21–22 Cameron, D., 6 Campbell, A., 121 Cannone-Syrcos, B. & Syrcos, G., 115 Cantoni, L., Fanni, F., Rega, I., Schettino, P. & Tardini, S., 17, 25–27 Carbaugh, D., 34 ´ & ´ Carmena Lopez, G., Ariza Cobos, A. Bujanda Bujanda, M., 66 Carr, S., 19 Carspecken, P. F., 138 Castells, M., 133 Cavanagh, A., 15–16, 19 Chambers, E.A., 21 Charmaz, K., 32 Chase, M., Macfadyen, L.P., Reeder, K. & Roche, J., 4, 12, 121 Chen, A. & Mashhadi, A., 27 Chesebro, J.W. & Bertelsen, D.A., 18 Chisholm, L., 157 Choi, J.H. & Danowski, J., 96 Clark, R.E., 116 Clegg, S., Judson, A. & Steel, J., 174 Cole, J., 53, 55 Cole, M. & Engestr¨om, 31, 35, 49 Connerton, P., 97–98, 108, 110 Conoscenti, M., 9 Conrad, D., 96 Cornford, J. & Pollock, N., 128 Coulon, A., 72

Author Index Crook, C. & Light, P., 114 Csikszentmihalyi, M., 180 Davenport, T.H. & Beck, J.C., 154 Davidson, A.L. & Schofield, J.W., 46 de Oliveira Medeiros, S.M., 96 Dennis, A., Bichelmeyer, B., Henry, D., Cakir, H., Korkmaz, A. Watson, C. & Bunnage, J., 6 Derry, S.J., 94 Descartes, R., 16 Develotte, C., 11–12, 64, 73, 171–172, 176–177 Dewey, J., 93 Deyrich, M.-C. & Matas-Runquist, N., 22 Diepstraten, I., 154–155, 168 Diepstraten, I., du Bois-Reymond, M. & Vinken, H., 151, 155, 158 Disanayaka, J.B., 36, 48 Doherty, C., 4, 13, 132, 137–138, 145, 171–172, 175–177 Dougiamas, M., 114 Dreyfus, H., 28, 94, 94, 111, 116 du Bois-Reymond, M. & Chisholm, L., 157 du Bois-Reymond, M. & Moerch, S., 157 du Bois-Reymond, M. & Walther, A., 155 du Bois-Reymond, M., Su[umlaut]nker, H. & Kru[umlaut]ger, H.H., 157–158 Duncker, E., 21 Dunn, P., 6 Dutton, W., Cheong, P. & Park, N., 63 Dyke, M., Conole, G., Ravenscroft, A. & de Freitas, S., 53 Edmundson, A., 2, 7–8 Egbert, J., Paulus, T.& Nakimichi, Y., 53, 63 Eisenstein, E., 18 Ellerman, E., 31 Eriksen, T.H., 3, 4 Ess, C., 10, 12, 16, 19–20, 24, 27, 29, 34, 103, 116–117, 121, 171–172, 179 Ess, C. & Sudweeks, F., 10, 20, 23, 34 Faiola, A. & Matei, S.A., 33 Fanderclai, T.L., 118

211

Farrell, G.M., 113 Feenberg, A., 94–95, 98–99 Felix, U., 55 Fine, G.A., 35, 49 Firth, A., 135 Fougere, M. & Moulettes, A., 8, 34 Franklin, S. & Peat, M., 53 Freiermuth, M.R., 96 Garrett, R. & Verbick, L., 6 Gayol, Y. & Schied, F.M., 117 Gee, J., 107, 122 Geertz, C., 23, 121 Gibbons, M., Limoges, C., Nowotny, H., Schwartzman, S., Scott, P. & Trow, M., xii, 4 Gibbs, D. & Krause, K.-L., 9 Gibson, W., 16, 18 Giordan, A., 76 Giroux, H., 175 Goodfellow, R., 4 Goodfellow, R. & Hewling, A., 5, 9 Goodfellow, R. & Lea, M., 4 Goodfellow, R., Lea, M., Gonzalez, F. & Mason, R., 4, 49 Goold, A., Craig, A. & Coldwell, J., 4 Gould, E.W., 26 Graiouid, S., 34, 36–38, 41–44 Gregor Ahn, 99 Gunawardena, C.N., 10, 171–172, 175–176, 182 Gunawardena, C.N., Bouachrine, F., Idrissi Alami, A. & Jayatilleke, G., 38 Gunawardena, C.N., Nolla, A., Wilson, ´ P., Lopez-Islas, J., Ram´ırez-Angel, N. & Megchun-Alp´ızar, R., 8 Gunawardena, C.N., Walsh, S.L., Reddinger, L., Gregory, E., Lake, Y. & Davies, A., 40 Gunawardena, C.N., Wilson, P. & Nolla, A., 4, 10 Hall, E.T., 17–18, 20–23, 25–26, 96 Hall, E.T. & Hall, M.R., 7, 96 Hall S., 3, 137 Halliday, M., 134

212

Author Index

Hampden-Turner, C. & Trompenaars, F., 120 Hannerz, U., 23 Hannon, J. & D’Netto, B., 4 Harr´e, R. & van Langenhove, L., 122 Harris, A., 98, 111 Hawisher, G. & Selfe, C., 54, 176 Hayles, N.K., 109 Henderson, L., 2, 4, 174 Henri, F., 85 Hermeking, M., 21–22 Herring, S., 45 Hewling, A., 12, 18, 25, 96, 107, 119, 122–123, 126, 129, 171–173 Hides, S., 52 Hine, C., 134, 138 Hofstede, G., 7, 8, 10, 17–18, 20–26, 33, 96, 120, 171–172 Illich, I., 13 Innis, H., 18–19 Jackobson, R., 158 Jacobs, B.D., 95 Jenkins, H., 156, 158, 159 Joinson, A.N., 31, 36, 39 Jones, R.H., 180 Kaplan, N., 115 Keegan, T.T., Lewis, R., Roa, T. & Tarnowska, J., 21 Kellner, D., 175 Khalsa, D.K., 38 Kim, K.-J. & Bonk, C.J., 8 Kim, M.S., 8, 34 Kincaid, D.L., 34 Koch, G., 23–25 Kozma, R.B., 116 Kramsch, C. and Thorne, S., 55, 135 Kress, G., 167 Kupersmith, J., 80 Lamy, M.-N., 29, 180 Langer, R., Lu[umlaut]ddeckens, D., Radde, K. & Snoek, J., 99 Lankshear, C. & Knobel, M., 154–155, 161

