1. OUR CHILDREN SHOULD KNOW THE FACTS. Emotionally evocative events inevitably produce energetic expression. But such expression in the absence of basic information is, aside from the catharsis it may provide, not otherwise helpful or edifying. There is no substitute for knowing the basic story lines of 9/11. First, our children must know what literally happened in New York and at the Pentagon. Second, they must know the line of information leading backwards -- to the plotters, their methods and organizations, their cultural and political environments. Third, they must know the line of information leading forward--to the military campaign in Afghanistan, the effort to roll up "sleeper" cells in the U.S. and abroad through police and intelligence cooperation, and the main outlines of new approaches to homeland security and U.S. diplomacy as they have evolved over the past year. In the process, teachers have an unusual opportunity to convey to students that the world-at-large really does matter to them, that regular newspaper reading is a good personal and civic habit, and that it helps to know what you're talking about before opening your mouth to speak.

2. OUR CHILDREN SHOULD NOT ABJURE JUDGMENT. All historical interpretation, even of recent history, involves making moral judgments. Once the facts are in hand, it is possible for children to make moral judgments appropriate to their level of intellectual development. We are proud to teach our children the discipline involved in making analytical judgments, but some Americans have lately become reluctant even to acknowledge the existence of a similar ethical discipline. Some people believe that judging others is virtually always wrong, that no agreed standard of morality can exist outside a situational (i.e., temporary and local) consensus, and that believing in the superior virtue of one's own social and politic values is somehow vulgar. Such people are usually quicker to blame American behavior for what happened on September 11 than the actual perpetrators of some 3,000 murders. People may believe what they like, of course; but such a view would have struck the American Founders as incomprehensible, it strikes most Americans as perverse, and it does not jibe with what the best analysts (like Robert Coles) of a child's inner life tell us -- that children as young as five or six years old have an understanding of basic fairness, of right and wrong, that we are moral beings by nature. If sophisticated adults don't squelch that understanding, our children might actually grow into responsible adults in a democratic civilization.

A pertinent example: Those who shun moral judgment often say that "terrorist" is a meaningless word because "one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter." But a terrorist can be defined with reasonable precision, as a non-state actor (i.e., an actor unaccountable, democratically or otherwise, to a larger community) who deliberately kills innocent civilians to advance a cause. Whatever the cause and however one feels about it, there is still nothing amiss with our children reaching the moral judgment that such behavior is always wrong.

3. OUR CHILDREN SHOULD LEARN TO MAKE DISTINCTIONS. Facts in hand and judgments permitted (if not encouraged), we must teach our children not to conflate people, behaviors and ideas that ought to stay separate. Really knowing the facts helps a lot, but it is not enough; patience and diligence in exercising judgment are also required. Historical realities have set Muslim Arab societies much at odds with the West and the United States, and at some level this is what produced 9/11. Some of our differences are cultural, theological or philosophical in nature. Some arise from conflicting interests, and others have to do with specific policies or actions that various governments have taken. It is not easy in practice to keep all these strands apart; political reality, like what happens when you wash your hair, tends to a natural tangle. But we have to try to make sensible distinctions. For starters, there are no Middle Easterners for any practical purpose: Iranians are not Arabs, Arabs are not Turks, Turks are not Pashtuns. Islam -- a proper noun -- is not an "enemy" of the West (another proper noun), because neither Islam nor the West describes a decision-making unit, and neither is remotely monolithic. Not all Saudis want to emulate Osama bin Laden; not all acts of violence are terrorism; the status of women is not the same in all Muslim societies; and so on, and on, and on.

Of course we must generalize when we speak, or we would never get to a second paragraph in anything we wish to speak about. But children should learn to treat all generalizations with care and to cherish distinctions properly made. It is easier and so much quicker to generalize than to specify, to conflate than to distinguish; but our children should learn that the "easy way out" is the "hardest way in" to genuine achievement or wisdom -- about 9/11, or anything else.

4. OUR CHILDREN MUST LEARN TO LIVE WITH UNCERTAINTY. Facts, judgments, distinctions -- these are all important; but even our best efforts with them will not eliminate our fears, create perfect security, or enable us to predict the future. As an idea and as a society, America will continue to have enemies no matter what we do; these enemies will sometimes try to harm us and may sometimes succeed in doing so. We would like not to have to think about such frightening things; indeed, we want to believe that some day we will put an end to violence and enmity between peoples altogether. It is good to hope for and work toward such ends, but at the same time we must be realistic about what the world will abide. Will there be another terrible attack on America? Where? When? Will we ever find and punish the people who put anthrax in the mail, so that we'll be sure they won't be able to do it again? We really don't know, and we do our children no service by telling them otherwise. Our uncertainties, however, must not demobilize us. There is a huge difference between living in fear and living with fear. If we succumb to the former, then the terrorists win, because that is the strategy of terrorism: to cause its target to be untrue to its own values and to distort its normal way of life. That is why if we do not learn to cope with uncertainty -- each one of us, for, after all, we add up one by one to America -- we will do our enemies' work for them. Maybe children should learn to sing "Whistle a Happy Tune" from The King and I; it may be out of fashion in some circles, but there is nothing wrong with learning to be brave.

Make them learn the facts, allow them to exercise their right to be moral beings, teach them patience and diligence in judgment, and encourage them to be realistic and brave -- this should suffice for lesson one in teaching our children about 9/11. If teachers convey lesson one well, then, to paraphrase Ben Franklin, lesson two can be anything they want it to be.

This piece appears courtesy of the Foreign Policy Research Institute. ]]> Tue, 23 Apr 2024 07:14:58 +0000 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/958 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/958 0 I applaud the OAH for organizing this panel discussion. It is indeed appropriate for an organization whose members are the custodians of the American collective memory to provide time for discourse about current events that might form a major watershed in the history of the American people if not the global community. I feel privileged to have the chance to share my own reflections in this venue.

I will venture to suggest an interpretive paradigm that might inform our discussion of the war here today and perhaps offer you a means to lead discussions in your local communities and classrooms. Then I will make observations, raise questions, and think aloud about the momentous events of our day. Who knows? I might even "shock and awe" you.

I borrow my analytical construct from the historian Philip Gleason, who posited that all historical inquiry can be divided into three types of questions.(1) The first is the narrative or descriptive question: what happened? The second is the explanatory or causal query: why did it happen? And the third is the evaluative inquiry: should it have happened? Was it good or bad that it happened?

I believe that the progression from level 1 to level 3 often involves a progression from objectivity to subjectivity. As we evaluate at levels 2 and 3, we confront a tendency to interpret the evidence on the basis of our own cultural values, ethnicity, gender, nationalism, religion, and politics.

The basic, level 1 question "what happened?" is at the heart of what we professional historians do. Like detectives, we pride ourselves on probing the archives and assembling the evidence that tells the story or "proves" the "facts." Consensus usually prevails at this level of inquiry.

Yet the narrative provides only the building blocks of interpretation at level 2, where we encounter the challenge of causation. We try to make a case why something happened on the basis of evidence and reason. Yet academic disputes emerge at level 2 because subjective factors creep into our interpretations, as we privilege certain pieces of evidence and marginalize others.

In contrast to the academic disputes at level 2, analyses of the level 3 questions tend to be marked by more complex disagreements. Perhaps that is because level 3 evaluations are the most likely to be influenced by subjective factors. Perhaps it is because our level 3 evaluations correlate to our level 2 interpretations. On level 3 we pose the most interesting and perhaps the most important questions--but we also find the most divisive and heartfelt disputes.

