”Drop the term ‘styles.’ It will confuse others and it won’t help either you or your students.” – Howard Gardner, The Washington Post Op-Ed, 2013.

In 1983, psychologist Howard Gardner proposed a new theory, of . We have all run into this list: linguistic, logical-mathematical, musical, bodily-kinesthetic, spatial, interpersonal and intrapersonal (he later added more types). Gardner recognized that we all have our stronger and weaker “intellectual capacities” (not all of which are tested in traditional “IQ tests”) and made us think more about ourselves as learners.

What Gardner apparently didn’t anticipate is that the world of education, always seeking for ways to improve student learning, would adopt this model and turn it into a theory of “learning styles.” The simple premise would be that if we teach students so that we accommodate their individual learning styles, then they will learn better. It sounds very intuitive and it quickly got adopted by a large audience. The simplicity is always attractive but this premise also gave a lot of headache to us teachers who now felt obliged to somehow a) find out what the “learning styles” of our students are, and b) accommodate them all. Simply put, it’s an almost impossible task for teachers of large classes, but maybe worth trying, if it works?

Each time I crossed paths with this theory (in my BEd studies, MEd studies and in my career as a teacher and instructional designer), it sparked a debate. In 2013, Professor Gardner, who now teaches at the Harvard Graduate School of Education, discussed in his thoughts on the misinterpretation of MI Theory, specifically the confusion of multiple intelligences with learning styles. This came after numerous research apparently found no conclusive data about the positive impact of accommodating teaching and assessment to individual student “learning styles.” Some research actually showed that students learn better if they have to step outside of their “learning comfort zone.” Yet, many still argue that we all learn differently, and that this is what “learning styles” are about.

Learning preferences, attitudes or personalities are probably the terms we could be using instead. Students also have different levels of (temporary or permanent) abilities and we need to address them with . If someone can’t hear well, or doesn’t speak language well and would benefit from video captions and notes, this is not because of their “learning style,” and neither is it their preference or attitude, but a necessity, based on the (lack thereof) current ability. The premise of universal design is that if we design for those in need, we will benefit everyone because all of us will, at some point, need some accommodations. For example, you might not be using a wheelchair but you will benefit from automatic doors if you are pushing a baby stroller or pulling a heavy luggage.

It is surely important to be cognizant of the fact that our students are different in many ways, which will impact their learning success, including, for example, pre-requisite knowledge and meta-cognitive skills. Teaching so that we adjust the modality based on what is being taught, and the context in which it is being taught, teaching difficult concepts using a variety of examples, taking into account students’ preconceptions and pre-requisite knowledge, providing some flexibility in assessment so that students feel “in charge” of their learning and being sensitive towards students’ attitudes will surely improve the learning environment for all.

Whatever our personal attitudes and beliefs on this topic are, it is worth reading Gardner’s statement published by The Washington Post in order to, as he puts it, “set the record straight” regarding his own theory and beliefs. While he urges for further research, stating that the “absence of evidence does not prove non-existence of a phenomenon; it signals to educational researchers: back to the drawing boards,” at the end of his post he provides a clear lesson for educators:“Drop the term ‘styles.’ It will confuse others and it won’t help either you or your students.”

If we want to improve student learning, do you think that we should, for now, put this term to rest, and use others that better describe the complexities of teaching and learning?

This blog post was in March 2015. 

For many students, shyness presents a formidable obstacle to tutorial participation.  Sitting like ducks in a hot, stuffy classroom, they must converse with peers they barely know under the watchful gaze of the beady-eyed tutorial leader who, pen in hand, scratches symbols across an inscrutable participation checklist.

I have informally observed two types of shyness (frequently co-existing within the same person) to different degrees and in different proportions.  The intellectually shy student worries about not sounding clever enough.  For the socially shy student, the focus of the anxiety is not so much the ideas themselves but their delivery.  He or she overwhelmingly fears the red-hot sensation of others’ glances while trying to fashion an articulate response.  Undergraduates crippled by one or both of these qualms often find it well nigh impossible to utter a word in class, no matter how assiduously they read the required material.