Lankshear, C., Peters, M. & Knobel, M.117, 129 Latour, B., 128, 157 Laurillard, D., 53, 55 Lave, J. & Wenger, E., 23, 115, 162 Layder, D., 56–57 Leander, K., 161 Leander, K. & McKim, K.K., 156 Leask, B., 131 Lemke, J.L., 13, 156, 158, 160, 162, 166 Lemke, J.L. & van Helden, C., 9, 13, 171–172, 175–177, 180 Levinas, E., 27 L´evi-Strauss, C., 72 Levy, P., 161, 168 Lin, M.-F. & Lee, M.M., 182 Lipman, M., 100 ¨ Y.H., 24 Lu, ¨ Lubcke, E., 22 Lukes, S., 97 Macfadyen, L. P., 12, 29, 99, 115, 121, 171–172, 176–177, 179 Martin, L., 94 Mason, R., 2 McCarty, S., 174 McLoughlin, C., 4 McLuhan, M., 18, 31, 109 McMahon, M., 94 Mernissi, F., 36, 41–42 Merriam, S.B., 32 Meskill, C., 180 Mezirow, J., 100 Miczek, N., 99 Miike, Y., 35 Moje, E. & van Helden, C., 155 Molist, E., 55 Morse, K., 8, 121 Moscovici, S., 71, 76 ¨ Muller-Prothmann, T., 164 Mwanza-Simwami, D., McAndrew, P. & Madiba, M., 182 Nakada, M. Tamura, T., 24 Nakamura, L., 94, 100 Nardi, B.A. & O’Day, V.L., 128 New London Group, 167

Author Index O’Dowd, R., 6, 11–12, 53, 171–172, 176–177 O’Dowd & Ritter, M., 6 O’Reilly, T., 9 Oetzel, J.G., Ting-Toomey, S., Yokochi, Y., Masumoto, T. and Takai, J., 40 Oliver, M., Roberts, G., Beetham, H., Ingraham, B. Dyke, M. & Levy, P., 53 Ong, W., 16, 18–19 Oxford, R.L., 90–91 Parks Daloz, L.A., 94 Parks, S., Huot, D., Hamers, J. & Lemonnier, F., 55 Peraya, D., 75 Piaget, J., 72, 94 Picciano, A.G., 96 Piller, I., 5 Ponti, M. & Ryberg, T., 119 Poster, M., 95 Postle, G., 114–115 Postma, L., 21 Pratt, M.-L., 132, 145, 148 Rananand, P.R., 24 Raybourn, E.M., Kings, N. & Davies, J., 10, 24, 120 Reeder, K., Macfadyen, L.P., Roche, J. & Chase, M., 4, 9, 12, 55, 96, 107 Reid, E., 34–35 Renninger, K.A. & Schumar, W., 9, 189 Rheingold, H., 112 Ricoeur, P., 102, 107 Rim´e, R., 86 Robertson, R., 148 Roche, J., 22 Rodrigues, E.J., 24 Rogers, C., Graham, C.R. & Mayes, C.T., 2, 6, 20, 23, 27 Rogers, E.M. & Steinfatt, T.M., 34 Roman, L.G., 100 Roschelle, J., 100 Rosenthal, R. & Jackobson, L., 76 Rourke, L., Anderson, T., Garrison, D.R. & Archer, W., 96 Rowland, W., 31 Rumble, G., 19

213

Sadiqi, F., 36–37, 41–42, 47 Sandholtz, J.H., Ringstaff, C. & Dwyer, D.C., 69 Santos, A.I., McAndrew, P. & Godwin, S., 181 Schneider, J. & von der Emde, S., 177 Scollon, R. & Wong-Scollon, S., 120 Sealey, A. & Carter, B., 5 Seidlhofer, B., 135 Shapin, S. & Schaffer, S., 165 Sharma Sen, R., 3 Shaw, J.B. & Barrett-Power, E., 35 Shuter, R., 33 Singh, P. & Doherty, C., 145 Singha Roy, D.K., 3 Slater, D., 16–17, 19, 29 Smith, M. & Kollock, P., 8 Snyman, M. & Hulbert, D., 21 Spivak, G.C., 27 Steinkuehler, C.A., Black, R. & Clinton, K.A., 162 Strauss, A. & Corbin, J., 32, 102 Street, B.V., 105, 122 Stuart, S., 17 Swan, K. & Shih, L.-F., 96 Thorne, S.L., 54–55, 177, 179, 180 Thorpe, M., 85 Ting-Toomey, S., 40–41 Trucano, M., 20 Tusting, K., 49 Urry, J., 133–134 Vessey, D., 105, 107 Vygotsky, L.S., 31, 33, 72–73, 94 Wallace, A.F.C., 161 Walther, J.B., 83 Walther, J.B. & Parks, M.R., 31 Ware, P.D. & Kramsch, C., 6 Warschauer, M., x, xii, 56, 116 Warschauer, M. & Grimes, D., xii Warschauer, M. & Healey, D., 53

214

Author Index

Warschauer, M. & Kern, R., 52 Wellman, B., Salaff, J., Dimitrova, D., Garton, L., Gulia, M. & Haythornthwaite, C., 164 Wickramasinghe, M., 36, 49 Widdowson, H., 134 Wild, M., 7 Williams, J., 21 Williams, R., 95, 135 Williamson, J., 160

Windschitl, M., 55 Winkin, Y., 91 ¨ Wurst, E., 22 Xin, C. & Feenberg, A., 96, 100, 106–109, 112 Yates, S.J., 99 Zurawski, N., 95

Subject Index

academic, 42, 43, 50, 51, 58, 59, 70, 87, 106, 116, 125, 136, 159, 165–166, 172, 174, 177 disciplines, 102 institution(s), 51 knowledge, 169 literacies, 173 practice/values, 4–5 (see also practice, values) access to education, 71, 123 to learners, 51 to materials/resources, 51, 53, 61, 66, 69, 123, 124, 133, 137, 144 to power, 167 to the internet, 30, 58, 59, 113 active (see also interactive) learning, 53, 55 Actor Network Theory, 28, 157–158, 198 addressivity, 96 affective (see also socioaffective), 14, 46, 72, 78, 84, 88, 90, 92, 94, 110, 165, 171 affiliation (see also identity), 13, 72, 91, 101–104, 107, 110, 151–152 affinity group(s), 114, 158, 165, 169 affordance(s), xii, 142, 150, 166 Africa -an, xi, 21, 32, 101, 121, 176 age, 12, 13, 30, 34–37, 42, 43, 76, 152, 161, 168, 176 agency, 54, 56, 128, 178 artificial/software agent, 18, 173 America’s Army, 159 anglo (see also Western, values) -american, 8, 9, 22, 54 -phone, 2, 6, 172 -saxon, 159, 165

anonymity, 38–42, 50, 75, 78, 87, 179 anxiety, 9, 141, 165, 179 applied linguistics, 5, 60 apprenticeship, 162 appropriation, 22, 81, 83, 81, 90, 158, 159, 181 Arabic, 22, 32, 46–49 art, 158, 159, 162 articulation, 137 Asian, 24, 35, 43 assessment (see also evaluation, examination), 1, 13, 77, 116, 118, 175, 176 genre, 131–150 assignment, 61, 87, 140–143 asynchronous (see also synchronous), discussion/interaction, 31, 37, 38, 55, 75, 81, 94, 100, 112, 113 student 92 text, 112 time, 115 tools/environment, 53, 66, 79, 115 tutoring, 77 attention economy, 154 audio-chat, 130 Australia, Australasia, x, 2, 8, 13, 21, 100, 101, 103, 121, 123, 132, 137, 141, 144, 147 Austria, 21–22 authenticity, 94–95, 132 authority, 12, 25, 34, 124, 126, 148 autoethnography, 132–150 Bahrain, 101 Berber, 32, 48 Bermuda, 101