With this three-level framework in mind, I turn to the task of reflecting on the war in Iraq. On level 1, the basic contours of the U.S. approach to war already seem clear. No one questions that Iraqi forces invaded Kuwait on August 2, 1990. No one disputes the evidence that on March 19, 2003, President Bush targeted Saddam Hussein's bunker in Baghdad and fired the shot heard--or at least watched--'round the world.

Future level 1 inquiries about the war will benefit from the enormous body of information already available about it. An information overload has resulted from two factors. First is the modern media, with its copious press coverage of the diplomatic phase, its hundreds of embedded journalists reporting in real time from the battlefield, its global network that goes after the story from many angles, its al-Jazeeras on the Internet. Such immediate and widespread access to information about a war has no precedent in history.

Second, U.S. diplomacy also appeared somewhat more transparent than usual. Bush's global diplomacy forced him to divulge the fundamentals of his policy to a worldwide audience. He was no James K. Polk, advancing the Army to the Rio Grande without consulting Congress in 1846. Nor was he FDR, secretly taunting the German navy on the North Atlantic in autumn 1941, out of sight of the American people. Bush laid his cards on the table. Well before we professional historians begin poring over memoirs and sifting through archives, we have a head start at assembling the basic narrative of diplomacy, war, and peace.

By contrast, deep and broad divisions have emerged in public discourse about the causes of the war. At level 2, we face the central question, why did Bush abandon diplomacy and escalate to hostilities?

Answers to this question are as diverse and numerous as the op-ed columnists and street demonstrators who rail against and for the war. Is it a case of blood for oil? Is it a legitimate defensive strike against a clear and present danger? Is it a manifestation of American arrogance and unilateralism? Is it machismo run amok? Is it an idealistic mission to improve the world or to remake the Middle East in the American image? Is it a war to finish Dad's work and polish his legacy? One question provokes many answers, because subjective factors begin to shape the way we interpret evidence.

The debate among professional historians is now underway-16 minutes and counting. If we look for models in the literature-say, on the origins of the Cold War, or even the origins of the War of 1812--we should expect this discussion to continue for many years. Perhaps our debate has been foreshadowed by the voices of dissent and support now audible outside of the ivory tower. But it will fall to us professionals to assemble the narrative and sustain the interpretations.

And now we consider the level 3 question: was U.S. policy in this conflict right or wrong? Like the questions at level 2, this query has provoked heated, impassioned debate. Virtually everyone--from the most expert scholar to the man or woman on the street--has a position on the justice of this war.

We scholars aspire to base our evaluations on a hard-headed analysis of the level 1 facts, reflection on level 2 causal explanations, and a dose of rational thought. Or so we think. Most people--and perhaps all of us-actually evaluate the war on the basis of values, interests, biases, and principles shaped by our own life experiences.

An attentive ear can discern several such convictions and ideologies in the current debate. Consider first the extremes. On one hand, we hear that war is always evil. Might does not make right. Bush stole the election and deserves to be brought low. At the other extreme, we hear God bless America. Rally round the flag. Let's roll.

At the messy intersection between the extremes, historians and others grapple with arguments and convictions that compete for our minds. Could might occasionally make right? Can a patriot celebrate the flag as a symbol of diplomacy rather than war, of liberty by example rather than coercion? Are there genuine national security interests that must be defended by force? Or does the fighting undermine national security? Does the end justify the means? Or must the means--including the casualty rates-figure in the calculus?

Further to complicate the situation, we historians also wrestle with historical precedents. Are we witnessing Munich or the Gulf of Tonkin? Pickett's charge or D-Day? Do the "lessons of the past" that we cite reveal some truth about today's situation, or do they reveal only our own predispositions?

An additional complication arises as current events move into the realm of the past. Future debates about today's war will no doubt turn in part on the outcome of the war, which we cannot possibly know at this moment. The ultimate verdict will depend on factors that remain shrouded in the fog of the future.

Imagine, for instance, that Bush's most optimistic dream comes true. Saddam's regime is eradicated with minimal casualties. We find that Saddam had weapons of mass destruction and intended to use them except that his top generals finally heeded all those leaflets and turned on him.

Freed of their tormentor, the people of Baghdad dance in the streets. A new Iraq arises as a bastion of stability and democracy, triggering a "change in the neighborhood" of the Middle East. We see the domino effect in reverse--with autocratic regimes tumbling toward democracy, reminding us of Eastern Europe in 1989--and even the Israel-Palestine imbroglio is settled. Bush coasts to a second term by stuffing the ballot box with ticker tape, before heading to Oslo to accept the Nobel Prize for Peace.

Such an outcome would generate a crescendo of celebration--certainly in public discourse and perhaps even in our scholarship. We would ride a wave of triumphalism like the one that crested after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991.

At the other extreme, imagine that the U.S. crusade in Iraq turns sour and nasty. Hundreds of Americans and thousands of Iraqis die in a televised urban war, like the film Black Hawk Down, only live and unfiltered by Hollywood. A stray Scud hits Tel Aviv, with toxins agents aboard. A sleeper cell strikes deep in the American heartland with catastrophic results. The economy sputters. A once audacious cowboy, his ten-gallon hat in tatters, rides off into a Texas sunset, four years ahead of plan.

Such an outcome would naturally trigger a generation of soul-searching, cynical second-guessing, finger-pointing, and humility in the American psyche. The spectre of Vietnam would rise from its grave.

I doubt that the war will turn out as clearly as either of these extremes. We might expect a partial victory, which by definition means a partial defeat. The outcome might be muddled rather than clear, shades of gray rather than a stark black and white. Even a declared military triumph will have Pyrrhic dimensions.

In that case, there will be little consensus on the key questions of why we went to war and whether we should have done so. The debate will go on and on, as intelligent people analyze evidence on the basis of varying standards of evaluation and come to different conclusions.

1. Philip Gleason, Keeping the Faith: American Catholicism Past and Present (Notre Dame: UND Press, 1987): 202-225.

© Peter L. Hahn 2003]]> Tue, 23 Apr 2024 07:14:58 +0000 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/1380 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/1380 0 "Terrorism is a strategy to weaken a hated political authority. It is a security threat, but almost the opposite of the nuclear one: little pinpricks instead of a huge bang."

Last winter when the shock of 9/11 was drawing down, I decided to peruse the international relations textbooks on my home and office shelves. "What would students learn," I asked, "if they consulted any of these texts in order to make sense out of the events that so shocked the nation?" What I found in reading these works was in most cases simply appalling -- and I consulted not one or two, but ten in all -- ten textbooks published by such major houses as Addison-Wesley, Dushkin/McGraw Hill, Harcourt Brace, Longman, McGraw Hill, Prentice Hall, Simon and Schuster, and W. W. Norton (and listed at the end of this essay).

What I found were sloppy definitions, specious moral equivalencies, the uncritical perpetuation of myths about terrorism, descriptive unanalytical filler, superficiality, and banality.

Sure it does, if one is seeking to create moral equivalencies between terrorists and their victims. As one author writes, ". . . defining terrorism is a difficult task." "Indeed," the author continues, "several countries throughout the world consider the United States, several Western European states, and Israel as undertaking terrorist actions" (Papp, p. 14).

