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1 of 23 A peer-reviewed scholarly journal Editor: Gene V Glass College of Education Arizona State University Copyright is retained by the first or sole author, who grants right of first publication to the EDUCATION POLICY ANALYSIS ARCHIVES Articles published in EPAA are indexed in the Directory of Open Access Journals. Volume 1 Number 10September 14, 1993ISSN 1068-2341Technology Refusal and the Organizational Culture o f Schools Steven Hodas University of WashingtonCitation: Hodas, S. (1993, September 14). Technolog y refusal and the organizational culture of schools. Education Policy Analysis Archives, 1 (10). Retrieved [date] from http://epaa.asu.edu/epaa/v1n1 0.html. Abstract Analyses of the deployment of technology in school s usually note its lack of impact on the day-to-day values and practices of teachers, administrators, and students. This is generally construed as an imp lementation failure, or as resulting from a temperamental shortcoming on the p art of teachers or technologists. It is predicated on the tacit assump tion that the technology itself is value-free. This paper proposes that technology is never neutral: that its values and practices must always either support or subvert those of the organization into which it is placed; and that the failures of technology to alter the look-and-feel of schools more generally results from a mismatch between the values of school organization and those embedde d within the contested technology.THE CULTURE OF SCHOOLS For nearly a century outsiders have been trying to introduce technologies into high school classrooms, with remarkably consis tent results. After proclaiming the potential of the new tools to rescu e the classroom from the dark ages and usher in an age of efficiency and enlighte nment, technologists find to

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2 of 23 their dismay that teachers can often be persuaded t o use the new tools only slightly, if at all. They find further that, even w hen the tools are used, classroom practice--the look-and-feel of schools --remains fu ndamentally unchanged. Indeed, the last technologies to have had a lasting impact on the organization and practice of schooling were the textbook and the blackboard. What is often overlooked, however, is that schools themselves are a technology, a way of knowing applied to a specific goal, albeit one so familiar that it has become transparent. They are systems fo r preserving and transmitting information and authority, for inculca ting certain values and practices while minimizing or eliminating others, a nd have evolved over the past one hundred years or so to perform this function mo re efficiently (Tyack, 1974). Since schools do not deal in the transmission of al l possible knowledge or the promotion of the entire range of human experience b ut only a fairly stable subset thereof, and since their form has remained e ssentially unchanged over this time, we can even say that schools have been o ptimized for the job we entrust to them, that over time the technology of s chooling has been tuned. When schools are called upon to perform more "effic iently," to maximize outputs of whatever type (high school or college gr aduates, skilled workers, patriotic citizens, public support for education an d educators) from a given set of inputs (money, students, staff, legal mandates, pub lic confidence), it is their capacity to act as technologies, as rational instit utions, that is being called upon. It is expected that, after analyzing the facts at h and and determining that a problem exists (high drop-out rates or functional i lliteracy, for instance) and within the limits of their discretion (since they a re not free to act however they wish), schools will attempt to implement an optimal solution, the one that yields the most bang for the buck. This expectation, too, derives from the assumption that schools, since they are purpose-built machines will pursue the rational, deductive means-ends approach that characterizes ra tional pursuits. Following this, it is also expected that schools will embrace indeed will clamor for, any technology that would help them increase their prod uctivity, to perform more efficiently and effectively. It seems natural that they should employ the same tools that have led the world outside the classroom to become a much more information-dense environment, tools like film, tel evision, and computers. Certainly many educational technologists reflexivel y expect such a response, and are both miffed and baffled when it is not imme diately or abundantly forthcoming. But schools are not simply technologies, nor are t hey purely or even mainly rational in the ways in which they respond t o a given set of conditions. They also have other purposes, other identities, se ek other outputs. They are, perhaps first and foremost, organizations, and as s uch seek nothing so much as their own perpetuity. Entrenched or mature organiza tions (like the organisms to which they are functionally and etymologically rela ted) experience change or the challenge to change most significantly as a disrupt ion, an intrusion, as a failure of organismic defenses. This is true ten-fold for p ublic schools since they and their employees are exempt from nearly every form o f outside pressure which can be brought to bear on organizations that must a dapt or die (Chubb & Moe, 1990; Friedman, 1962). Organizations are not rational actors: their goal is not to solve a defined problem but to relieve the stress on the organizati on caused by pressure operating outside of or overwhelming the capacity o f normal channels. Their method is not a systematic evaluation of means and ends to produce an

