The internet is already changing the way some university courses are delivered and that's cause for concern for some academics like York University professor David Noble who is critical of the push toward the wired classroom. "There's no pedagogical evidence to show that learning improves with computers," he says. "Let's get back to what's real -- teaching kids how to read, write and think."
Noble fears that universities are on their way to becoming "digital diploma mills" where course content is so boiled down for a mass audience that it becomes meaningless. "It's not really about education at all, it's about creating and tapping into a consumer market worth $50 billion," Noble says.
While on-line courses may be fine for adult students, who were taught to write with pen and paper, what about children? "As a motivational tool computers may work, but wanting to use the computer does not mean that a student's writing is any better," says Toronto writer Alison Armstrong, author of Lost in Cyberspace: Children and the New Educational Technology, a soon-to-be-published book (Somerville House). The razzle dazzle wizardry of computer visuals outweigh the educational content of most of the programs used in schools and at home, argues Charles Casement, the book's co-author.
The technology may even be a distraction, slowing down reading and writing in Grades 3 to 5. Explains Casement: "The [computer] screen exerts an almost hypnotic fascination. You find students making superficial changes to their work one word at a time. Their energy also goes into formatting their writing, such as choosing fonts and type sizes."
Teacher training is vital if educators are to recognize and deal with potential problems such as the ones outlined by Armstrong and Casement. When teachers aren't trained to use the technology, and to look at it critically, it has no value, Armstrong argues. "Conservatively, 50 per cent of a school board's computer budget should be spent on teacher training. The reality is that the average amount spent in Canada is 15 per cent."
Armstrong and Casement would get little argument from practitioners like Brian Alger (BFA '86) vice-principal of one of Canada's most- technologically-talked-about schools. With a ratio of one computer to every three students, Alger's River Oaks elementary school in the Toronto suburb of Oakville is a technology showcase.
From the street, this two-storey school looks like a hundred others. But the similarity ends at the front door. In this computer rich environment, eight-year-olds are using charts, animation and hypertext in their class projects. Teachers do their work on portable computers that can be taken home at night. School business -- record-keeping, memos, and inter-office mail -- is also conducted by computer. The building virtually hums with the clicking of keyboards.
Impressed? Most visitors are, says Alger, the school's former technology coach. A typical tour lasts half a day. At the end of it, people leave with one comment, "Gee, these kids are doing things I could never do." The razzle dazzle of technology once again works its magic. Alger senses the danger that comes with the wizardry, that assumption again that computers equal smart kids. It's what you do with the computer that counts, he says. Plugging in software and telling students to follow the on-screen instructions has limited value because the content of CD ROM-packaged computer programs is often little more than old-fashioned drill and kill, says Alger. While there may be no harm in putting kids through the drill, there's also no evidence to show that such programs benefit learners.
The challenge for teachers is to take what's good about the technology and use it to advantage. At it's best, computer technology can extend the physical place of the traditional classroom. To illustrate the advantages of technology, Alger tells the story of how one student's search for cutting-edge medical information lead her to an on-line discussion with one of the world's leading authorities on the topic. Adonia, a River Oaks student, wanted to find out how virtual reality might influence medicine.
When traditional sources, such as encyclopedias and library books, failed to yield an answer, Alger suggested the 12-year-old take her question to the internet. After a somewhat frustrating search she came across information on the topic from the Ohio Super Computing Centre. While the information was too technical for Adonia, the centre had posted a contact name and an e-mail address for further inquiries. Adonia emailed Cheryl Johnson, marketing and promotions manager at the computing centre. To Adonia's astonishment, Johnson emailed her answer back the same day, explaining virtual reality in medicine in terms a child could understand. The correspondence lasted six weeks with Johnson becoming an electronic mentor to a student she had never met.
"Technology has the power to bring expertise into the classroom and, as in Adonia's case, it can make the information more personalized," says Alger.
Despite his enthusiasm for the technology, Alger is cautious about giving a carte blanche recommendation. "Because we have computers in the classroom doesn't make the classroom better. Of course, the same thing is true of pencils. Because we have pencils in the classroom doesn't make the classroom better either."