MORAL EQUIVALENCIES While all of the texts make a stab at defining terrorism, we quickly learn from the vast majority of them that terrorism lies largely in the eyes of the beholder. Almost all, in fact, trot out uncritically the cliche that one "person's" terrorist is another "person's" freedom fighter. One text makes this point four times in about eight pages devoted to the subject. Even a six-line description of the Terrorism Research Center's website contains a warning to students that in looking at "terrorist profiles and the Definition of Terrorism controversy, [k]eep in mind that one group's 'freedom fighters' may be another group's 'terrorists'" (Kegley and Wittkopf, p. 241). Four warnings in eight pages.

If students learn only one thing from most of these texts it is this: While no one really knows what terrorism is, whatever it is, we are one, as well. Consider the following examples:

"To a great extent, whether an organization is defined as a terrorist group or not depends on one's perspective. When seen from an American perspective, the `Indians' of the Boston Tea Party were American nationalists making a political point: when seen from a British perspective, they were terrorists destroying property and endangering life" (Papp, p. 127).

"Pressure to respond to [random acts of terrorism] is very strong because people worry disproportionately about terrorism, even though it kills a relatively small number of people. Despite better devices for protection, committed individuals or groups of terrorists are difficult to deter. As the well-known phrase puts it, one person's terrorist is another person's freedom fighter" (Mingst, p. 179).

"It is easy to condemn such [terrorist] activities when they are conducted by countries or groups with which you disapprove. What about assassination and other such actions by a country with which you may have sympathy? . . . Those who question the legitimacy of such acts [Reagan's strike against Qaddafi and Clinton's strikes in Somalia and Afghanistan] argue that what constitutes terrorism is often in the eye of the beholder and, in this case, killing civilians with a bomb dropped on a building by a warplane is no different than (sic) killing civilians by planting a bomb in a building" (Rourke, pp. 346-47)

As the last quotation indicates, some authors hedge their equations of moral equivalency in a veil of specious objectivity through attributions to often unnamed "some" or "observers." Consider the following from the author last quoted: "It should be noted that in the view of some, the way that the United States and some other militarily powerful countries define terrorism is self-serving" (Rourke, p. 347).

And who are the "some?" Well, in this case, one of the "somes" is none other than Osama bin Laden. According to the author, "Osama bin Laden, who allegedly masterminded the attacks on the US embassy in Kenya and Tanzania in 1988, charges that, 'American history does not distinguish between civilians and military, and not even women and children. [Americans] are the ones who used the [atomic] bombs against the Japanese'" (Rourke, p. 347).

While it's one thing to point out that people use the term terrorist in self-serving and indiscriminate ways, it's quite another to throw up one's hands at defining what terrorism is. Clearly, we know what contemporary terrorism is: it is a strategy that explicitly targets innocent civilians. Thus, America's retaliation against Qaddafi for the Berlin disco bombing was not an act of terrorism, as terrifying as that response may have been and as tragic as the civilian deaths may have been. The target in those attacks was not innocent civilians but the perpetuator and root of the terrorist campaign.

To label as "terrorist" any violent action that results in civilian deaths makes any effort to classify the uses of force impossible. Neither ends nor consequences but means defines terrorism. Terrorism used in a good cause is terrorism, nonetheless, and even the best of good causes can never make terrorism good or moral as Michael Walzer pointed out his book Just and Unjust Wars over twenty years ago. Using random and horrific acts of violence against unsuspecting and innocent non-combatants is terrorism, and moral people will condemn such acts no matter who undertakes them.

THE PERPETUATION OF MYTH

Rather than engaging in what Charles Hyneman once termed, "the rigorous examination of ideas," too many of these political scientists merely pass on and legitimize egregiously shallow and uncritical thinking. For example, one of the most simplistic myths perpetuated by almost all of these texts is the portrayal of terrorists as powerless, despair-driven people -- "the international homeless," as one set of authors put it. Terrorism, we are told, is "usually used by the powerless against the powerful" (Mingst, p. 178); it is "the strategy of the weak for weakening the strong" (Roskin and Berry, p. 4). "Terrorist groups," according to another text, "seek the political freedom, privilege, and property they think persecution has denied them" (Kegley and Wittkopf, p. 222). Somewhat strangely, the authors of this last assertion devote their first case study to "international organized crime," which they claim is "one increasingly active category of terrorist groups" (p. 222).

Obviously, most terrorists do not have the military capabilities of the parties against whom they wage war; however, military asymmetry by itself does not mean that terrorist groups are powerless, weak, or even poor. Hizbollah, Hamas, and Al Qaeda -- even when these books were written -- could not be considered groups comprised of the uneducated, "great unwashed." Al Qaeda is as well financed as any terrorist organization can be, and its leaders and many of its minions are or have been well educated. Moreover, to say that members of terrorist organizations are powerless implicitly accepts and legitimizes their rejection of normal and peaceful measures for settling differences. Hamas and Hizbollah do not want a settlement with Israel; they want Israelis expunged from the Middle East. Timothy McVeigh was not seeking to argue his case in the American political arena; he wanted to destroy that very arena.

But the more important myth lies on the other side of the equation -- that the targets of terrorism are "the powerful." As Walter Laqueur pointed out almost thirty years ago, terrorism rarely occurs in powerful countries such as Iraq, Syria, North Korea, the Soviet Union, Mao's China, Iran, Saudi Arabia, or even in Afghanistan during the reign of the Taliban. Since the end of the Second World War, the targets of terrorism have been concentrated in permissive democracies such as the United States, Great Britain, and the Western European social democracies or soft authoritarian regimes such as Egypt and Algeria. Truly powerful and totalitarian regimes never have a problem with terrorists.

TERRORISM AS A STRATEGY: EFFECTIVE OR NOT? Assessments of whether terrorism is a successful strategy for groups seeking change is seldom undertaken in these texts, and when it is done, the efforts are usually superficial. Moreover, among the texts, the conclusions are contradictory, reflecting, perhaps, the state of the discipline. Consider the following three assessments:

"In the end, terrorism like most forms of violence, exists because terror tactics sometimes do accomplish their goals. However much one may condemn the acts themselves, it is also accurate to say that over the years Palestinian terrorists almost certainly played a role in increasing the willingness of Israel to deal with them, in enhancing the global awareness of and concern with the Palestinian cause, and in bringing pressure on Israel by the international community to reach an agreement with them" (Rorke, p. 350).

"Does terrorism work? Rarely and seldom alone. . . . In most cases, however, and especially after innocent civilians have been killed by terrorists bombs, it just stiffens the resolve of the target country. No amount of Palestinian terrorism, for example, can persuade Israel to go out of business" (Roskin and Berry, No. 5, p. 199).

"[I]t is safe to conclude that the activity of most terrorist nonstate actors are undermining the authority and sovereignty of legitimate existing states" (Kegley and Wittkopf, p. 225).

While terrorists have wrought havoc, they have seldom succeeded in gaining major goals unless their activities were part of a larger military or political strategy. North Vietnam engaged in the systematic assassination of over 9,000 South Vietnamese village officials in the early 1960s, and even though this terrorist campaign was enveloped in a large-scale guerrilla war, the North Vietnamese were still unable to defeat the South Vietnamese. In the end, it took a conventional military invasion of South Vietnam to do the job. Had the U.S. Congress not refused to re-supply South Vietnamese forces and permitted the use of American air power to resist that invasion, South Vietnam might have endured.