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3 of 23 optimum response, but rather a trial-and-error rumm aging through Standard Operating Procedures to secure a satisficing respon se. As organizational entities, schools and the people who work in them m ust be less than impressed by the technologists' promises of greater efficienc y or optimized outcomes. The implied criticism contained in those promises and t he disruption of routine their implementations foreshadow, even (or especially) fo r the most dramatic of innovations, are enough to consign them to the equi pment closet. What appears to outsiders as a straightforward improveme nt can, to an organization, be felt as undesirably disruptive if it means that the culture must change its values and habits in order to implement it. Since c hange is its own downside, organization workers must always consider, even if unconsciously, the magnitude of the disruption an innovation will enge nder when evaluating its net benefit and overall desirability. This circumspecti on puts schools directly at odds with the rational premises of technologists for who m the maximization of organizational culture and values almost always tak es a back seat to the implementation of an 'optimal' response to a set of conditions defined as problematic. Indeed, a characteristic if unspoken a ssumption of technologists and of the rational model in general is that cultur es are infinitely malleable and accommodating to change. As we'll see later, school s' natural resistance to organizational change plays an important (though no t necessarily determining) role in shaping their response to technological inn ovation. Organizations are defined by their lines of flow o f power, information, and authority. Schools as workplaces are hierarchical i n the extreme, with a pyramidal structure of power, privilege, and access to information. (Indeed, proponents of the "hidden curriculum" theory of sch ooling propose that acceptance of hierarchy is one of the main object l essons schools are supposed to impart.) At the bottom, in terms of pay, prestig e, and formal autonomy are teachers. Next up are building-level administrators and finally, district-level administrators. Although students have even less po wer than teachers, and state-level actors more power than district adminis trators, neither of these groups is considered a part of school organizationa l culture (Fullan, 1991). Any practice (and a technology is, after all, a set of practices glued together by values) that threatens to disrupt this existing str ucture will meet tremendous resistance at both adoption and implementation stag es. A technology that reinforces existing lines of power and information is likely to be adopted (a management decision) but may or may not be implemen ted (a classroom-level decision). The divergence of interests between mana gers and workers, and the potential implementation fissures along those lines is a source of much of the implementation failure of widely-touted "advances." Finally, in addition to their rational and organiz ational elements, schools are also profoundly normative institutions. Most ob viously, schools are often both actors and venues for the performance of signi ficant shifts in social mores and policy. Within the lifetime of many Americans, for example, schools have institutionalized successive notions of separate-an d-unequal, separate-but-equal, equal resources for all, and, m ost recently, unequal resources for unequal needs as reifications of our shifting cultural conceptions of "fairness." Because schools are the ubiquitous i ntersection between the public and the private spheres of life, feelings ab out what "values" should and should not be represented in the curriculum run dee p and strong among Americans, even those without school-age children. When thinking about values, however, it is crucial to remember that sch ools generally do not seek

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4 of 23 this contentious role for themselves. More often th an not it is imposed upon them by legislators, the courts, community activist s, and others whose agenda, though it may to some degree overlap with that of t he schools', has a different origin and a different end (See Note 1). For if any thing, the norms of school culture are profoundly conservative, in the sense t hat the underlying mission of schools is the conservation and transmission of pre -existing, pre-defined categories of knowledge and being. As David Cohen p oints out, the structure of schools and the nature of teaching have remained su bstantially unchanged for seven hundred years, and there exists in the popula r mind a definite, conservative conception of what schools should be l ike, a template from which schools stray only at their peril (Cohen, 1987). When parents or others speak with disapproval of t he "values" that are or are not being transmitted to children in schools th ey largely miss the point. For the values that predominate most of all, that indee d must always predominate, are less the set of moral and social precepts which the critics have in mind than the institutional and organizational values on whic h the school itself is founded: respect for hierarchy, competitive individualizatio n, a receptivity to being ranked and judged, and the division of the world of knowle dge into discreet units and categories susceptible to mastery (Dreeben, 1968). To a very great extent these values are shared in common with our other large-sc ale institutions, business and government. Indeed, if they were not, it seems most unlikely that they would predominate in schools. They are, in fact, th e core values of the bourgeois humanism that has been developing in the West since the Enlightenment, and it is these norms and values, mo re than the shifting and era-bound constructions of social good, that school s enact in their normative capacity. There is a tight coupling between these v alues and schools-as-a-technology, just as there is between a ny technology and the values it operationalizes. Given this linkage it's often difficult to say with certainty whether school values predate the technol ogy of schools-aswe-know-them, in which case the technology is a dep endent tool dedicated to the service of an external mandate, or whether the technology produces, sui generis, a set of values of its own which are then propagated through society by school graduates. When it is this difficult to extr act a technology from its context, you know you have found a tool that does i ts job very, very well. SCHOOL WORKERS In manifesting its culture, school places teachers and administrators in an unusual and contradictory position. They are subjec ted to many of the limitations of highly bureaucratic organizations bu t are denied the support and incentive structures with which bureaucracies usual ly offset such constraints. School workers are the objects of recurring scrutin y from interested and influential parties outside of what is generally co nceived of as the "school system," many of whom have conflicting (and often i nchoate) expectations for what schools should accomplish. Their means, ends, and abilities are regularly called into question by parents, politicians, socia l scientists, the business community, and any group with an ideological axe to grind, not least by those who consider themselves to be allies of schools. Ye t teachers and administrators almost always lack the rights of sel f-definition and discretionary control of resources (time, money, curriculum) that generally accompany this kind of accountability to give it form and meaning. Despite their strident protests