216

Subject Index

biographies, ix, 5, 133, 151–153, 157, 168 Blackboard, 55, 100, 106, 115, 116, 118, 123, 124 blended learning, 63 blog(s), weblogs, 9, 19, 87, 88, 114, 160, 178 body, -ies (see also embodiment, physical), 15–19, 22, 29, 45, 94–95, 98, 99, 108–109, 11, 126, 164, 165, 179, 180 language, 7 boundary, -ies, x, 35, 42, 133, 137, 138 brand, 158, 181 Brazil, x, 24–26 Britain (see also UK ), 2, 48 buddhism, 24, 32 business (see also commerce), 4, 29, 102, 138, 146, 147, 155, 181 education, 134, 139, 144 campus, 11, 33, 59, 101, 114, 119, 145 Canada, 94, 100, 103–105, 121 chat (see also language, synchronous), 11, 30–50, 55, 64, 65, 83, 84, 87, 91, 130, 160 room/space, 11, 16, 33, 34, 42, 44, 46, 126 China, x, 8, 21, 24, 27, 101–103, 104, 132, 137, 140, 147, 148, 182 classroom(s), x, 19, 58, 61, 64, 65, 67, 68, 70, 73, 81, 83, 84, 86–89, 109, 133, 137, 148, 153, 154, 156, 161, 167, 163, 174, 179 code, 5, 10, 24, 47, 76, 110, 131, 132, 135, 140 culture, 86, 78 face-to-face, 72 learning, 83, 86, 167 online/virtual, 9, 16, 20, 24, 25, 94–112, 115, 119, 120, 122–123, 129 switching, 47–48, 121 traditional, 72–78 cognition, 108, 110

cognitive (see also sociocognitive), 12, 14, 17, 55, 72, 76, 77, 79, 80, 83, 89, 91, 94, 108, 110, 145, 176, 179 collaboration (see also telecollaboration), 2, 8, 18, 26, 32, 55, 61, 85, 115, 119, 124, 127, 132, 163, 181 online, 85, 177 collaborative activities, 62, 67 discourse/discussion/interaction, 100, 174–175 groups, 84, 138 learning, 8, 13, 32, 55, 174 tools/functions, 56, 64–66, 69 work, 53, 55 collective activity/work/tasks, 21, 84, 85, 92 approach, 173 construction of meaning, 99 culture, 21, 92 decisions, 117 elaboration, 177 identity, 97–98 individualism vs, 8, 21, 22, 33, 127 intelligence, 168 memory, 97 self, 37, 41 texts, 97 vision, 167 colonial, 54, 117 colonize, -ation, 27–28, 32, 160, 176 Colombia, 101 commerce/commercial (see also business), 58, 118, 152, 154–156, 158, 161, 162, 167, 168 commitment, 11, 44, 94, 114, 164, 177 common attitude/perception/understanding/ notion/belief, 4, 47, 59, 61, 65, 108 culture/community, 96, 134, 135 ground, 98, 99 language, 132 practice, 47, 53 values, 95 commonality, 76, 105 Commonwealth of Learning , 114

Subject Index communication (see also computer-mediated communication, cross-cultural, formal/informal, miscommunication, tools for communication) asian paradigm, 35 conventions of see norms effective (and Western values), 6 environment for, see technologies for face-to-face/oral, 34, 83, 99 failure of/barriers to/miscommunication, 5, 6, 11, 38, 39–41, 83, 135 global, 54, 135 in high-context/power-distance contexts, 22, 34 interpersonal/personal, 31, 32, 75, 79 multilingual, 51 online/networked/digital/internet/ new media/email/chat, xi, xii, 4, 5, 8, 10, 16, 17, 22, 24, 27, 31, 34, 37, 39, 46, 51, 53, 54, 62, 91, 95, 99, 176, 183 patterns, 11, 41, 51 pedagogical, 75, 79–80, 84–85, 89 practices, 3, 8, 9 processes, 30–35, 173 research on see theories of sociology of, 2 students/learners/teachers, 55, 62, 64, 96, 100, 103 text-based/textual, 8, 16, 47, 95, 101 theory of, 18 tools for, 54, 85, 86, 100, 123, 181 communicative behaviour, 25 competence, 5, 6 function, 55, 59, 62, 64 interaction, 112 methodology, 66 possibility, 13, 64 preference, 20, 97 style, 6 community, -ies (see also Asian, common, culture, fan, informal, international, norms)

217

-building, 51, 96, 98, 110 convergent, 134 disenfranchised educational, 57, 61 identity and, 101, 110, 152 international, 54, 137 second language, 179 learning, 4, 8, 49–51, 62, 90, 96, 110, 111, 124, 163–165, 175, 180, 181 located, 8 membership, 7, 135 natural, 53, 167 new, 9, 31, 35, 107, 133, 134 of practice/practitioners, 11, 66, 69, 70, 178 online/virtual, 8, 9, 13, 19, 31, 32, 38, 152, 49, 52, 96, 97, 128, 152, 159, 161, 163–164, 178 religious, 7 speech, 134 support, 127 complexity of culture, x, xi, 2, 10, 25, 33, 35 of life/worlds/networks/transmedia, 158–160, 164, 167 of platforms, 80 computer as technological development, 19 devices/screen/lab, 33, 65, 111 intelligence, 168 programming, 162 skills/literacy, 66, 125 games/simulations, 14, 50, 152, 158–160, 164–165 computer mediated (see also distance education colonization) communication, 31, 33, 50, 54, 98, 99, 116, 117, 179 experience of/familiarity with, 45, 65, 87, 124 human-computer interaction, 23 interaction, xi, 23, 31, 28 conflict(s) (see also face, emotion) and change, 129 ideological, 117

218

Subject Index

conflict(s) (cont.) of cultures/cultural, 6, 16, 19–21, 35, 92, 161 resolving, 40, 46, 50, 51 confucian, 21, 24 consumer(s), (see also identity), 14, 152–168 contact zone, 132, 145 content (see also context, open) analysis, 25, 123 cultural, 66, 152, 162 knowledge/subject, 78, 115–116 media, 155, 160 message, 22, 92, 121, 126 of materials/courses/training, 23, 59, 60–62, 64, 77, 100, 114, 123, 124, 130, 163 sites/user-generated, 9, 178 context(s) (see also face-to-face, formal/informal, learning, context, multicultural, school, sociocultural) and/of culture/cultural, 28, 31–34, 49, 55, 56, 68, 96, 122, 125, 126, 132, 134, 140, 143, 149 educational, 56 120 high-/low-, 7, 8, 22, 31, 32, 34, 41, 174 global, 1, 4, 147 historical, 31 institutional/socioinstitutional/ organisational, 7, 54, 56, 70, 173, 177, 181 international/global, xii, 1, 4, 147 Layder , 53, 56–58 local, 133, 162 military training, 9 national, 33, 133, 147 of situation, 134, 136, 146, 147 of use, 117 online/CMC/virtual, 28, 33, 34, 40, 94, 101, 107, 177 pedagogical, 136 political, 31 social, 7, 31, 94, 96, 98, 117, 119 convention(s) (see norms) conversation analysis, 96