As for the Palestinian terrorists, the success of Yasir Arafat has had much more to do with western dependence on Arab oil than upon the terrorist tactics of the PLO, Hamas, or Hizbollah. Were Israel located elsewhere, American news channels and newspapers would be giving about as much attention to the PLO as they now give to the Tamil Tigers in Sri Lanka or the terrorist violence in Indian-controlled portions of Kashmir.

THE ABSENCE OF CRITICAL ASSESSMENTS

Most of the texts have little to say about strategies to combat terrorism, and few make critical assessments of various counter-measures. Rare are attempts to classify different kinds of terrorists, undertake a comparative analysis of strategies and tactics, assess unilateral and multilateral countermeasures, and discuss success rates. For example, one text's conclusion consisted of the following:

"In the aftermath of a number of such high-profile cases, the international community responded by signing a series of international agreements designed to tighten airport security, sanction states that accepted hijackers, and condemn state-supported terrorism. The International Convention against the Taking of Hostages is a prominent example of such an agreement" (Mingst, p. 178).

And that was it. No assessment. No critical discussion.

TERRORISM AND THE FUTURE? From reading these texts, it is not even clear whether terrorism is a significant problem, although most do predict its persistence and, in several cases, authors dangle truly apocalyptic scenarios in which we, in the democracies, stand helpless and, presumably, hopeless. However, consider the following two assessments -- drawn from the same database and scholarly literature:

"Given the nature of the problem and the draconian methods that would probably be required to eliminate it, it is likely that terrorism will be with the international community for the foreseeable future" (Papp, p. 129).

"Terrorism, despite occasional outbursts, is in decline. The same forces that are reshaping international relations in other areas are also reducing terrorist violence. The end of the Cold War brought about major power cooperation. This removed the target for many ideological terrorists groups. . . . In addition, the worldwide rise of democracy has reduced domestic terrorism directed against repressive regimes" (Roskin and Berry, 1999 ed., p. 252).

BANALITIES What do I mean by banalities? Consider the following gratuitous and vacuous statements:

"Terrorists are non-state actors" (Mingst, p. 178).

"Terrorism is group activity" (Roskin and Berry, 1999 ed., p. 253).

"Terrorism has come of age" (Papp, p. 443).

"Targets, too, have become diverse; today they include buses, large buildings (New York's World Trade Center) and tenements (in India and Germany)" (Mingst, p. 179). "Terrorists are not crazy 'Dr. Evils.' They pursue their political goals by deplorable means because that is often the only way open to them" (Roskin and Berry, 2002 ed., p. 199).

"Ordinarily, the death and destruction caused by terrorism are limited, at least in comparison with the death and destruction caused by war" (Papp, p. 128).

From a section entitled "Who Are the Actors in World Politics":

"In recent years another type of individual has had a significant impact on world politics: terrorists. Examples of such are Abu Nidal and Osama bin laden who have become commonly known because of their sponsorship and involvement in terrorism" (Caldwell, p. 56).

In a box entitled "Do you know that?" we learn that:

"[t]he name of the militant, many would say terrorist, Middle East Group, Hamas, is an acronym for the Arabic words for Islamic Resistance Movement and means 'zeal'" (Rourke, p. 347).

Who wouldn't want to know that?

But in terms of banalities, the prize must surely go to the authors who presented students with the following list of "Five ways to reduce international terrorism:"

(1) Avoid wars. Avoid making enemies by avoiding threats and child-killing economic sanctions in foreign policy. Stabilize deterrence through arms control and confidence building agreements. Use diplomacy vigorously.

(2) Free colonies, whether the colony is called the West Bank or Ulster.

(3) Avoid oppressing one's own people or occupying other nations.

(4) Avoid making or propping up hated governments or unarming popular ones.

(5) Try to avoid extreme measures in dealing with an extremist domestic opposition; too tough countermeasures only make things worse" (Roskin and Berry, 1999 ed., p. 269)

To be fair, this list, which appeared in the 1999 edition of this text, was gone in the 2002 edition because the entire subject of terrorism was condensed from one chapter to a box because, presumably, the authors believe that terrorism would disappear in an evolving post-Cold War and increasingly democratic age. Now that the big bang occurred on 9/11, the box in this edition will, most likely, be enlarged to a full chapter in the 2003 edition along with the list of pitfalls just cited.NOT ALL IS BLEAK

Two out of the ten books stand out as models of scholarly treatment. In five-and-a-half pages, David Ziegler does a superb job in eviscerating cant and politically correct cliches, and making the scholarly literature accessible to students in a well-organized fashion. His presentation in War, Peace, and International Politics presents meaningful distinctions and categories and contains a balanced discussion of dealing with terrorism. He even discusses the difficulties in devising measures for counting terrorist events.

Similarly, one can find an excellent discussion of terrorism in Frederic S. Pearson and J. Martin Rochester's International Relations: The Global Condition in the Twenty-First Century. Pearson and Rochester present a wealth of relevant information and draw well on the scholarly literature. In addition, they also eviscerate many of the cliches that pass as profundity in other texts. For the cliche that "one person's terrorist is another person's freedom fighter," they reply, "[If that is to be accepted],then any act of violence can be excused and legitimized so long as someone invents a justification " (p. 448). Similarly, they write that, "although some have called the dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima in 1945 an act of terrorism -- because it represents to them seemingly indiscriminate violence against innocent civilians -- this is more accurately designated an act of interstate warfare" (p. 450). Finally, their critical discussion of the strategies for dealing with terrorists is about as well done as one could find without delving into the body of scholarly literature itself.

WHAT DOES THE "HIGHER" MEAN IN HIGHER EDUCATION?

But these two texts are the exceptions rather than the rule. While most of the works surveyed do cite solid scholarly works on terrorism in their bibliographies, very little of the knowledge in those books makes its way into their discussions of the subject! Many of the myths about terrorism that Walter Laqueur debunked over twenty-five years ago in his groundbreaking book Terrorism appear in far too many of these texts.

Sadly, discussions of terrorism in most of today's textbooks amount to melodramatic or sensational introductions, portraits of different kinds of terrorists, descriptive case studies, and superficial assessments about the future -- all low-level, unanalytical, and simplistic stuff. What is also dismaying about these texts is what they reveal about the state of the discipline. In fact, reading most of these texts quickly leads one to wonder what the "higher" in higher education means at the nation's colleges and universities.

Texts Reviewed

Caldwell, Dan, World Politics and You (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2000). Subject not covered.

Duncan, W. Raymond, Barbara Jancar-Webster, and Bob Switky, World Politics in the 21st Century (New York: Addison- Wesley/Longman Inc., 2002).

Kegley, Jr., Charles and Eugene R. Wittkopf, World Politics: Trend and Transformation (Bedford: St. Martins, 2001).

Mingst, Karen, Essentials of International Relations (New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2001, second edition).

Papp, Daniel S., Contemporary International Relations: Frameworks for Understanding (New York: Longman, 2002, sixth edition).

Pearson, Fredric S. and J. Martin Rochester, International Relations: The Global Condition in the Twenty-First Century (New York: McGraw Hill, 1997, fourth edition).

Roskin, Michael G. and Nicholas O. Berry, IR: The New World of International Relations (Upper Addle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1999, fourth edition).

Roskin, Michael G. and Nicholas O. Berry, IR: The New World of International Relations (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2002, fifth edition)

Rourke, John T., International Politics on the World Stage (Dushkin/McGraw-Hill, 1999, seventh edition).

Ziegler, David, War, Peace, and International Politics (New York: Addison, Wesley, Longman, 2000).