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5 of 23 school workers are treated more as day laborers tha n as professionals. At the same time, even the most complacent bureaucr acies direct some incentives at their workers. These may be monetary, in the form of performance bonuses or stock options, career enhancing in the f orm of promotions, or sanctions like demotion and the consequent loss of authority and responsibility. Schools generally offer none of these. Instead they proffer to good and bad alike a level of job security that would be the env y of a Japanese sarariman: unless you commit a felony or espouse views unpopul ar in your community you are essentially guaranteed employment for as long a s you like, no matter what the quality of your work. Teachers cannot be demote d: there is no position of lesser authority or responsibility within schools. Just as students are essentially rewarded with promotion for filling seats and not c ausing trouble, so teachers are paid and promoted on the basis of seniority and credentials rather than performance. Providing they have not violated some school norm, it is not uncommon for teachers or administrators who demonst rate incompetence or worse at their assigned tasks to be transferred, ev en promoted, to off-line positions of higher authority rather than being fir ed, demoted, or retrained. Perversely, the only path to formally recognized in crease in status for dedicated, talented teachers is to stop teaching, to change jo bs and become administrators. Some schools and states are startin g to create Master Teacher designations and other forms of status enhancement to address the need for formal recognition of excellence, but the overwhelm ingly dominant practice provides no such acknowledgement for outstanding pr actitioners, thus lumping all teachers together into an undifferentiated mass This pervasive deskilling of and condescension towards the teachers' craft is ce ntral to the organizational culture of schools, and teachers' reaction against it forms the base of their suspicions of the motives and values of technologis ts who claim to be able to improve education by substituting the output of a t eacher with that of a box. As with any organization possessed of a distinct an d pervasive culture, schools attract and retain either those most comfor table with their premises and conditions, those without other options, or those w ho care deeply about the organizational mission and are willing to accept th e personal disadvantages that may accompany a "calling." Most beginning teachers identify with the latter group, and approach their nascent careers with exci tement and commitment. Indeed, they are prepared to work for not much mone y under difficult conditions in order to pursue this commitment. It's in the nat ure of people and organizations, however, for workaday values and pra ctices to replace idealism as the defining experience of place and purpose. Th is means that over the long term the idealism and enthusiasm of the novice teac her must necessarily give way to the veteran's acquiescence to routine. It is this willingness to accept the values of the organizational culture and not the na ture of the personal rewards that determines who remains in teaching and who fai ls or leaves. In plumbing the nature of a bureaucratic organizati on, we must take into account the personalities and skill sets of those w ho seek to join it. According to studies cited by Howley et al, prospective teachers have lower test scores than do prospective nurses, biologists, chemists, aerona utical engineers, sociologists, political scientists, and public admi nistrators (Howley, Pendarvis & Howley, 1993). They also cite studies which demonst rate a negative correlation between intellectual aptitude and the length of a t eacher's career. Recognizing that there are many reasons to dispute a correlatio n between standardized test

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6 of 23 scores with intellectual capacity, depth, or flexib ility, Howley cites Galambos et al. to demonstrate that teachers, as compared to arts and sciences graduate s, take fewer hours in mathematics, English, physics, chemistry, economics, history, political sciences, sociology, other socia l sciences, foreign languages, philosophy, and other humanities. (Galam bos, Cornett & Spitler, 1985) She reports other studies which show that teachers read no more, and probably less, than the average middle class person (approximately three to eight books per year) and that their reading tends overwhelmingly to be popular material rather than scholarly or scientific work ( Duffey, 1973, 1974; Vieth, 1981). The fact that teachers are not, as a group, accomplished or engaged intellectuals does not require that they be resista nt to change. It does suggest, though, a certain comfort with stasis and a relucta nce to expand both the intellectual horizon and the skill set necessary to achieve proficiency with new technologies. This may help to explain the unusuall y long latency required to master personal computers that has been reported to Kerr and Sheingold by teachers who have incorporated technological innova tions into their practice (Kerr, 1991; Sheingold, 1990). Given that long-term school workers are well adapt ed to a particular ecosocial niche it is understandable that their fir st response to attempts at innovation would be one of resistance. Calls for ch ange of any kind are seen as impositions or disturbances to be quelled as soon a s possible, as unreasonable attempts to change the rules in the middle of the g ame. Larry Cuban has described the position of teachers as one of "situa tionally constrained choice," in which the ability to pursue options actively des ired is limited by the environment in which teachers work (Cuban, 1986). W hile this is true as far as it goes, I prefer to see the process as one of gradual adaptation and acquiescence to the values and processes of the org anization, rather than the continued resistance and frustration implied by Cub an; in other words, as one of situationally induced adaptation. This, I think, mo re easily explains the affect and frame of mind of most veteran teachers and admi nistrators, and accommodates the likelihood that the average teache r is no more heroic or enduring than the average office worker.THE CULTURE OF TECHNOLOGY If the State religion of America is Progress, then surely technology provides its icons. It is largely through the produ ction of ever-more marvelous machines that we redeem the promise of a better tom orrow, confirm the world's perfectibility, and resorb some to ourselves and to our institutions. As Cohen succinctly puts it, "...Americans have celebrated technology as a power ful force for change nearly everywhere in social life...[and] are fond of picturing technology as a liberating force: cleaning up the w orkplace, easing workers' burdens, making the good life broadly avai lable, increasing disposable income, and the like." (Cohen, 1987, p. 154)

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7 of 23 But it goes further than that. Our machines not onl y signal and refresh our modernity, they serve as foundational metaphors for many of our institutions, schools among them (See Note 2). Machines corporeal ize our rationality, demonstrate our mastery. They always have a purpose and they are always _prima facie_ suited to the task for which they wer e designed. Every machine is an ideal type, and even the merest of them, immune to the thousand natural shocks the flesh (and its institutions) is heir to, occupies a pinnacle of fitness and manifests a clarity of purpose of which our ins titutions can only dream. They reflect well on us, and we measure ourselves b y their number and complexity. It is nearly inconceivable that we woul d imagine a school to be complete, no, to be American, that was without a re presentative sample of these icons of affirmation. It is absolutely inconc eivable that we would trust our children, our posterity, to anything less than a ma chine, and so we relentlessly build, and generally fill, our schools. For although they often seem so ageless and resili ent as to be almost Sphinx-like in their inscrutability, schools as we know them are both relatively recent and consciously modeled on that most product ive of all technologies, the factory (Tyack, 1974). For at least the last hundre d years, schools have been elaborated as machines set up to convert raw materi als (new students) into finished products (graduates, citizens, workers) th rough the application of certain processes (pedagogy, discipline, curricular materials, gym). It is this processing function that drives the rationalist pro position that schools can be tuned well or poorly, can be made more or less effi cient in their operation. Although it seldom articulates them overtly, this v iew is predicated on the assumptions that we know what we want schools to do that what we want is unitary and can be measured, and that it can be aff ected by regular, replicable modifications to one or more school processes. It p resumes that the limits of education are essentially technological limits and that better technology will remove them. It is the most generic and encompassin g theory of "educational technology," since it embraces all curricular, inst ructional, and material aspects of the school experience. In its more comprehensive and embracing instantiations such an attitude does not limit its concerns only to the school plant. For early progressive educators (and again t oday) students' readiness-to-learn, in the form of adequate nutriti on, housing, and medical care, was seen as a proper concern for school "technologi sts." So far we can detect at least two impetuses for wan ting to bring machines into schools. The first is the desire of the centra l planner and social scientist to have these social crucibles be as modern as the wor ld of tomorrow they help conjure into being. Cuban details how each new deve lopment in the popularization of information and entertainment tec hnology (radio, film, television, computers) in society at large brought with it a corresponding insistence that the deployment of this revolutionar y machine into schools would, finally, bring the classroom out of the dark ages a nd into the modern world (Cuban, 1986). Attempts to deploy technology that f ollow this pattern seldom specify how the machines will be used, and if outco mes are discussed at all it is in vague, incantatory language that employs words m ore as talismans than as descriptors. The connection between such scenarios and the outcomes they believe they strive for is essentially semiomagic al, using up-to-date machinery to signify modernity and believing that the transfo rmative power resides in the box itself rather than in the uses to which it is p ut. Given their non-rational character, it's not surprising that these initiativ es originate with elected officials,