Council of Europe, 5 course (see also content, design, open, Open Courseware) administration, 59 management, 100, 106 materials, 53, 94, 96, 100, 107, 114, 125 online, xi, 12, 17, 19, 77, 102, 105, 108 training, 77, 85, 86, 89, 91 -ware, 137, 138 Creative, -ivity, 3, 16, 23, 98, 99, 134, 154, 163, 169, 171 credential(s), -ing, 37, 46, 105, 106, 175 critical (see also ethnography, reflection) judgment/perspective/ understanding, 6, 9, 23, 28, 79, 94, 117, 163, 175–177 pedagogies, 175 studies, 167 thinking skills, 100 cross-cultural contact/communication/ encounter/interaction, xi, 5, 9, 17, 20–24, 27, 36, 94, 138, 139 study, 30 understanding, 49, 51 cultural (see also conflict, hegemony, identity, intercultural, multicultural, norms, sociocultural) actor/player, 12, 113 analysis, 14, 17, 18, 20, 25–26 anthropology, 23, 161 attributes/characteristics/traits, 7, 8, 11, 13, 22, 49, 171 capital, 105, 155, 169, 175 contact, xi, 20 critique, 2 difference(s), 23, 34–35, 121, 132 dimensions, 2, 9, 22, 25–27, 77, 174, 176 diversity, 4, 7, 145, 152, 162, 182 indicator(s), 34 learning styles, 173, 176, 180–182 meanings, 181, 182

Subject Index resources, 13, 137, 144, 152, 178 studies, 3 traditions, 10, 24, 162, 165 understanding, 47 culture (see also colonial, context, cybercaf´e, cyberculture, educational, gender, group, identity, idioculture, face, high/low-context, institution, language, learning, network, popular, subcultures, teaching) and community, x, 7, 9, 12, 13, 23, 25, 28, 31, 32, 49, 54, 92, 94–96, 110–12, 133, 134, 152, 153, 157–164, 173, 175, 178, 181, 182 and design, 7, 8, 20, 22, 23, 26, 28, 119, 132, 138, 174, 182 and orality, 47 as text, 23–25 concept/idea/understanding/ notion/view of, x, xi, 5–7, 9, 10–12, 23, 35, 95, 121 definition of, 2, 33–36 foreign, xi mainstream/dominant, 3–5, 7, 9, 14, 28, 152, 175 negotiation of, 12, 96, 99, 102, 128, 129, 171–172, 178 of use, 126 online, 14, 50, 55, 129, 157, 161 popular, 14, 151–169, 171 research into, 7, 96 role of, 18, 19, 23, 26 technical, 82 theory/analysis of, 14, 21 third/hybrid, 10, 12, 24, 120, 129, 177 way of being, 50, 67, 98 young people/youth, 14, 17, 24, 25, 34, 151–169 culturally appropriate, 4, 83, 143 coded, 10, 24 diverse, 7, 145, 162, 182 neutral, 4, 23 curriculum, 1, 4, 5, 14, 63, 106, 136, 138, 142, 144, 153, 155, 156, 162, 163, 167, 168, 169, 181

219

customs, 7, 35, 36, 49, 95, 96, 152, 160 cybernetic, 37, 38, 44, 171 cyberspace/cyber, 16–19, 28, 29, 31, 37, 38, 39, 94, 95, 98, 117 -culture(s), 8, 9, 11, 30, 36 democracy, -tic, 8, 18, 117, 163, 177 design discussion tasks, 138 and/for culture/cultural diversity, 4, 7, 8, 9, 21, 22, 23, 26, 27, 182 ICT 20–21 instructional, 20, 23, 27, 170 internationalised education, 132, 133, 138 message threading, 127 of multimedia/materials, 2, 4, 7 of/for online learning/e-learning, 8, 10, 11, 27, 53, 174, 177 of environment(s)/VLE(s), 17, 51, 53, 84, 118, 166 of school education, 153, 166 desire, 45, 156, 164–165, 172 development educational/staff/professional, 3, 5, 7, 67, 69, 180, 182 developed/developing countries, 51, 114 dialogue, xi, 99, 100, 108, 112 difference (see also diversity), 4, 9, 28, 55, 113, 129, 131, 132, 145, 150, 162, 171, 175, 178 cultural, 3, 7, 34, 54, 138, 171, 173, 175 individual, 121, 123 digital (see also literacy) environment, 24, 75, 76 resources, 178 discipline(s), -ary, -arity (see also knowledge), 2, 17, 53, 103, 138, 144, 164, 171, 173 cross-, 2 inter-, 32, 100 discourse (see also multicultural, multimodal), 5, 10, 14, 53, 73, 95, 100, 126, 136, 181 approach/perspective, 71, 77

220

Subject Index

discourse (cont.) of teaching/learning/education/ pedagogy, 53, 56, 64, 174 space, 73 discursive (see also psychology) norm(s), 76 practice(s), 73 production(s)/process(es), 74, 79, 81, 96 space/environment, 11, 72, 73, 74, 79, 91, 94, 100 and technology, 83, 90 discussion board(s), 114–116, 123, 126 disembodied, -ment, 16, 28, 29, 108, 111 distance (see also power) education, xi, 2, 10, 19, 71, 101, 114, 119, 123 learning, 6, 12, 27, 72, 78, 81, 84, 86, 87–90, 123 teaching/tutors, 1, 87, 128 diversity (see also cultural) and difference, 3, 123 creative, 3 of learners, 3, 76, 90, 178 religious, 33, 161 ecology, ical, 13, 127–129, 167 economy (ies), -ic (see also attention), xi, 3, 4, 6, 8, 14, 19, 23, 25, 27, 42, 54, 59, 121, 146, 147, 152, 153, 155, 158, 168, 172–179 education (see also business, culture, design, development, distance, formal, higher education, internationalized, language, market, media, multicultural, online, open, practices, policy research, school, socioeducational, Spain, teachers, technology, theory) basic, 7 primary, 162 system, 13, 66, 118, 120, 154–157, 163, 181 transnational, 144 virtual, 114, 116, 117

educational alternatives, 157, 169 context, 56, 60, 120 institution, 6, 54, 55, 57, 114, 118, 133, 157 goals, 175 background, 3, 145 alternative, 157, 169 opportunity, 3 paradigm, 9, 167 options, 153, 162, 166–169 philosophy, 94 setting, 137, 143 Egypt, 101 e-learning (see also intercultural), 53, 59, 170, 174, 178, 181 and culture research, 8 global/transnational, 2, 3, 6, 7, 8, 174, 180 in higher education, 53, 174 institutional policy, 11 e-mail, 5, 39–40, 51, 54, 55, 91, 137, 138, 142 embodied, -iment (see also disembodied, identity, self), 29, 49, 92, 94–99, 108–111, 165, 171, 179, 180 and learning, 17, 19, 28 being(s), 28–29 state(s), 94, 108 physical, 12, 93 practices emoticon(s), 45, 49, 126 emotion, -al (see also anxiety, feelings), 12, 14, 16, 46, 49, 86, 90, 92, 154–156, 163–165, 169, 171, 172 empowering, -ment, 117, 167, 174, 175 enactment, 11, 17, 19, 28, 89, 97, 104 and recognition, 107, 110 enactive work, 107, 122 of identity, 11, 96 English alphabet, 48 as a foreign language, 60, 66, 137 dominance of, 172 for special purposes, 60, 63