This piece appears courtesy of the Foreign Policy Research Institute.]]> Tue, 23 Apr 2024 07:14:58 +0000 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/1129 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/1129 0 Writing and teaching online courses can provide an exciting and creative means for historians to reach out to an audience beyond the traditional classroom. In shaping our course at the University of Texas at Austin, we found that the flexibility and richness of the web enabled students to become enthusiastic participants in the process of analyzing and evaluating historical problems.

The course was developed at the Distance Education Center in the Division of Continuing and Extended Education at UT Austin (DEC), using a homegrown course management tool, Speedway, the talents of a team of distance learning professionals. The Center specializes in online college and high school courses.

This U.S. History survey course has all the traditional elements--a popular textbook by Edward L. Ayers, et al., American Passages A History of the United States, its companion documents reader and a rich mix of essay and identification questions for students to answer in each of the written assignments. To ensure the course's success, we chose a sound text that provides the students with an accurate foundation to understand the unfolding of American History. (It also helps that one of us, Gould, is a co-author of American Passages; students know that the course's author is also one of the contributors to the text.

To complement the traditional elements, our DEC team selected a variety of primary resources online; these transformed the course into a tool that enables students to become full partners in the learning experience, not just the recipients of knowledge. Using these abundant online resources, we constructed questions that progressively build writing skills while encouraging persuasive interpretations formulated for a broad array of topics. As students work their way through these questions, they learn how to identify historical arguments, interpret original documents (textual and visual), and ask critical questions of historical actors, events, and concepts.

For example, in a question for the first assignment about President Ulysses S. Grant and his "peace policy" toward Native Americans, students read several online documents to construct their answer. Some of this research involves role-playing as Indian leaders, while other aspects require students to examine and appraise primary documents and to relate evidence to the study of Native American history. Other assignments include questions about the rise of industrialism and require students to use the photographs and writings of Jacob Riis, the impact of the San Antonio Pecan Shellers Strike, and the career of Emma Tenayuca in the labor movement of the 1930s. As the course progresses, it encourages interested students to use other online sources to broaden their historical perspective in ways that are relevant to them.

One of the additional virtues of this complementary online approach is that it allows us, as history teachers, to frame questions for each lesson that go beyond a single ideological, thematic, or chronological perspective--political, economic, and social--and enables students to explore issues from varied points of view. The online environment breaks down the barriers that occur when students are confronted with a single text and narrative based on the views of a lone historian or on the collective vision of multiple authors. The problems of ideological bias that have been so much a part of recent discussions on HNN are, thus, much relieved when students are able on their own to visit a broad range of sources, documents, and historical writings. By drawing upon web resources, this course promotes an eclectic, inclusive approach to history and enhances students' ability to think for themselves.

Introducing greater complexity with each lesson can be done in a number of ways, depending on how web resources are used. The reliance on student choice makes the course different for each student and yet broadly similar for all those enrolled. The course also includes "Past and Present" discussion questions that encourage interaction between students and instructors. In all aspects, the course encourages students to make connections, to ask critical questions, and to explore history from a variety of perspectives.

The key to this course's success is the collaboration between writer (Gould) and course designer (Morse). As our experience with History 315L proves, a collaborative course should be more than just the vision of the historian who is writing the individual lessons. In a few instances, the author will have the expertise that will not require the assistance of distance education colleagues on campus. Far more often, however, a blend of substantive knowledge and online skills from several collaborators will produce a course that is better than the sum of its instructional parts.

Or, as HIS315L instructor Kim Richardson notes, online history courses "bring history to life at the fingertips of the students. They don't need to go to a library or bookstore to read beyond the materials given, but have a whole virtual world at their fingertips. I love teaching online. It allows me to work one-on-one with students in a unique way. Many students enter the course believing this to be an easy 'A.' They quickly learn this is not the case, but they also discover that they can have fun and learn history at the same time." For us, comments like this prove that the time and effort we put into a course pay huge dividends for history students and teachers. Yes, history does go the distance! ]]> Tue, 23 Apr 2024 07:14:58 +0000 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/1276 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/1276 0 Up from the Academy

Once academic historians lamented "the public's" lack of interest in history. Enter the History Channel and Ken Burns. Then it was not that the public doesn't like history-it doesn't appreciate the kind academics write. Small wonder. The best history describes the world as it is, not as the author would like it. But in history as in politics, it is too often the fringe that sets the agenda. It is refreshing, therefore, when an aspiring historian resists the pressure to find big potential in small groups and novel methodologies. To some acquaintances in the academy my association with HAI was always a disappointment. From the first day in class to the bestowing of the sash, my graduate program was geared toward creating professors. Early on I drank deeply of this atmosphere. Although I had begun out of a desire to write the kinds of history books that I enjoyed, at some point I convinced myself that I would teach and that my writing would serve to further my standing and contribute to the body of work accrued by the noble profession. But with a new family I also needed a job, and that led me to HAI. I greatly enjoyed the work, primarily archival research for environmental litigation, and I learned a lot. I soon knew more about the ins and outs of the National Archives and the Library of Congress than most of my professors. When I got the chance to co-author a corporate history (even though I was training in labor history and had been taught not to think well of corporations), I welcomed it. But my "other" life in history was not a welcomed topic in grad school. On a rare occasion when I brought up my latest HAI project with my dissertation advisor, he cut me off with "Let's talk about your real book." I finally made the decision on a career at HAI for two related reasons: disillusionment with academia and understanding of the realities of the academic job market. Although it felt good to be part of the academic (and, where I attended, substantially New Left) cause, I became increasingly aware that this was more a stifling new orthodoxy than enlightenment. To his credit my advisor urged me to question it all and think independently, but too many other grad students-often with no real-world experience-enthusiastically acquired the New Left pieties that their professors had obtained in the sixties. Labor history was peculiarly tough. I had hoped to study the kinds of working-class people I had grown up with. Instead I found myself devoting much of my attention to communists and other militant minorities (all of whom turned out to be remarkably influential) and dwelling on what should have been rather than on what was. I persevered, networking, presenting papers, publishing, and doing job interviews, but by the time the Ph.D. was in hand I had begun not to believe the things I felt compelled to say in interviews, and just walking into a conference hotel triggered an anxiety attack. My expectations were never high, but it was also apparent that with a Ph.D. from a second-tier school and a dissertation on an unpopular subject, I might eventually land a job at a small school but only after years of itinerant adjuncting. With a wife with her own professional career and a daughter in school, that was hardly an option.