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8 of 23 school administrators, community groups (business, parents) and others for whom the signalling function is important. They ten d not to originate with technologists or classroom teachers, who have very different (if very differing) agendae. By "technologists" I mean those whose avowed goal is to make schooling more efficient through the manipulation of its obje cts or processes. "Efficiency," however, is not the straightforward, value-free qua ntity that those who most embrace it suppose it to be. An industrial-revoluti on coinage, the concept of efficiency was intended to denote the relative quan tity of useless energy consumed during manufacturing or processing, contex ts in which such things can be easily and unambiguously measured. Clearly, the socially-situated diffusion of skills and values that is our system o f education presents a very different case, one that is more complex, more cont ested, more informed by subjectivity. In order to apply the concept of effi ciency to such a messy world technologists and others must narrow their gaze to focus on one particular element of the process. (Under "others" I include e conomists, those technologists-without-machines, whose persistent at tempts to discover and apply a production function to education in the fac e of piles of their own unambiguous evidence, ranks with the alchemists' pe rsevering search for the philosopher's stone as one of rationality's great c ul de sacs.) Technologists have therefore tended to focus on the transfer of i nformation to students, partly because it is one of the few processes in schools t hat can be measured, and partly because it is one of the few functions that everyone agrees schools should perform. What they discovered almost immedia tely was that when judged simply as knowledge-transfer machines school s are just not very good. It seems to take an awful lot of workers, money, and o ther resources to transfer a relatively small amount of information. By framing the question in this way, technologists (re)cast education as a fundamentally didactic process, and problems with education as problems of "instruction al delivery." This didacticism posits education as the transfer of information fro m a repository to a receptacle, a cognitive diffusion gradient across a membrane co nstituted not by the rich, tumultuous, contradictory social processes that sit uate the student, the teacher, and the school within society, but solely by the "i nstructional delivery vehicle." By this light, of course, nearly any organic, indig enous school practice or organization will be found wanting, since schools i ntend to promote many outcomes ahead of information transfer. The second concern of technologists has been standa rdization. Schools are supposed to produce the same outputs year after year. They are supposed to ensure that seventh graders, say, will emerge at essentially the same age with essentially the same sets of skills and broad values this year as last. If they do not then important categories like "seventh grad e" or even "common school" lose their meaning. Signalling functions aside, the explicit reason given for modelling schools on factories was their promise of standardization, of uniformity of outcome. Technologists and planners h ave long realized that the weakest link in this chain is the last, "the instru ctional delivery vehicle," the teacher. Standardization of curricula, of facilitie s, of teacher certification requirements, means little once the classroom door is closed and the teacher is alone with her students. The inefficiency and varia bility of this last crucial stage undoes all prior ratiocination. For this reason, ed ucational technologists have tended to produce solutions designed not to aid the teacher, but to recast, recapitulate, or replace her, either with machines or through the introduction of

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9 of 23 "teacher-proof" curricula (See Note 3). Yet all these attempts to modernize, to rationalize to "improve" the schools by making them more efficient have had very little effect. Textbooks, paperbacks, blackboards, radio, film, film strips, airplanes, television, satellite systems and telecommunications have all in their ti me been hailed as modernizers of American education (Cuban, 1986). Co hen, for his part, demonstrates how, with the exception of the textboo k and the blackboard, none of these much vaunted exemplars of modern efficienc y have had any significant effect on school organization or practice (Cohen, 1 987). They have not made schools more modern, more efficient, more congruent with the world outside the school, or had any of the myriad other effects thei r advocates were sure they would have. Why is this so?THE CULTURE OF REFUSAL Technology can potentially work change on both the organizational and practice patterns of schools. That change can subve rt or reinforce existing lines of power and information, and this change can be, f or the technologist or the school personnel, intentional, inadvertent or a com bination of the two. Since schools are not monolithic but composed of groups w ith diverse and generally competing interests on the rational, organizational and symbolic levels, adoption and implementation of a proposed technolog y are two very different matters. And yet each battle is essentially the same battle The technologists' rhetoric is remarkably consistent regardless of the specifics of the machine at issue. So too is their response when the technologi es in question meet with only a lukewarm response: to blame the stubborn backward ness of teachers or the inflexibility and insularity of school culture. Whi le elements of both of these certainly play their part in what I'll call 'techno logy refusal' on the part of schools, it behooves us to remember that all technologies ha ve values and practices embedded within them. In this respect, at least, te chnology is never neutral; it always makes a difference. From this perspective, t he reactionary response on the part of schools (by which I mean the response o f individuals within schools acting to support their institutional function) per ceived by technology advocates makes a great deal more sense than the pig-headed L uddism so often portrayed. Further, technology refusal represents a n immediate and, I believe, fundamentally accurate assessment of the challenges to existing structures and authority that are embodied or embedded in the cont ested technology. I believe further that the depth of the resistance is general ly and in broad strokes proportionate to the seriousness of the actual thre at. Change advocates, of whom technologists are a perma nent subset, often try to have things both ways. On the one hand, the revolutionary potential of the innovation is emphasized, while at the same time cu rrent practitioners are reassured (implicitly or explicitly) that their rol es, positions, and relationships will remain by and large as they were before. The introd uction of computers, for example, is hailed in one discourse (directed towar ds the public and towards policy makers) as a process which will radically ch ange the nature of what goes on in the classroom, give students entirely new set s of skills, and permanently shift the terrain of learning and schools. In other discourse (directed towards administrators and teachers) computers are sold as straightforward tools to assist them in carrying out pre-existing tasks and fulfilling pre-existing roles, not