My sympathy for the shy student stems from personal experience.  I was a socially shy undergraduate whose only saving grace was that my desire for high marks overrode my nervousness.  I blushed and stammered a bit at first, but ultimately earned strong participation grades.  I know, however, that there are many out there who are not so fortunate.  These sorts of students are all too aware they are facing a losing battle.  This realization can all too often lead to overall frustration with a learning system which, to their minds, unfairly favours those who enjoy speaking in class.^[1]

Reynold Redekopp and Elizabeth Bourbonniere observe that “a change of time, space, anonymity, and voice” can do wonders for encouraging reluctant oral participants.  They have discovered, for instance, that several students who rarely or never speak up in class make enthusiastic, insightful contributions to alternate forums such as online discussion threads and blogs.^[2]  This is a valid point and I do recommend virtual discussions if time and resources permit.  At the same time, we must beware of championing the internet as a single, fix-all solution.  Letting students retreat behind the cloak of digital text is engaging them in their comfort zone.  It is a good beginning and a good supplement to face-to-face discussion, but we are doing students no favours if we don’t challenge them to venture further into unfamiliar turf.

My own approach to student shyness aims to be empathetic while also recognizing that oral communication skills are critical for success in both academia and industry.  If we can reach a happy medium between making allowances and encouraging real effort towards speaking up in class, then we will have achieved something truly worthwhile.  After much ado, then, here my preferred method for helping shy students find their voice:

1) On the first day of class, I ask shy students to identify themselves to me via email, so we can work out some sort of system of accommodation.  To discourage freeloaders, I stress that emailing me will not result in a “free ride” as regards seminar attendance or participation.   Rather, self-identification will simply give me some context for assessing the participation in which they do take part.
 2) When a student writes me to let me know of a problem, I respond in the following way:

-I tell them that I have made a note in my books, and will take their shyness into account when calculating the participation mark.
-I also inform them that they can email me a short 1-2 paragraph reflection piece before each seminar, to contribute to (but not totally replace) their oral participation mark.
-I explain that it is my duty as an educator to help them build their oral skills and I am able to help them in the following ways:

• I encourage them to visit me during office hours or before or after seminar.  That way they can “test run” some ideas with me.  Students with intellectual shyness often want confirmation that their ideas are “right” even though they invariably give very thoughtful critiques.  Talking through ideas one-on-one gives them an opportunity to practice intellectual conversation in a non-threatening atmosphere.  It also provides me with the opportunity to ask them a question during tutorial with the knowledge that they will be able to answer it (more or less) confidently.
• I furthermore recommend that they write out their thoughts on the assigned readings before coming to class.  This gives them the opportunity to choose their words calmly and precisely without undue social pressure.  Upon arrival at the seminar, they will find that they have a “script” to remind them of what they wanted to say and exactly how they wished to articulate it (This can be beneficial to all of our students to encourage more informed discussion!)
• Finally, I ask shy students to challenge themselves to speak up at least once per class.  If they can fulfill that quota for the immediate future, then I’m happy.  As the term and their confidence progresses, I may increase the number to twice a class.  As an undergraduate, I remember feeling very nervous the first few times I talked in class, but I felt that if I could force myself to contribute three times right away then the nervousness would eventually wear off.  I was pleased to discover that it indeed did!

Students who plead shyness yet refuse to make an effort in some other way generally do not respond to my email or suggestions.  This is a shame, yet such cases are unavoidable.

By contrast, those who are serious about addressing their fear relish the opportunity to explore alternatives to the all-or-nothing oral participation grade.  As they progress, they find to their surprise that their confidence gradually improves.  As a former TA mentor for the Department of History, I suggested the above course of action to one of my teaching assistants.  According to the TA, this student flourished remarkably over the course of the term.  Indeed, the student came to look forward to seminars and was eagerly considering which upper-year courses to take in the future.

In short, shyness should provoke our empathy but not our pity.  Our response must balance respect for the student’s particular needs with the realization that we owe it to them to help them face their fears.  If I can nurture this change in even one student, then my work as a Teaching Assistant has truly been worthwhile.