Historians, Accountability, and Compromise

In the meantime, two key realizations suggested that HAI could be more than a sojourn. First, I realized that despite the talk of scholarly detachment, the imperatives of the profession put academics under pressure to compromise that was perhaps even stronger than that exerted by the for-profit sector. Second, and most important, I discovered that history for hire need not be glorified public relations and that the market helps ensure the quality of the work. The demand for historical works by paying clients is, of course, a small one. But that works in our favor. Those who come to us almost always value history and know that somehow their organization can benefit from it. Still, few know exactly why this is, and our first job is to help them reach that understanding. Preliminary discussions usually reveal two concrete client desires. On one hand they want to get beyond the same old boilerplate histories that their public relations people have been recycling for decades or more. On the other they want to understand and convey how their story is bigger than themselves: how they fit into, and perhaps even helped influence, broader social, cultural, and economic changes. In most cases, then, our clients do not want public relations work-they've usually got people to do that. Their requirements call for skills that PR specialists do not have but that define the historical profession. In helping our clients get beyond the timeworn (and often inaccurate) old stories, we practice the craft of history, doing painstaking research in archives, manuscripts, and internal records and conducting oral histories. To help our clients understand how their story is bigger than themselves, we apply the historian's art, combining mastery of political, cultural, social, and economic contexts with a deep understanding of the particulars to craft broad historical interpretations. HAI historians must be generalists, not only because they must be prepared to handle a variety of topics from book to book but also because clients, understandably, want general rather than specialized histories. It can be argued that we don't pay as close attention to the negatives in an organization's history as journalists or academics might. But that is a luxury we do not have. We do not cover up the blemishes (most of our clients, in fact, insist that we do not) but we do paint with a broad brush, and from that perspective nearly every story we've told is a generally positive one. Our clients have all provided society with valued services, products, and expertise. Do I miss the academy? I remember fondly the gratification that comes from teaching. But I also recall the game: the pursuit of respect-or flattery-from peers and professors by helping to further ideas and interpretations that the profession has deemed important. Overall I have found that there are more rewards working in a "for hire" setting and many fewer compromises. HAI may be short on respect from academia and our books do not make bestseller lists, but for hundreds and even thousands of readers it does not matter. Our work has made a difference. For most of the people I have interviewed or corresponded with over the years, an HAI book is a welcomed encapsulation of a lifetime's work. Through our work they recall, relive, rethink, and more deeply appreciate their own careers. And it is not merely the "old-timers" for whom we write but for current leaders and employees who, on better learning where they have been, gain a better understanding of where they might go. HAI is committed to being not only a challenging but also a secure employer. But as a professional historian I'm doing much more than a workaday job-you can't leave your ideas on the desk at 5 p.m. But whenever the day does end, I know I've created a piece of a truly useable past. I respond to the market, but it usually brings out the best in me and my professional training. Can those aspiring academics who feel compelled by academic pressures to venture ever farther into the irrelevant and absurd say the same?

Open admissions, the policy of permitting students to enroll in a college or university without regard to academic qualifications, grew largely out of the turmoil of the period 1965-75 that coincided with America's intense involvement in the Vietnam War. This era featured a sharp turn to the left by elites, especially among the intellectuals and in the media, who decried special privilege and employed such emotionally satisfying but vaguely defined slogans as "Power to the People."

In the name of democracy, and as a part of the civil rights revolution, activists demanded, threatened, and employed violence to open the doors of many of the nation's leading institutions of higher education. A college degree, it had long been known, was the major pathway to upward economic and social mobility, and anyone who wanted one, said the activists, should have access to the institution of his or her choice. If applicants lacked adequate pre-college academic preparation, then it was up to the professors to make the necessary adjustments and see that student life was happy and successful.

Open admissions advocates assumed, as is common on the left, that people are largely, if not wholly, products of their environment, and that the human mind, freed from an assortment of oppressions, can assimilate anything. A psychology professor on my campus told me, with much earnestness, that everyone was capable of obtaining a Ph.D. in any subject. Poor teaching, inadequate school funding, racism, and an assortment of other reasons were given to account for the failing student. Failure was never thought by activists to be the student's fault; the flunkee was a victim, in this as in all other areas of life in an allegedly cruel, greedy, and insensitive America.

While the echoes of the Vietnam War years are still powerful in this new century, several of the assumptions of what has been called the Dreadful Decade have undergone considerable reevaluation, including open admissions. The City College of New York drew much attention as a model of the perils of the policy. Often called the Harvard of the Proletariat, CCNY opened its doors wide in 1970. It altered the policy somewhat in 1976 and at the end of the century, as the City University of New York, it reversed the course entirely, sharply increasing admission standards and telling unqualified aspirants to go to community colleges to gain adequate preparation. Studies showed that under open admissions the system had suffered massive attrition rates, lowered academic expectations, and a drop in faculty morale. Only 8 percent of CUNY students in the senior colleges were graduating after four years; in six years the figure rose to 32 percent. Mayor Rudolph Giuliani had labeled the senior CUNY colleges "really sad."

In 1996, the State of Kansas ended an open admissions policy for its six Regent institutions. The University of Kansas was losing 25 percent of its freshmen; Wichita State University was losing 39 percent. Lawmakers thought open admissions costly and wasteful. In an informal survey of 50 faculty, 46 said they favored a move toward admission standards. Linda Davis, a biology instructor at Kansas State, said that open admissions "gives students a false sense of hope. We can't assume that anyone can start college."

Race played a role in the story of open admissions from the beginning. In the mid-1960s, some top-ranked campuses began to give preferential treatment to blacks in the admission process, arguing for the necessity, both moral and educational, of racial diversity. Cases of reverse discrimination, the admission of lesser qualified blacks at the expense of better prepared whites, prompted much controversy and legal action. In 1996, California voters passed Proposition 209, which banned the use of race in university admissions. California and Texas linked college admissions to high-school rank in order to keep the selection process free of racial bias.

This approach failed to please many African-American leaders, who continued to seek racial preferences. Some white critics pointed to a bias against those who attended demanding high schools and found it harder to achieve a high class standing than those in weaker schools.

For most of the 4,064 degree-granting institutions of higher education in America the issue of affirmative action, while of course relevant ("diversity" is in the very air educators breathe, and federal officials are always on the alert for the slightest whiff of racism), is not a top agenda item. This is because only a handful of the nation's campuses, perhaps no more than 150, have admission standards that are highly competitive. Most colleges and universities, state and private, have open admissions or near open admissions and work actively to recruit people of all colors and races in order to keep their campuses in business.

One of the distinctions between top-ranked institutions and others is the percentage of applicants admitted. The 2001 U.S. News and World Report evaluation of colleges and universities reveals high numbers across the board. Carthage College in Kenosha, Wisconsin, for example, a highly-ranked Lutheran institution, admits 91 percent of its applicants. The University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, which grants doctorates in several fields, admits 82 percent. Surprisingly, schools within the so-called "Top 50" also reveal considerable generosity: number 22 Vanderbilt admits 66 percent; 35th ranked University of Wisconsin-Madison admits 74 percent; number 45 University of Washington accepts 77 percent, and equally ranked Tulane admits 78 percent of all applicants. As the rankings drop into what U.S. News and World Report calls the second, third, and fourth tiers, the reality of open admissions, or something close to it, looms large.

This article was first published by Academic Questions (Spring 2001), vol. 14, 65-71. Reprinted by permission of Transaction Publishers. © 2001 Transaction Publishers.]]> Tue, 23 Apr 2024 07:14:58 +0000 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/1020 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/1020 0 Parkside's graduation rate has been woeful. In 1989, of all the incoming freshmen, only 28 percent graduated after six years. For the class of 1992, the number fell to 20 percent. Two years later, the number of all incoming freshmen graduating after four years was a mere 12 percent.

Parkside inhabits Tier 4 of the U.S. News and World Report evaluation of Midwestern universities, the only campus among the thirteen in the University of Wisconsin System to be rated at the bottom of the pecking order, alongside the likes of MidAmerica Nazarene College in Kansas, Ferris State University in Michigan, and Northern State University in South Dakota. Only one other campus in Wisconsin inhabits this netherworld, tiny Edgewood College, a Catholic institution in Madison.