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10 of 23 as Trojan Horses whose acceptance will ultimately r equire the acquisition of an entirely new set of skills and world outlook. Since school workers and their practice do not (indeed, cannot) fully maximize ins tructional delivery, the "remedies" or alternatives proposed by technologist s necessarily embody overt or implicit critiques of workers' world view as wel l as their practices. The more innovative the approach the greater its critique, a nd hence its threat to existing principles and order. When confronted with this cha llenge, workers have two responses from which to choose. They can ignore or subvert implementation of the change or they can coopt or repurpose it to sup port their existing practices. In contrast to generalized reform efforts, which Sa rason maintains are more likely to be implemented the more radical they are, these efforts by technologists to change the institution of schoolin g from the classroom up make teachers the objects rather than the subjects of th e reformist gaze (Sarason, 1990). The more potent and pointed technologists' i ll-concealed disinterest in or disregard for the school-order of things, the less likely their suggestion are to be put into practice. The stated anxiety of teachers w orried about losing their jobs to machines is also a resistance to the re-visionin g of the values and purposes of schooling itself, a struggle over the soul of sc hool. It is about self-interest, to be sure, but it is also about self-definition. Much of the question of teacher self-definition rev olves around the anxiety generated by their unfamiliarity and incompetence w ith the new machines. The fear of being embarrassed is a major de-motivating factor in the acquisition of the skills required to use computer technology in t he classroom (Honey & Moeller, 1990; Kerr, 1991; Sheingold & Hadley, 1990 ). This is an area where institutional and individual interests converge to produce a foregone effect. The (self) selection for teaching of individuals who by and large show neither interest nor aptitude for ongoing intellectual development b uttressed by the condition of lifetime employment almost guarantees a teacher cor ps that is extremely reluctant to attempt change. This, in turn, suits t he interests of school management whose job is made considerably simpler w ith a population of workers whose complacence acts as a buffer against change. Since teachers' situationally-reinforced lack of motivation inhibit s their action as change agents, school administrators are relieved of the responsib ility for developing the creative management skills that would be required f or teachers to develop new classroom skills. There are technologies which are suited perfectly t o such a climate; those that either actively support the organization of sc hools or are flexible enough to readily conform to it (Cohen, 1987). Not surprising ly, they are the ones that are so ubiquitous, so integrated into school practice a s to be almost invisible. On the classroom level we would expect to find tools a nd processes that both ease the physical labor of the teacher while maintaining her traditional role within the classroom. The blackboard, the duplicating machine, and the overhead projector come immediately to mind. All enhance the teacher's authoritative position as information source, and reduce the phys ical effort required to communicate written information so that more energy can be devoted to the non-didactic tasks of supervision, arbitration, and administration. This type of technology seldom poses a threat to any of the teac her's functions, is fundamentally supportive of the school-values menti oned earlier, and reproduces locally the same types of power and info rmation relationships through which the teacher herself engages her admin istrators. We might also consider the school intercom system. Ideally suited to the purposes of

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11 of 23 centralized authority and the one-way flow of infor mation, it is as ubiquitous in classrooms as its polar opposite, the direct-dial t elephone, is rare. Technologies such as these will seldom meet with implementation resistance from teachers because they support them in the roles through whic h teachers define themselves, and contain no critique of teachers' pr actice, skills, or values. In general, resources that can be administered, that c an be made subject to central control and organization, will find more fa vor from both administrators and teachers than those that cannot. These examples of successful technologies confirm t he requirement of simplicity if a technology is to become widely disp ersed through classrooms. This has partly to do with the levels of general te acher aptitude described above, partly with the amount of time available to teachers to learn new tools, and partly with the very real need for teachers to appear competent. As with prison administration and dog training, a constant concern in the running of schools is that the subject population not be remin ded what little genuine authority supports the power its masters exercise. Although there are more complex models for understanding the diffuse polyse mous generation of power and status that comprise the warp and woof of insti tutional fabric (see Foucault on medicine or prisons, for example), for our purpo ses here a simple model of authorityas-imposition will suffice. In this trad ition, French and Raven describe the five sources of power as follows: Reward, the power to give or withhold something the other wants; 1. Coercive, the power to inflict some kind of punishm ent; 2. Legitimate, the use of institutionally-sanctioned p osition or authority; 3. Referent, the use of personal attraction, the desir e to be like the other, or to be identified with what the other is identified with; 4. Expert, the authority that derives from superior sk ill or competence. (French & Raven, 1968). 5. Short of insurrection, the only form of power acce ssible to students is Expert power. Thus, an unfortunate (but hardly unfo reseeable) consequence of school organization is that teachers for whom autho rity is important must prevent their students from acquiring or demonstrat ing mastery of a degree or a domain that would reflect unfavorably on the teache r. Although some teachers handle it with more grace and maturity than others, most dread the occasions when they are "shown up" by their students, and we have all witnessed or experienced those awkward, lingering out-of-time mo ments when the teacher must voluntarily cede authority to the student who knows how to thread the projector or connect the VCR. At such times the bri ttle consensual veneer of adult expertise is cracked, the order of things bri efly disrupted (confirmed by the sudden eruption of murmuring in the classroom), and casual but alert attention directed by teacher and students alike toward the p erformance of the evanescent student expert. It is one thing for students to demonstrate experti se in areas that are not expected to be a formal part of teachers' skill set like threading 16mm projectors. If technologists have their way, howeve r, teachers will be expected to know how to use computers, networks, and databas es with the same facility they now use blackboards and textbooks, and with gr eater facility than the roomful of resourceful, inquisitive students who we re weaned on the stuff. The pressure towards competence and the acquisition of new skills, which is