Subject Index -speaking, 8, 9, 32, 66, 172 -language, 18, 121, 137, 172 environment (see also learning, digital, online, multimodal) virtual, 37, 102, 119, 138, 171, 174 social, 7, 72, 176 e-portfolio, 118 Ecuador, 21 equality, 21, 50, 117, 175 essentialist, essentialism, 4, 8, 10, 12, 120, 171 ethics -ical, 36, 44, 100, 138 ethnic, -ity, x, 3, 7, 12, 13, 17, 24, 25, 32–35, 38, 40, 101, 103, 105, 107, 110, 120, 121, 152, 171, 173, 182 ethnography, 32, 36, 132, 138, 182 Europe (see also Council of Europe), 21, 44, 115, 176, 182 European Union/Commision/Community, 5, 153, 157, 181 evaluation (see also assessment), 23, 55, 62, 79, 80, 83, 84, 89, 91, 118, 130, 142 exam, -ination, 59, 164 experience (see also computer mediated learning, learner) prior/previous, 60, 123, 124 education(al), online learning/teaching, 24, 78, 120, 123, 124, 141, 162, 180 experiential, 94 shared, 106, 120 face negotiation, 36–45, 50, 51 face-to-face interaction, xii, 114, 115 fan (see also fiction, community), 158–164 feedback, 82, 102, 108, 140, 141, 180 feelings (see also emotion), 8, 47, 49, 86, 92, 108 femininity (see masculinity) fiction fan/slash, 159, 165 Finland, 8, 162 first nations, 121

221

formal/informal, -ized community/network, 14, 90, 152 communication/exchange, 49, 55, 83 context, 181 education, 3, 13, 70, 154–157, 164, 180 learning, 3, 125, 156, 163, 167, 173, 177, 179 -ality, 24 practices, 180 text(s), 136, 138 use, 31 forum, 37, 73–92, 100, 102, 139–140 franchise, 158, 160, 164 France, French, 5, 11, 15, 22, 32, 46–49, 55, 60, 77–79, 121, 135, 165 -as-a-foreign language, 71, 77 functionality, 12, 16, 129 game (see also computer), 37, 42, 83, 89, 148, 160, 165 gender and culture/identity, xii, 11, 31–51, 176, 182 and global concerns, 117 and sexuality, 13, 152 genre (see also assessment), xii, 5, 6, 13, 131–150, 152, 159, 162, 172, 175, 176 geography, -ical, 3, 7, 31, 37, 44, 51, 95, 115, 119, 127, 171 geopolitical, 160, 167, 169, 175 Germany, x, 22, 27 gesture (see also body language), 22, 28, 95 global, –ization, -ized (see also context, e-learning), x, 4, 6, 13, 14, 17, 19, 38, 147, 153, 174 and local, 100, 135 citizen -ship, ix, 12, 100–101, 105, 108, 112 market, 147, 176 village, 54 government, 58, 102, 118, 147, 148, 155, 174 grade(s), 100, 102, 139–143 grammar, 60, 64, 134

222

Subject Index

Greece, 21, 28, 101 grounded theory, 10, 17, 32, 102 group (see also affinity, collaborative, identity, interaction, learner) ethnic/minority, 3, 4, 7, 33, 38, 105, 121 culture, 95, 106 dynamics, 96, 112 social, 58, 168 peer, 155, 171 Guatemala, 21 habitus, 98 hardware, 116, 124, 129 Harry Potter, 158–165 Harvard Business Review, 134, 138 Hawaii, 116 hegemony, 172–182 heritage, 96, 179, 181 hierarchy, ical, ized, 2, 39, 41, 132, 152, 154, 160 high (see context power power-distance) higher education, 2–4, 6, 19, 53, 135, 168, 174 Hong Kong, 100–105, 182 human computer interaction (HCI), 23 humour, 103, 106 hybrid (see also culture), 10, 11, 29, 34, 36, 87, 104, 171 icon(s), 49, 119, 126, 177 ICT 8, 9, 15, 17–21, 26–28, 58, 59, 158 identity (ies) (see also Australia, Canada, gender, group, Hong Kong, hybrid, language, media, self, youth), 13, 14, 24, 30–53, 92–98, 102, 103, 104, 107, 110, 112, 125, 132, 133, 136–137, 145, 150, 151–155, 158–161, 163, 165, 167, 171–172, 174–179, 182 and affiliation, 103, 110, 152 embodied, 176 collective, 97–98 and community, 38, 101 construction, 14, 24, 107, 161 consumer, 152, 155, 160

cultural, 2, 7, 10, 11, 34, 101, 121, 144, 152, 171, 175, 178 emerging, 72, 76, 88 enacted, 96 formation, 9, 110 Idem, 102, 104 individual, 23, 41, 73, 76, 99, 103, 106, 110, 112, 153 Ipse, 102, 105, 107 learner, 9, 78, 95, 106, 110, 178 market(s), 155, 161 models, 13, 151 multiple national, 13, 104, 121 negotiated, 13, 24, 174, 176–177 new, 108, 133, 137 online/virtual, 9, 42, 97, 102, 105, 110, 111 play, 50, 102, 179 real/true, 36–39, 43–45 shared, 108, 110 social, 8, 10, 152, 158, 176 teacher, 52 traits, 79, 91 work, 176 ideology, 4, 8, 9, 117, 158, 159, 60, 178, 179 immigrants see migrants India, x, 3, 101 individual control individual (see collective) differences, 121, 123 the, 5, 17, 24, 25, 37, 72–76, 85, 153 Indonesia, 101 industry, 58, 147–148, 174 insecurity, 80, 90–92 insider, 103, 145, 147, 182 instant messaging (see message) institution, -al, isation (see academic context educational local) culture, 107, 174, 176, 181, 812 hegemony, 172, 174, 179, 182 shaping, 4, 177 instructional design, 20, 23, 27, 171 instructors (see teachers) integrational learning

Subject Index interaction, -ive, ivity (see also computer-mediated, cross-cultural, face-to-face, human, intercultural multimedia social) group, 35, 49, 50 learner, 91, 94, 95, 100, 179 linguistic, 178 online/cyber/virtual, xi, 9, 11, 19, 38, 39, 41, 44, 46, 75, 96, 112, 133, 135, 138, 171, 172, 176, 178 quiz(zes), 64 textualized/text-based, 12, 31, 115, 179 intercultural, -ity (see also cultural) communication, 5–6, 11, 17, 21, 25–26, 34, 53, 178, 180 communicative competence, 5, 6 exchange, ix, 55, 66, 67, 179 interaction, 120 issues, 72, 77 learning/e-learning, 11, 23, 26 studies, 2, 172, 178 interdisciplinary (see discipline) international -ized agency (ies), 6, 180 chat spaces, 10 classroom, 133, 137, 148 community, 54, 137 education, 13, 133, 134, 137, 138, 144 development/economy, 121 learning, 132, 150 students, 13, 101, 132, 137, 138, 145, 146, 148, 149, 182 intertextual -ality, 134–136, 143–44, 149, 159 Iran, 101 isolation, 3, 38, 51, 94, 107, 119, 166, 171 Israel, 21 Italy, 22 Jamaica, 21 Japan, 5, 24, 101, 159, 162, 174 JISC 128 Kenya, 101, 103 knowledge (see also tacit)