Created in 1968, the University of Wisconsin-Parkside was designed, along with a sister campus in Green Bay, to be on a tier with the huge and internationally known University of Wisconsin in Madison. The initial plan predicted 25,000 students and a thriving graduate program. In 1972, the University of Wisconsin System was created, and Parkside and Green Bay fell into the ranks of old state campuses at Oshkosh, Stevens Point, Whitewater, and elsewhere. In the fall of 2,000, Parkside had 4,921 full and part-time students, making it the second smallest campus in the system. Low enrollment exacerbates its already chronic financial deficiencies; in the system, as almost everywhere else in academia, body count equals money.

Student morale at Parkside is miniscule, as is widely understood in both Racine and Kenosha, the communities in Southeast Wisconsin that Parkside serves, and the campus boasts little prestige. Only three percent of Parkside graduates contribute financially to the campus, one of the lowest figures in the nation. Many of the more productive and ambitious faculty members seek mightily to go elsewhere, only to learn, especially in the liberal arts, that the better campuses do not recruit people (with or without publications) from what is sneeringly referred to as Academic Siberia.

While the most popular major at Parkside is business (true of college students nationally), the area of study that seems to attract the best students is science, in part because of a pre-med program that has been effective since its inception. The liberal arts attracts many who are preparing to be public school teachers and a great many who simply sign up for courses because they are offered at a convenient time. Most Parkside students live at home and have jobs, many of them full-time, and must design their college experience around the demands of their occupation. This is quite typical at open admissions institutions serving urban areas.

Teaching American history for more than thirty years at Parkside has given me the opportunity to learn much about the dynamics of open admissions in higher education. Speaking with other faculty, locally and at similar campuses across the country over the decades, in my own academic discipline and in others, I've become convinced that my experiences are by no means unusual. There is a relatively small literature on the subject, at the head of which is Peter Sacks, Generation X Goes to College: An Eye-Opening Account of Teaching in Postmodern America, which recounts the author's experiences in a community college. I thought it useful, at my retirement, to expand the accounts of others from my own perspective. (Click here to read a brief summary of the history of open admissions.)

What I have seen going on in the world of open admissions education I call "The Classroom Game." Since I teach two introductory survey courses every semester in American history, let me begin there.

One quickly learns that the young people signed up for 101 and 102 (the chronological break between the courses at Parkside is 1877) know virtually nothing about the history of their own nation. They have no grasp of colonial America (I've been asked, "Is the seventeenth century the 1700s?") or the nation's constitutional machinery. All religion baffles them (no doubt a tribute to the secularism dominant in modern public schools), all intellectual history eludes them, and politics bores them. Even after instruction, they often confuse World War I and World War II. All the presidents before Clinton are a blur; Franklin D. Roosevelt sometimes shows up on exams in the Gilded Age and U.S. Grant in the twentieth century. Almost all of the students simply refuse to memorize the Chief Executives in their proper chronological order. In fact, they choose to ignore dates of any kind; written exams rarely contain any. More than one student has told me frankly, "I don't do dates."

This proud ignorance rests on a seemingly invincible anti-intellectualism. The blue collar families from which the Parkside students normally come do not stress reading, and the students are generally first generation college. (I can empathize, as I was the first in my family's history to graduate from high school.) These amiable, polite, almost invariably likeable young people read little or nothing. In a class of 50, not more than one or two read a newspaper daily; what tiny grasp they have of current events comes from television news. Reading books and magazines outside the classroom is not something they would even consider doing. In short, they have no intellectual life and see no need for one. They can talk about several things, including their jobs, television, sports, and Rock, but they are often baffled and sometimes irritated to hear from their professor that there is more to life. If that "more" requires reading, they aren't interested.

On the first day of class, you learn that only a minority of the students has purchased the textbook. The others have either not gotten around to it (a few never do) or are waiting until they size up the professor. If he or she seems demanding, some make a hasty exit. I spend the initial period talking about the joys and uses of history, study habits, how to use the textbook, and how to prepare for quizzes and exams. I distribute a carefully prepared syllabus (on colored paper so that it will not be lost), a guide through the course that contains general course information, including my office hours, exam dates, and options for extra credit. I urge the members of the class to go to work immediately and not fall behind. I feel obligated to go through all of this, year after year, even though I know I have few serious listeners. High school was a breeze, they tell each other, and this can't be much different. Several invariably ask me later for another copy of the syllabus, as they have lost theirs.

How much reading should be assigned? I have dropped my standards over the years by two-thirds. Still, I am routinely described as extremely demanding. In 101, I now assign under 40 pages a week of textbook reading. Students often complain bitterly, and most simply refuse to read that much. I recently assigned Stephen Ambrose's brilliant Undaunted Courage and gave the 101 students ten weeks to read it. Not one did. On the exam, one young woman wrote proudly, "I did not read that book."

Yielding somewhat to the pressure, in 102 not long ago I assigned 20 pages a week in my own textbook, a brief history of America in the twentieth century. A senior sociology major informed me angrily that no one else among her professors that semester was so demanding. Twenty pages a week. The experiment in minimal reading ended in failure: students still wouldn't complete the assignment.

I strongly urge students to mark their books, assuring them that the re-sale value is the same whether the volume is marked or not. (A great many students sell their books immediately after the class. Some sell them before the final exams, a practice the campus bookstore has long encouraged.) I show them how to look for and mark the most important material. But most of them refuse to use their book in this way. Of course, many do not mark their textbook because they don't read it. Others, over my pleas to the contrary, depend upon the marking of the person who previously owned the book.

A major reason for having a professor teach a class in person, as opposed to offering the course on television, is the give and take between student and instructor. In my classrooms, and despite my fervent appeals, there is virtually no classroom discussion. While light banter about extraneous topics sometimes occurs, questions of a substantive nature are almost never asked. Of course, you can't ask questions about material you have not read and care nothing about. So the classroom becomes a monologue, a series of lectures by the professor. One lectures day in and day out in an atmosphere of sullen silence. (I should add that I am generally considered to be an above average public speaker. That isn't the problem.) Notebooks begin to slam and coats begin to be put on as the clock even approaches the end of the period. An early dismissal is greeted with glee, a joy surpassed only by the cancelled class.

Recently I offered extra credit for meaningful classroom discussion of the assigned material. Nothing happened. The students simply sat there, generally irritated by having to be there at all.

For many years I left classroom attendance up to the discretion of the students, assuring them that they were adults capable of making the most of their time in college. Almost everyone showed up regularly. Within the last decade, however, as the intellectual quality of the students seems to have fallen, many faculty have taken to requiring attendance. On a given Friday, half or more of the students would otherwise be absent. I permit my students two unexcused absences in a fifteen week semester. After that, each unexcused absence is supposed to lower the final grade by one third. Nevertheless, many skip class regularly, and not wishing to fail any more than necessary I do not strictly enforce the policy.

In 102, I recently added an Internet requirement. I devoted considerable time to finding relevant web pages, many containing photographs and films of major people and events covered in class. Since young people spend a great deal of time at the computer, I assumed this would prove popular. Most of my students simply refused to do it. I could generate no interest in the assignment at all. Many young people, apparently, do not consider education a valid function of the Internet.

I always provide recommendations for extra credit, usually involving the reading of an extra book. At times I've offered credit for seeing relevant movies. In a class of 50, no more than two or three will avail themselves of the opportunity, and they are usually the better students.