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12 of 23 generally not a feature of school culture or the em ployment contracts under which teachers work, will be strong. It will come f rom unexpected directions: from below (from the "tools" themselves) and from w ithin, as teachers struggle to retain mastery over their students. It's easy to see why teachers would resist this scenario. Administrators, for their part, have equally few organizational incentives for inviting this disruption into school s. Not only would they be required to respond to teachers' demands for the ti me and resources needed to attain proficiency, they themselves would need to a ttain some minimum level of competence in order to retain authority over teache rs. Since there is no way for the system to reward this kind of involved, respons ible management, nor any way to penalize its absence, school authorities' mo st sensible route is to ignore or quell demands for the implementation of such pot entially disruptive processes. The machines of the day are microcomputers and mic rocomputer networks. Having inherited the mantle of modernity from instructional television and computer-aided instruction, they are presently charged with the transformation of schools. As school technologies, however, they are unusually polyvalent: they can both support and subvert the s ymbolic, organizational, and normative dimensions of school practice. They can w eaken or strengthen the fields of power and information which emanate from the institutional positions of students, teachers, and administrators. It's my the sis that authority and status within organizations are constituted from two sourc es: power, itself sourced as outlined by French and Raven, and control over and access to the form and flow of information. Authority and status are singu larities, as it were, produced by a particular confluence of (potentially) shiftin g fields of power and information. This is true in the organizational sen se for all bureaucracies, where the person who knows something is as important as t he person who can do something. In schools, though, facility with inform ation is (in a slightly different sense) at the heart of key norms, values, and pract ices as well. As bureaucratic, hierarchical institutions and as concretizations of a particular tradition of pedagogy, schools teach and model as canonical a pa rticular arrangement of paths for the flow of information. Introducing comp uters into schools highlights these assumptions, causes these normally invisible assumptions and channels to fluoresce. It is not their capacity to process information th at gives computers this special ability. Data processing systems have exist ed in large school districts for decades, helping central administration to run thei r organizations more efficiently. Irregularities of control call attenti on to themselves and thereby remind workers that such arrangements are created t hings, neither aboriginal nor ahistorical but purpose-built and recent. To th e extent that automation can help existing administrative processes to run more smoothly and recede into the background, they help to reintroduce a kind of medi eval reassurance regarding the rightness and permanence of a given order. Scho ols and school workers, particularly, seem to prefer this type of predictab ility. Such data processing regimes also relieve school workers of much of the tedium of their administrative work: scheduling, grading, communica tion, and tracking are all made less drudging by automation. The easing of the se burdens offered by the machine fits very well with popular conceptions of these laborsaving devices and offers workers a benefit in exchange for their participation in a process which strengthens the mechanisms of control exerted by the bureaucracy over their daily lives and practice. To the extent that they are aware of this bargain at

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13 of 23 all most are willing to accept it. This strengthening of administrative priority and control over teachers is recapitulated by teachers over students when comput ers are used for CAI or as "integrated learning systems." Although they have f allen out of favor somewhat of late, the vast majority of school-based computer use has taken place in this context. Kids are brought en masse to a (generally) windowless room presided over by a man with no other function than to admini ster the machines. There they work for between 30 and 50 minutes on drill-an d-practice software that compels them to perform simple tasks over and over until they have reached a preset level of proficiency, at which time they are started on new tasks. This behaviorist fantasy fits neatly into the orga nizational model of schools, and into much pedagogical practice as well The progress and work habits of each student are carefully tracked by the server. Reports can be generated detailing the number of right and wrong a nswers, the amount of time spent on each question, the amount of "idle" time s pent between questions, the number of times the student asked the system for he lp, the tools she used, etc. Not much use is ever made of this information (assu ming some could be) except to compare students and classes against one another. Nevertheless, the ability to monitor work habits, to break tasks down into discrete chunks, and the inability of the student to determine what she work s on or how she works on it fits quite well into the rationalist model of the s chool-as-factory and the technologists goal of maximizing "instructional del ivery." Such systems were an easy sell. They complemented existing organizational and practice models, and they signal led modernity and standardization (Newman, 1992). (Perversely, they w ere also claimed to promote individualization, since each student was t asked and speeded separately from the rest of the group. The fact she was working on exactly the same problems, with the same tools and in the same sequence as her classmates seems not to have mattered.) Since stude nts work in isolation they accord well with the premise of structured competit ion. Since mastery at one level leads relentlessly to more difficult (but ess entially identical) problems the students never have a chance to exhibit facility of a type that would threaten their teacher, and since the terminals at which the y work are both limited in their capacities and centrally controlled students have n o opportunity to acquire a disruptive mastery of the technology itself. Labs l ike these are prime examples of the nonneutrality of technology. They do not f oster all or even several types of learning but rather one particular, and particul arly narrow, conception whose origin is not with teachers who work with children but with the technologists, industrialists, and military designers who develop "man-machine systems" (Noble, 1991). They do not encourage or even permit many types of classroom organization but only one. They instantiate and enf orce only one model of organization, of pedagogy, of relationship between people and machines. They are biased, and their easy acceptance into schools is indicative of the extent to which that bias is shared by those who work there. The technology I have been describing is not the t echnology of computers, or computers-in-schools per se, any more than armored cars represent the technology of internal combustion or washing machines the technology of electromagnetic induction. They are m achines, to be sure, but machines require a social organization to become te chnologies. Thus the uses of computers described above for data-processing an d "learning labs" are not examples of computer technologies but of normative, administrative, and

