Flexknowlogy

I’ve been itching to write a post on “edupunk” since Jim Groom first added the term to our edtech lexicon. The term “edupunk” is both provocative and deeper than it seems, and so it deserves the benefit of a close analysis. My problems with “edupunk” have been:

1. I have a hard enough time converting faculty to use edtech as it is; a label like “edupunk” will only further alienate those faculty. And as john Krutsch suggested, “cliques suck, especially when you are on the outside”.
2. “edupunk” presumes a politik that Mr. Downes has already claimed as “progressive”, but that is too exclusive for me. (I am not “a progressive” [but it’s amusing how vilifying that statement sounds–”liberal” was far more neutral, though admittedly it had gained some negative connotations in the last several decades. Ergh, I digress.]), and implies a knee-jerk or overgeneralized anti-establishment/anti-corporate mentality that I am not willing to fully accept.

There might be other reasons for my distaste. I may be taking the term in an altogether too personal context, for as a youth I was pretty active in the punk music scene, but I wasn’t ever on the inside of punk. You see, my friends who were into the cookie-cutter punk politico dug a lot of my libertarian ideals, but didn’t understand my capitalism, and my Brave New World “elitist” interpretation that conservative/traditionalism is served by (if not necessitates) punk-type counter-culture just as punk-type counter-culture is served by conservative/traditionalism. Even if we had a utopia (by anybody’s definition), we would always need an other, and some other’s are more harmless than others. Also, punk itself is not so punk as it would like to think it is–as I suggested, it’s often cookie-cutter, it’s often whiny or anti-corporate, and not because of strong ideals as much as it is because of failure or missed opportunities to exploit the corporate system for it’s own benefit. Most “punk” bands will “sell-out” if they get the chance. Sell-outs are sell-outs, and “true punk” treats them as such, maintaining a superficial fraternity with the black-white-black-sheep punk bands through artificial sub-labels like “pop punk”.

It may be that some edtech’ers feel the same way about educators who toe the corporate line, and thus find “edupunk” a great metaphor for their societal angst. While I have plenty of of my own societal angst, it rarely fits under any the de facto “edupunk” political posturing. At the same time, I’ve found that I can sit down with edtech’ers on the other side of the political fence and agree a lot on issues of educational strategies and philosophies for technological adoption, which makes Ken Carroll’s suggestion the more useful and bridge-building: “I would not recommend that we politicize learning 2.0″. Let politics stump us when it can; I’m here to make teaching and learning better and easier.

But at the same time, the DIY, question-authority aspect of edupunk is not only attractive to me, it resonates with my daily activities–to an extent. Martin Weller nailed the middle path (my emphasis):

it’s not about being an edupunk, but rather preserving some area of what you do where you can do edupunk kinda stuff … universities and educators need to have edupunk time - a period when you can explore stuff away from the mass of concerns that arise.

Martin suggests 10% of your day for edupunk time, i.e. innovation, experimentation, DIY, whatever. I wouldn’t do it for less than 33.33333%.

In Jennifer Jones’s latest post My DIY Publishing Roots she relates the very impressive story from her childhood of her mother authoring a piano book for children, adding that her father, too, was very much a DIY-er. My parents were the same way, from home-made clothing to fruit and vegetable gardening, car repairs (my psychologist father even painted our cars in the old barn), house repairs, summer Olympic games for my brother and me, hand-drawn comic books, etc. It just came back to me that my father even made our living room furniture while he was doing his PhD practicum; while he was doing all that wood cutting he fashioned a huge set of Lincoln logs for us kids! And, no, we weren’t hippies living in a commune.

I know this very active practice rubbed off on me, from my willingness to do car repairs, to the palpable responsibility of doing house fixes myself, to doing any sort of grunt tasks on all sorts of projects at work. But I worked on the most memorable DIY projects as an undergrad in college: a self-published collection of poetry by amateur writers from my region in Utah. The project took about a year, but I ended up with an amusing collection of poems with audio recordings featuring the writers themselves that I called “Speak Black Spots”.

As I reflect on this project, my thoughts steer me to consider my motivations for DIY–with things like car repairs and house work I admit it’s largely been a matter of finance; with other things my DIY attitude is often born of a “If you want something done right…” mentality–execution of ideas, to me, is sometimes too precious to hand off to someone else; with “Speak Black Spots” my motivation may have been altogether different: I believed that what I wanted to do had no place in the traditional publishing outlets, and DIY would let me provide freedom of expression, creative control over the product, and immediacy. At the time I thought I was very punk, in fact too punk for punk. The end result was nothing famous or exemplary, but looking back at the last decade I realize this project predicted the attraction and power that self-publishing on the Web would hold for me.

So this all goes far afield of Jennifer’s questions (the most important one, I think, “If we speak and don’t do, who will?”), so let me refocus on the idea that DIY happens for good reasons, one of those being because the institutions or traditional processes don’t always serve the users. I think the sluggishness and bureaucracy of these institutions is born of cautiousness and self-protection–arguably acceptable reasoning when taxpayer/investor dollars and learning outcomes are at stake (this is essentially the conservative point of view which reacts against what may appear to be knee-jerk demands for “change”), but this reality also ensures that there will always be a place for–no, a need for DIY.

Before responding to the (apparently provocative) question posed by Chris Lott this week, “What does your PLE look like?”, I have one genuine question that precludes defining one’s PLE (playing into the indictment of the concept in what D’Arcy Norman initially showed as his PLE) is what is the utilitarian scope of a PLE? Presumptively we are primarily talking about networked utilities (e-mail, Web) but clearly also just plain digital utilities (computer, files [I think Ray mentioned desktop searching]), now how about the physical realm? My office? My phone? Pens and papers? My bookshelf? My colleague’s office? The library?

I ask this question without facetiousness, because if we’re talking about a holistic look at individuals learning environment, we certainly don’t want to restrict it to Web, and I even think just brainstorming the variety and interconnectedness of utilities and tools in our non-digital learning environment(s) may validly inform our digital ones, and can provide anecdotes through which we can better adapt (ourselves and others) to the online tools.

As far as my PLE, though I outlined a laundry list in your wiki, I’m now trying to think about it more organically. I’m currently toying with conceptualizing my digital PLE through a metaphor of physical space, with interconnected rooms and even “wormholes” that take me in and out of the “real” world. While at first I imagined this as a house with multi-doored, hexagonal rooms and intermediary halls (plus windows one can jump out of and back into the “real world”),

Walter R. Tschinkel’s cast of an ant colony, The nest architecture of the Florida harvester ant

it might end up being more simply sketched as the architecture of an ant colony. This latter metaphor is probably seems particularly apt to anyone who knows me, as my “train of thought” is more akin to a state of ants scurrying from one point to another as they forage with semi-obscured motivations and objectives, constantly adjusting based on new and immediate information.