223

academic/disciplinary, 169, 174 and beliefs, 11, 35, 49 and skill(s), 165, 167 construction, 94, 115, 176 economies, 153 workers, 168 local, 148–150 of the world, 72, 162 new, 108, 109 production/generation, xi, xii, 4, 162 technical, 76, 80 transmission, 67, 78, 162 Korea, 8, 101, 162 language (see also common, community, discourse, English, French, gender, gesture, pedagogy, text) and culture, 49, 121 and gender, 30–51, 117 and social presence, 46–48 body language/speech, 7, 108, 109 foreign, 2, 11, 52–56, 60, 66–69, 72, 77 learning/learners, 2, 5, 53, 170, 172, 177–179 migrant, 179 minority, x, 33 native, x, 46, 48–49 of chat, 46 oral/written, 46, 47 second, 49, 170, 172, 178, 179 teaching, 52, 66, 72 use, 42, 48, 177 Latin-America, 22 learner(s) (see also African, distance, identity, interaction, language, multicultural, peer, self, Western) adult/mature, 106 -centred, 11, 52, 70, 115 classroom, 72, 73, 88 diverse -ity, 3, 7, 76, 96 experience, 76, 98, 120 groups, 9, 114, 121 indigenous, 4 individual, 9, 76, 94, 119 new/trendsetting, 9, 151, 154–155

224

Subject Index

learner(s) (cont.) online/virtual, 12, 13, 29, 71, 73, 75, 90, 91, 98, 99, 102, 104, 108, 111, 176 young/school, 78, 158, 176 learning (see also active, African, blended, collaborative, community, context, cultural, design, discourse, distance, e-learning, embodied, environment, face-to-face, formal, intercultural, language, multicultural, open, practice-based learning) autonomy, 163 by doing, 93 constructivist, 55 culture(s), xi, xii, 1–14, 23, 32, 49, 50, 51, 68, 70–73, 76, 77, 88, 91, 92–99, 111–112, 114, 129–130, 132, 135, 138, 142, 148–149, 152, 164, 165, 169, 170–183 experience(s), 4, 14, 29, 78, 79, 108, 110, 149, 157 identity-based, 153 internet/media-based, 24, 152 networks, 152–153 objectives/outcomes, 100, 116, 121 online/virtual, xi, 1–14, 15–18, 20–28, 49–70, 71–78, 83, 86, 93–96, 99, 108, 113–130, 132, 145, 152–153, 156, 164, 167–169, 171, 179, 170–182 school-based, 152, 158 significant, 10, 12, 151, 167 space, 10, 11, 32, 96, 102, 109 strategy (ies), 72, 89, 91 structures, 59, 157 styles, 17, 118, 173, 177, 177, 180–182 teaching and, 1, 5, 13, 18, 53–59, 66–72, 114, 180 transformative, 93, 174 work/project/practice-based, 4, 70, 176 life (see also Second Life) -long learning, 13, 151, 153, 155, 158, 168

-style(s), 11, 153, 155, 160, 168 world(s), 13, 132–133, 148 literacy, ies (see also academic, computer, digital, language, skills) and print, 16–18 education, 167 electronic, 66, 116 IT 3 literature, 162, 165 liturgy, 98 local (see also global) activity system(s), 11, 35 educational/setting, 54- 59, 61, 137, 143–144, 148 frames, 132, 133, 137, 149–150 institution(s), 57, 58, 68 knowledge/practice, 12, 103, 148–150 love (affair/romantic), 43, 159, 164 low (see context power power-distance) Malaysia, 21, 101, 137, 140–144, 147 manager(s), -ment (see also course), x, 9, 129, 139 of learning, 174 time-, 85, 109 marginalization, x–xii, 3, 38, 142, 154, 156, 169, 175 market marketing marketization (see also education, global, identity), x, xi, 13–14, 42, 119, 147, 152–165, 171, 172, 176 forces, 118, 152 strategy, 126, 152, 160 masculinity/femininity, 21, 33 mass education systems, 154 media, 151, 169, 163 Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 181 MBA 132, 135, 137 meaning (see also cultural) contested, 100, 104, 140 -making, x, 104, 122, 178 media (see also content, education, identity, mass), 13, 151–166, 168–171 negotiation of, 49, 96

Subject Index new, 3, 8, 11, 13, 167 popular, 13, 155–156, 168 meatspace (see space) mentor(s), 164–168 message (see also content, design, discussion, board, posting) instant/text/personal, 16, 47, 54, 64, 114, 115 methodology see research methodology Mexico, 8, 21, 105 migrants, immigrants, x, 3, 101, 104, 179 miscommunication, 41 mixed mode, 114 mobile phones, xi, 39, 48, 49, 113, 155, 160 mode two’ knowledge production, 4 mono-cultures, 121 Moodle, 53, 55–70, 114, 118 Morocco, 10, 31–34, 36, 38–49 motivation (of learners and teachers), 14, 60–61, 63, 65, 68–69, 82, 86, 88, 112, 136, 168–169, 182 multicultural, -ism, -ity, x, 2, 3, 45, 12, 105, 170, 174–175, 178–179, 183 multilingual, -ism, 1, 32, 42, 47, 51 multimedia, 2, 4 multimodal environments, 177–178, 180 exchanges, 76 MySpace, 9, 132, 173 myth, -ology, 36, 97 mythos, 161 narratives, 9, 16, 97, 107, 117, 119, 129, 138–139, 141, 145 nation states, 34, 96 national cultures (see also culture), 11, 22, 25, 34, 97, 103, 121–122, 174 policies, 3, 149 nationalism (see also international, transnational), 117 networked communication, xii, 13, 19, 133, 156 networks (see also actor, social, strategic, virtual)

225

and learning, 53, 71, 91, 152–153, 166, 169 global, 54, 167 of international education, 144 new technologies, 22, 58, 63, 68, 109 New Zealand, 8, 21, 100, 121 nontraditional audiences (see also traditional), 2–3 normalization, 179 norms community, 105 cultural, 30, 42, 54, 120, 121 discursive, 76 educational, 141, 148, 163, 173, 177, 181 of communication, 11, 54, 125 social, sociocultural, 43–44, 105, 116, 131 NVivo, 102 North America, 2, 8, 9, 24, 25, 38, 44, 54, 55, 66, 104, 115, 171 OECD 6, 158 online networks, 9, 157 pedagogies, 23, 61, 64, 70, 73, 79–80, 132, 175 Open Educational Resources, 180–181 Open University (UK), 114, 128, 181 OpenLearn, 181 open courseware, 181, 182 learners, 181 learning systems, 3 options (see educational) oral communication (in academic contexts), 83 language, 46–47 society, 21 orality (see also primary secondary), 16, 47 other, otherness, 27–29, 148 outsiders, 118, 137, 145 Pakistan, 8, 101 Panama, 21