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14 of 23 pedagogical technologies supported by computers. This distinction is important because many teacher s, lay people, and some administrators have concluded from their exper iences with such systems that computers in school are anathema to their noti ons of what schools ought to do with and for children. Computer-based technologi es of the kind described above are hardly "neutral." Indeed, they are intens ely normative and send unambiguous signals about what school is for and wh at qualities teachers ought to emulate and model. Interpersonal and social dyna mics, serendipity, cognitive apprenticeship, and play all seem to be disdained b y this instantiation of machine learning. The teacher's fear of "being repl aced by a computer" is a complex anxiety. It obviously has a large component of institutional self-interest, since no one wants to lose their job. But the notio n that it would be possible to be replaced by a machine cuts deeper, to the heart of teachers' identity and self-respect. There has evolved among teachers an i nsular culture of self-congratulation that attempts to reassure them that they are competent and selfless professionals, that their social and insti tutional function is to develop the very best qualities in the children they serve. The suggestion that the de-skilled tasks that teachers are called upon to perform migh t be better performed by machines calls this self-image into question in a m anner that is painfully direct. It is hence unwelcome. Beyond the question of self-respect but intertwine d with it is the frustration that many teachers experience with the promulgation of a purely rationalist notion of education. Teachers, after al l, are witness and partner to human development in a richer and more complex sens e than educational technologists will ever be. Schools are where child ren grow up. They spend more waking hours in school with their teachers tha n they do at home with their parents. The violence that technologists do to our only public children's space by reducing it to an "instructional delivery vehicl e" is enormous, and teachers know that. To abstract a narrow and impoverished co ncept of human sentience from the industrial laboratory and then inflict it on children for the sake of "efficiency" is a gratuitous, stunting stupidity an d teachers know that, too. Many simply prefer not to collaborate with a process the y experience as fundamentally disrespectful to kids and teachers al ike. Finally, there is the issue of the reshaping and r edefining of teaching practice to suit the needs of technology. Cuban and Cohen maintain that technologies that are not sufficiently flexible to suit the existing strictures of classroom practice have little chance of significan t implementation (Cohen, 1987; Cuban, 1986). While this may be true for "ins tructional delivery vehicles" like educational films or television, it doesn't ho ld for the myriad other educational technologies whose domain and deploymen t are not circumscribed by an individual classroom. The most obvious exampl e is standardized testing. There is an extensive body of literature which show s that this technology, seldom supported and often resisted by teachers, ha s nevertheless had profound consequences on their classroom practice ( Shepard & Dougherty, 1991; Shepard, 1991). Teachers have significantly r eoriented the content and method of their instruction to facilitate capture b y these instruments. Despite the absence of formal institutional sanctions, teachers have succumbed to strong pressure from their administrations for students to perform well on these tests, and have restructured their practice accordingly. T he dictum that, "when the classroom door closes teachers can do what they lik e," doesn't apply when crucial technologies of assessment reside outside t he classroom (See Note 4).

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15 of 23 Teachers are hence understandably concerned that th e introduction of computers in the form of a technology with its own built-in assessment capabilities will not function to provide them with another tool they can use or not as they wish, but rather that it might force th em to tailor the content and style of their teaching to suit the technology.CULTURAL CHANGE In this essay I've painted a rather depressing pic ture of schools as grim, self-perpetuating systems of repressive mediocrity for their employees and their students. I've described how technologies are vario usly embraced and resisted in the effort to perpetuate this system and maintai n the organizational status quo. I've tried to make clear that since schools ar e complex organizations not all their component members or constituencies have iden tical interests at all times; that a technology that is favorable to one faction at a given moment may be resisted by another which might favor it for differ ent reasons under different circumstances. Most importantly, I've tried to show that technologies are neither value-free nor constituted simply by machines or pr ocesses themselves. Rather, they are the uses of machines in support of highly normative, value-laden institutional and social systems. I don't believe that decisions to deploy or not de ploy a given technology are made with diabolic or conspiratorial intent. I don't believe that teachers and administrators consciously plot to consolidate thei r hegemony. Rather, I believe that the mental model under which they operate fore closes some options even before they can be formally considered, while makin g others seem natural, neutral, and, most dangerously, valuefree. It is those latter options, those 'easy' technologies that are adopted and implemente d in schools. If one accepts this framework, there are only two ways to imagine a relationship between an introduction of technology into schools and a subst antive change in what schools do and how they do it. The first is to beli eve that some technologies can function as Trojan Horses; that is, that they can e ngender practices which schools find desirable or acceptable but which neve rtheless operationalize new underlying values which in turn bring about fundame ntal change in school structure and practice. The second is to hope that schools will come to re -evaluate the social purposes they serve, the manner in which they serve them, or the principles of socially-developed cognition from which they operat e. The impetus for this change may be internal, as teachers and administrat ors decide that their self-interest in serving new purposes is greater th an their interest in perpetuating the existing scheme of things. It may be external, as powerful outside forces adjust the inputs available to and o utputs desired from the schools. It may be institutional, as restructuring initiatives encourage schools to compete with one another in a newly-created educati onal marketplace. To a certain extent all these processes are underw ay, albeit slowly, unevenly, and under contestation. On the Trojan Hor se front, there are more and more reports of teachers taking physical and pe dagogical control of computers from the labs and the technologists. They are being placed in classrooms and used as polymorphic resources, facil itators, and enablers of complex social learning activities (Newman, 1990, 1 992; Kerr, 1991). As computers themselves grow farther from their origin s as military-industrial technologies, educational technologists increasingl y are people whose values