For many years I had classroom debates in the survey courses, picking a topic and dividing the class in two, flipping a coin to see which side would take the affirmative and negative. I assumed that this would enliven the class period by involving the students directly and providing a welcome change from the essentially secretarial chore of attending a lecture. I was wrong. When participation in the debate was voluntary, over half of the students chose not to become involved. When I required participation, the top students dominated the debate, leaving the great majority to serve largely as passive spectators. When the topic was Wisconsin Senator Joe McCarthy, I could not persuade class members to watch a film on him outside of class.

I always show films in the survey courses, three or four from the great "America" series created by Alistaire Cooke. The few good students take copious notes. Most sit passively. Some put their heads down and sleep. Two students in one course recently slept through the lectures as well. Every day.

I have generous office hours, making it clear that I will go to any length to help those having trouble. Almost no one shows up. Perhaps one reason is that I ask the students to bring their textbooks with them, as I want to see how they are marking. The few who do appear invariably show me books that have not been marked, accompanying the admission with something like "Well, I haven't read ALL the assignment."

Knowing that most students do not complete the required reading, and do not even seriously tackle it until shortly before an examination, I always devote one classroom period, just before an exam, to a "review" of relevant identification and essay questions. I have the students make a list of such topics from open books. I write the items listed on the chalkboard and talk about each, providing hints about what might and might not be on the test. Contributions from the students are usually made by two or three people in a class of 50 while the others copy the list. I'm often asked after class if the exam will include anything not on the board.

Written exams, which I require, terrify many students because they are required to reveal the full extent of their knowledge. After lectures on the Reformation (which students often confuse with the Renaissance), John Calvin, Puritanism, Cotton Mather, John Winthrop, and others, I ask on the examination as an identification question: Puritanism. Typical answers state simply "Very strict" and "Very religious." One semester I was never able to get across the meaning of Anglicanism to a 101 class, although I tried repeatedly. The identification of Anglicanism with the contemporary Episcopal Church (which most had never heard of) was forgotten no matter how many times I explained it.

One semester, to see what would happen, I went to multiple choice tests provided by the textbook publisher. (Many professors in many disciplines use multiple choice tests because they are easily graded and popular with students.) I eliminated some of the tricky double negatives and added several questions on matters raised in lectures. The result was disastrous. With a possible score of 100, average scores were in the 30s. Many failed to reach that height. The students had not read the material and thought they could guess successfully. One disconsolate young man told me, "I just wasn't lucky enough."

The drop-out rate in my classes has normally been about 30 percent, which is not unusual for the campus. In recent years, however, the rate has escalated. A 101 class recently dropped from 30 to nine, a class that failed to produce a single "A" student. The average grade of those who stay in my classes is in the "C-" range, an evaluation that includes much professorial charity. (This excludes the failing grades that must be given to the many who disappear without dropping the course.)

The Classroom Game, then, is about gaining academic credits while successfully resisting education. Passive, ill-prepared, and anti-intellectual students want to know exactly what irrelevant "stuff" (as historical materials are sometimes labeled) they must memorize, often the night before a test, in order to pass a course. The stuff must come largely from class notes, as the reading assignments are largely ignored. The professor, fearing the student evaluations that are taken seriously by many faculty and administrators at this level of academia, and increasingly weary of clinging to intellectual standards long abandoned by colleagues in their quest for popularity and security, often winds up caving in and giving the students what they want, including high grades. (The sciences are less likely to succumb than the liberal arts and social sciences, but the "dumbing down" is in evidence everywhere.) There is no dialogue or intellectual excitement in The Classroom Game. And very little learning.

On the final of History 101 and 102 I ask identification questions covering the entire course, usually questions that have been asked on earlier exams. (It's a way of giving students points.) Several years ago I had to begin passing out a list of these questions when I realized that students had completely forgotten what they had written about just a few weeks earlier. Upper division students admit routinely that they have forgotten the material in survey courses, and must be introduced to it all over again. In counseling students, I've often noticed that many cannot recall anything about the contents of a course they have taken, let alone the name of the instructor.

The Classroom Game can be seen as well in the upper division classes filled with juniors and seniors, usually history majors. The students are Game veterans and expect you to follow the unwritten rules. Recently, an upper division student informed me openly in class that her job did not permit her to read 100 pages a week. Soon, the others made it clear that they were not about to do all of the assigned reading. No one did. In order to keep them from failing, I handed out a take-home exam for the first mid-term. One student said in class that all her professors were doing that now. As conditions worsened, I was forced to distribute the questions that would appear on the final exam. The students skipped class routinely throughout the semester. Discussion of the assigned materials, quite naturally, did not occur.

Despite constant pleading, the term papers by seniors and juniors are never started before the last two or three weeks of the course. They are usually based solely on two or three library books of often dubious quality. Knowledge of footnote style is noticeably absent, even though many have taken the course in Research Methods. Research in primary sources, even if required, is very rarely achieved. Offers of assistance from the first week of class are not accepted. Asking for professorial help is not part of The Classroom Game.

The Game decrees that majors will receive good grades, regardless of their effort. Disciplines need majors. Without them, the Department members would be teaching nothing but survey courses and would be less able to successfully request additional funds and faculty.

If students so adamantly resist being educated, why do they come to colleges and universities at all? There are many reasons, of course, but studies show that foremost in their minds is the desire for wealth. The U.S. Department of Education reports that in 1998 the median annual income of male high school graduates working full time and year round was $31,477. Women with those credentials earned $22,780. Men with bachelor's degrees, working full time, earned an average of $51,405, and their female counterparts received $36,559. Students are well aware of this disparity and seek a higher income. They are unprepared, however, to face the educational requirements involved in obtaining a college degree.

Fortunately for the students, graduation requirements have continued to drop in recent years all across the nation and at all levels. Only two percent of the colleges and universities require a history course of any kind. Introductory science courses often do not involve laboratory work. Politically correct propaganda courses abound and often serve as substitutes for more serious courses. Untold numbers of courses designed to assist athletes and others uninterested in intensive study cheapen college catalogues. The History Department at the University of Illinois now offers a full-credit course on Oprah Winfrey. And who takes a foreign language any more?

The destructive impact of Open Admissions and The Classroom Game on the quality of higher education should be obvious. The demonstrable drop in educational standards over the past forty years has been tragic. But what about the effect on students? What about the countless thousands of young people who flunk out or drop out every year when they realize that they cannot handle even the minimal standards that face them. Their loss of self-confidence is no doubt more serious than their bitterness about the waste of time and money. Perhaps even worse, what about those who survive the process by playing the Game? While they are often proud that they have beaten the system and received a diploma without undue effort, in fact they have been cheated out of one of civilization's greatest blessings: a sound education and a lifelong passion for learning.

In this new century politicians wax eloquently about the need to raise standards in the public schools, and rightly so. But little is said about the quality of America's thousands of colleges and universities, most of which are scuffling for students of any quality in order to stay afloat. For the good of higher education and indeed the whole nation, which can never obtain enough genuine learning and wisdom throughout all of its institutions, academic administrators, Boards of Regents, trustees, accreditation boards, state legislatures, and faculty members should somehow summon the integrity and courage to raise admission standards, destroy the Game, and restore serious requirements for graduation. Indeed, why not make graduation examinations a prerequisite for a diploma? Faced with such a challenge, Game players might well be forced to begin reading.

This article was first published by Academic Questions (Spring 2001), vol. 14, 65-71. Reprinted by permission of Transaction Publishers. © 2001 Transaction Publishers.]]> Tue, 23 Apr 2024 07:14:58 +0000 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/1019 https://historynewsnetwork.org/article/1019 0