226

Subject Index

participation student, 61, 69 widening, 2–3, 180–181 passion, 14, 161, 163–165, 169, 180 pedagogies, 1, 3–5, 7, 13, 27, 53, 55, 61, 64, 70, 132, 136, 142, 148–150, 173–174, 174–175, 177, 181 peer -collaboration, 132 -assessment, 139, 149 -based learning, 152, 163 -group, 155, 171 peers, 12, 55, 86, 96, 98, 99, 101, 105, 107, 119, 162–163 perceptions, 30, 57, 59–60, 65, 75, 78–79, 81, 87, 96, 179 personalization, 173 Philippines, 37, 101 philosophy of education, 93, 170, 175, 181 of language, 98 physical (see also embodiment, presence) attributes, 95, 125 environment, 7, 92, 94, 111, 116, 180 location, 8, 9, 171 plagiarism, 142 play (see also space) and creativity, 16 and work, 168–169, 172 identity, 37, 50, 102, 179 Poland, 101 Portugal, 21 PROWE 128–129 player cultural, 114, 122–124, 126–130, 173 of immersive games, 166 role play, 50 playful activity, playfulness, 37, 165 pleasure, 35, 86, 165, 179–180 podcasting, 114 policy (see also social policy) educational, xi, 11, 56, 154 policymakers, 155 politeness, 132 political (see also geopolitical), 7, 14, 19, 27, 31, 42–4397, 100, 153, 159

politics, xi, 165 polyfocalization, 180 position, 123, 182 social 34, 123 positioning, 11, 106–107, 123, 136, 176 postgraduate, 90, 101 posting, 44, 50, 100, 106, 115, 121, 125, 127, 140, 142 postmodernism, postmodern, 15–19, 161 postnational, 13, 131–133, 137, 148–150, 171 power (see also empowering, empowerment), 22, 34, 38–39, 42, 57, 70,. 117, 123, 136, 138, 142, 145, 149, 158, 167, 176–179 high, 21, 34 low, 21, 25, 174 power-distance, 8, 21, 22, 33 PowerPoint, 60–61, 64–65 practice-based learning, 176 practices (see also rituals social) academic, 4–5 educational, x, 3–5, 11, 13, 53, 56–57, 59, 62–63, 66, 68–70, 72–73, 88, 91, 106, 109–110, 123, 129–130, 132–133, 142, 152, 163, 167, 171, 174–176 online, 11, 57–58, 66 praxis, 29, 174 preferences communicative, 20, 21, 97 individuals’, 8, 44, 115, 118, 127, 152, 173 presence (see also co-presence, social) online, 43, 49, 60 physical, 86, 93–95 primary orality, 16 print literacy, 16–18, 90 and speech, 98–99 print-based teaching, 62, 65–66, 119 privacy, private, 24–25, 39, 40–42, 45, 54, 118 problematization (of culture), x, 2–3, 5–6, 8, 171

Subject Index problems (see also technical) personal, 43–44 professional, -alism, (see also identity), 11, 14, 86, 107 development, 5, 7, 61–62, 64, 67, 69, 128 format, 141, 143 learning contexts, 5, 171 MA 71, 77 professions, professionals, 4, 39, 60, 134 psychology (see also social) academic, 166 cognitive, 17 discursive, 73 public (see also space) sphere, 37–38, 41, 81, 124 qualitative, see research questionnaires, 57–58, 102 quizzes, 64–65, 116, 118 real -time, 41, 108 -world, 16, 19, 23, 50, 94, 116, 155, 168 classes, 108, 111 reality (virtual), 29, 173 realization (see also rules) textual, linguistic, 143–144 recognition (see rules) work, 107–108, 122 referencing conventions, 140–141, 143–144 reflective, -ion (see also self-reflection), 9, 91, 95, 100, 107, 140, 166, 168 journal, 135–136 student reflections, 11, 67, 72, 78, 83–84, 109, 119 register, 136, 143 relationship family, 22 interpersonal, 91 online, 38–39, 83 religion, -ious, 4–5, 7, 11, 32–33, 38, 42, 102, 170, 173, 182 repository, 125

227

representation (see also self-representation), 71–72, 76, 78–80, 95, 99, 110, 118–119, 145, 180 research (see also multicultural, social, psycho-social) agenda, 169, 173, 177 communication, 178 educational, 2, 5, 76, 92, 94 empirical, xii, 2, 10, 19, 22–92, 94, 132, 135, 143, 148 future, 2, 130, 157, 171–172 into culture, 96 literature, 2, 8, 171–172 methodology, 25–26, 56, 71–72, 77, 110, 172 qualitative, 32, 36, 58, 102 questions for online learning cultures, 173 resistance, 38, 106–107, 171–172, 176, 182 re-use, 181 rhetorics, rhetorical, 6, 13, 16, 18, 94, 100, 132, 145, 148 risk, 39, 83, 94, 110–11, 149, 174–175 rituals, 12, 76, 95–99, 105–110, 176–177 roles gender, 21, 36, 42 social, 30, 171 student, 12, 61, 66, 122–123 implicit, 142–143, 149 Romania, 101 rules (see also norms) of engagement, 12, 96 of realization, 136, 143–144, 149, 152 of recognition, 136, 143, 149 Russia, 101 sameness, 39, 102, 104 Scandinavia, 22 school, schooling, 7, 13–14, 19, 55, 70, 118, 152, 154–155, 157–159, 161–169, 176–177 learning outside of, 14, 78, 153 -based learning, 9, 152–153, 158

228

Subject Index

script cultural, 99, 133 Latin, 46, 47, 48 Second Life, 95, 173 secondary orality, 16–18 self -awareness (learner’s), 175 -disclosure, 36, 39, 44–45, 50 -identity, 12, 38, 57, 107 -image, 32, 39–41 -perception, 24 -reflection, 91, 139 -representation, 40, 95, 145 semiotics, 14, 165–166 Singapore, 8, 21, 101 simulations, 50, 125, 168 situated activity, 56–58, 60–63, 65 learning, 115 skills, 161, 165, 167 and flow theory, 180 literacy, 21 social, 46 teaching skills, 61 technological, 124, 125, 162 thinking, 100 writing, 161 smiley(s), 45, 49, 83, 126, 180 social constructivism, -ist, 11, 23, 52–53, 55–56, 66, 68–69, 72, 94–95, 174, 176 and political roles, 100 capital, 155, 159, 168 class, 25, 48 context, 8, 31, 93, 96, 98, 117, 120 identities, 8, 151, 158, 176 networks, networking, xi, xii, 9, 13, 46, 91, 96, 151–152, 155, 157–158, 160, 163–164, 166, 168–169, 173, 178 policy, 166, 181 power, 176 practices, 14, 83, 173, 177 presence, 38, 43–44, 46, 48–50, 96 psychology, 2, 94 realism, Layder’s, 53, 56, 63

technology, 167 worlds in virtual spaces, 111 social web (see Web2.0) socialization, 11, 73, 135, 143–144, 173, 176, 180 socioaffective, 72, 78, 84, 88, 90, 92 sociocognitive, 72, 78, 88, 91 socioconstructivism, -ist (see social constructivism, -ist) sociocultural, 30–32, 35–37, 42, 44, 53, 55, 179 socioeconomic, 6, 32, 34–35 socioeducational, 60 socioinstitutional, 6, 56, 70 sociolinguistic, 134, 179 sociological theory, 97 sociology of communication, 2 of youth, 157 sociological research, 8, 72, 97, 155–157 sociotechnical, 2, 177 software affecting learner actions, 126–129 software agents, 173 solidarity, 84, 86, 111, 158, 165 somatic (see also embodiment) desires, 165 knowing, 98 South Africa, 21, 101, 121 space (see also cultural) and cultural codes), 24, 41–42, 172–173 and gender, 42 for chat, 10 for displaying discourse, 11, 73–74, 79, 91, 94, 100 for production, 73 meatspace, 16, 18–19 for online learning, 10, 11, 96, 102, 109, 114–115, 133, 137, 145 for play, 16 of resistance, 38 social, 73, 91, 120 for ritual practice, 99, 110 and embodiment, 29, 111 Spain, 5, 11, 55, 57–59, 63, 66, 68–69

Subject Index speech acts, 89, 98, 106, 107, 110 community, 134 Sri Lanka, 8, 10, 31–48, 101 Star Wars, 159, 161 statistics on Moodle, 55, 118 on Open Courseware, 181 on Spanish society’s internet usage, 58 on student platform usage, 82 UK HESA, 6 strategic networking, 155 strategies learning, 72, 89, 91 marketing, 127, 152, 160 students (international), 3, 6, 13, 101, 131–132, 137, 146, 148–149, 181 subcultures, 10, 14, 18, 25, 28–29, 75, 152, 160 subjectivity, 111, 165 subversion, 42, 156, 159 symbolic and learning, 14, 32, 178 online place, 178 power, 177 capital, 179 construction of self, 95 in ritual, 97–98 synchronous (see also asynchronous), 31, 36, 44, 49, 50, 53, 55, 75, 79, 83, 85–86, 115, 119 syntax, 98 Systemic Functional Linguistics, 134 taboos, 33, 41, 159 tacit, 140, 144, 148 teacher education, 174 teachers, 17, 53, 67, 77–78, 85, 94, 96, 100, 105–7, 109, 115, 119–120, 122–124, 128 teaching classroom-based, 78 of languages, 53, 66, 72 online, 4, 57, 63, 65, 68, 77–78 cultures, 55, 68, 70, 78 practices, 62–63, 68, 176

229

team interactions, 38, 51 work, 117, 182 technical challenges, 62, 80, 83 knowledge, 76, 80 technological determinism, 19, 31, 116–117 instrumentalism, 23, 116 technology (see also new technologies) as a cultural player, 114 as a value-free tool, 116 bump, 123 telecollaboration, 5, 6 television, 14, 151, 155, 158, 160 text (see also culture-as-text) and embodiment, 99 and emotions, 49 and genre, 13, 135–136, 143–144, 172 and identity construction, 36 as internet learning resource, 58 Barthes’ notion of pleasure in, 165 for assessment, 133, 145–149 in Hallidayan SFL 134 online education as a text, 134 ritual text acts, 105, 177 text messaging, 47, 115 text-as-speech, 105, 107, 110 text-based (see also textual) communication, interaction, 16, 31, 47, 75, 95, 99, 100–101, 179 exchanges, 16 learning, 65, 114, 180 VLE, 97 text-becoming-speech, 99 text-oriented medium, 31 texts (silent study of), 21 textual communication, 8, 22, 49 conventions, 144 environment, 177 exchange, 144 experiences, 149 genres, 135, 143, 144 ipseity, 105 practices, 12, 99, 134, 144

230

Subject Index

textual (cont.) reality, 12, 95 rituals, 12, 99, 109 virtual spaces, 99 textuality, 171 theory of genre, 134–136, 143–145 grounded, 32, 102 pedagogical, 23, 94 of ritual 97–99, 107 social, 13 sociocultural, 55 of communication, 18 third cultures (see synchronous), 10, 12, 24, 120, 129, 172, 177 identities, 24, 34, 171 time (see also asynchronous, real) distributed over, changing over, 12, 25, 67, 122, 125, 127, 135, 165, 167, 176 first time online learning, 72, 91 for trust-building, 39, 44 -management, 109 pressure of, 39, 63, 85 scale, span, time commitment, 94, 109, 118, 151–152, 165–166, 168 zone, difference, 114–115, 127 tools collaborative, 56, 66, 68, 115, 119, 178, 181 for communication, 52–53, 54–55, 85–86, 100, 119, 123, 178, 181 for teaching and learning, 27, 53–55, 58–60, 62, 64, 69, 75, 81, 106, 115–116, 123, 129, 142 of web2.0, 9, 118 as a neutral or non-neutral, 23, 30–31, 116 traditional gender roles, 21 views of assessment, 138–139, 144 views of culture, x, 14, 174 views of education, xi, 4–5, 14, 19, 62–64, 71–73, 75–76, 78, 80, 89, 94, 119, 133, 152–154, 157, 165, 168 views of writing, 83, 98, 159

traditions (cultural), 19, 24, 34, 44, 57, 148, 152, 162, 165 transform, 14, 31, 99, 100, 110, 122, 152, 162, 175, 177 transformative learning, 69, 93, 174 translation, 181 translocality, 148–149 transmedia, 152 complexes, 156, 159–160, 167 franchises, 158–159 transmission (of knowledge), 77–78, 119, 136, 162 transnational, xi, 2–3, 6–7, 13, 133, 143–144, 149–150, 170, 174, 177, 180 traversals, 152–153, 160–161 trouble (in ascribing genre), 144–145 troubling (of identity), 110 trust, 36, 38–39, 44, 50, 85, 96, 111 tutor, see teacher UNESCO, 3, 6 uncertainty avoidance, 21–22, 33 undergraduate, 60, 100–101 University of Auckland, 100 University of British Columbia, 100 University of Heidelberg, 99 University of Leicester, 128 University of Melbourne, 100–101 University of Nottingham, 100 unpredictability, 13, 127, 180 user-generated, 178 value systems, see values value-free, 116 values, 7, 19–20, 25, 27–28, 30, 33, 35, 57, 76, 95, 97, 99, 110 academic, 4–5 Asian, 24 business, 4 colonial, 23–24 family, xi institutional values, 4–5 teachers’, 3–4 Western, 9, 24, 37, 54 video, 100, 152, 160, 162, 178 games, 164

Subject Index virtual classroom, 16, 19, 94, 106, 108–109, 110–111, 115 communities, 8, 19, 96–97, 172 education, 113–114, 116–117, 127 environments, 37, 119, 138, 171, 174 identities, 42, 97, 102, 105, 110 identity, 9 interaction, 29, 44, 46, 133 learning communities, 8, 96, 111 learning environment, VLE, 12, 13, 16, 53, 59, 93–94, 97, 99–100, 102, 107, 110–111, 113–114 learning platform, 70 mobility, 131 network, 91 relationships, 44 sites, 133–134, 148 spaces, 99, 109, 110–111, 133 worlds, 35, 95, 99, 173 vocabulary, 64, 98 voices (multiple), 109 web, see also third culture and religion, 44 as global village, 54 web2.0, 3, 9, 114, 118, 125, 173, 178 links, 73

231

pages as learning resource, 62, 64, 124 skills, 162 WebCT , 55 Western cultures, 24, 35, 54, 174 educational practices, 4, 116–119, 174–175, 181 societies, 43, 53 values, 9, 24, 37, 54 widening participation (see participation) wikis, 9, 55, 113, 135 wireless, 59, 113 women, 3, 10, 14, 33, 37, 38, 41–51, 159, 163 work placements, 101 -based learning, 4 workplace culture, 148 scenarios, 144–147, 149 World Bank, 6 World Commission on Culture and Development, 3 worldviews, 95 written world, 95 WYSIWYG, 30 youth cultures, 17, 25, 34 identity, 151