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16 of 23 are more child-centered than those of their predece ssors. This is reflected in the software they create, the uses they imagine for tec hnology, and their ideas about exploration and collaboration (Char & Newman, 1986; Wilson & Tally, 1991; Collins & Brown, 1986). If students, parents, and teachers are all pleased with the cognitive and affective changes induced lo cally by working with these types of tools (and it is by no means certain that they will be), it may become difficult to sustain the older, more repressive fea tures of school organization of which centrally-administered and imposed technology is but one example. The second possibility, that schools will re-evalu ate their means and ends, also seems to have momentum behind it, at lea st within a somewhat circumscribed compass. Teachers and administrators are taking steps to secure the autonomy neccesary to re-engineer schools-as-te chnologies, though not all are happy with this unforeseen responsibility and s ome choose to abdicate it. Nevertheless, for the first time practitioners are being given the chance to re-design schools based on what they've learned fro m their experiences with children. Given that chance, many teachers and admi nistrators are demonstrating that schools and school technology ca n support practices of the kind which reflect values described by Wendell Berr y in another context as care, competence, and frugality in the uses of the world (Berry, 1970). This, in turn, precipitates a re-visioning of the purposes and org anization of school technologies away from the top-down, centrally-admi nistered, instantiations which have failed so remarkably in the past. Most importantly, however, I believe that the domi nant mechanical metaphor on which we model our institutions is chan ging. As we move from machine to information models we will inevitably re quire that our institutions reflect the increased fluidity, immanence, and ubiq uity that such models presuppose (See Note 5). As we change our medieval conceptions of information from something that is stored in a fixe d, canonical form in a repository designed exclusively for that purpose an d whose transfer is a formal, specialized activity that takes place mainly within machines called schools, schools will change too. They will not, as some nai vely claim, become redundant or vestigial simply because their primacy as information-processing modelers is diminished (Perelman, 1992). Rather, th ey will continue to perform the same functions they always have: those relating to the reproduction of the values and processes of the society in which they'r e situated. What this underlines, I think, is that machines ca n indeed change the culture of organizations, even ones as entrenched a nd recalcitrant as schools have proven to be. But they do it not, as technolog ists have generally imagined, by enabling schools to do the same job only better (more cheaply, more efficiently, more consistently, more equitably) but by causing them to change their conception of both what it is they do and the world in which they do it. This shift is not instigated by the machines deployed wi thin schools but by those outside of it, those that shape and organize the so cial, economic, and informative relationships in which schools are situ ated and which they perpetuate. This is not the same as saying that mac hines which are widely used outside the classroom will automatically diffuse os motically into the classroom and be used there: history shows that this is clear ly not the norm. What is happening, simply put, is that the wide, w et world is rapidly changing the ways it organizes its work, its people and its processes, reconceptualizing them around the metaphors and pra ctices enabled and embodied by its new supreme machines, distributed m icrocomputer networks.

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17 of 23 Archaic organizations from the CIA to IBM to the un iversity have fundamentally rearranged themselves along the lines I've outlined in the notes to this report. Schools have been out of step with this change, and it is this misalignment more than anything else that causes us to say that schools are "failing" when in fact they are doing exactly the jobs they were set up and refined over generations to perform. It is the world around them that has changed, so much so that the jobs we asked them to carry out now see m ridiculous, now make us angry. The fundamental instinct of durable organizations is to resist change: that is why they are durable. As schools scurry to serve the new bidding of the old masters, and as they induct younger workers raised and trained under the auspices of new models and new practices, we discov er-not surprisingly -that schools too are reorienting themselves along the li nes of the latest dominant machine and, consequently, welcome those machines i nside to assist in their nascent realignment of means and ends. The norms and procedures of entrenched bureaucrati c organizations are strong and self-reinforcing. They attract people of like minds and repel or expel those who don't share them. Schools are technologie s, machines with a purpose. They embed their norms and processes in th eir outputs, which in the case of schools helps them to further strengthen th eir cultural position and resist marginalization. But they can never be independent of the values of society at large: if those change, as I believe they are begin ning to, then schools must too. If they do not, then they will be replaced, relegat ed to the parts-bin of history. Notes This usage of the schools to promote an "outside" a genda once again invokes their role as a transmission technology eve n as it fails to take into account the schools' own values and culture. It sha res the technologists' instrumentalism, albeit to different ends. 1. Although we may apotheosize this habit we didn't in vent it. The desire to apprehend the complexity of the world, to encompass it in a more immediately accessible form, gives Western culture a long, albeit narrow, history of mechanical and neo-mechanical metaphor. The shift from one metaphor to another generally lags technology itsel f by a generation or so, and each shift to a new metaphor drastically effect s the way cultures view the natural and human worlds. Until the fourteenth century there were no such me taphors. Indeed, the rope of nearly all metaphor, metonymy, and anal ogy was tied to the natural or supernatural rather than to the created world, simply because there were no complex machines as we understand the m today. The invention of the astrolabe, and its close and quick descendant, the clock, provided the first tangible human creation whose co mplexity was sufficient to embody the observed complexity of the natural wo rld. It's at this time that we start seeing references to the intricate 'w orkings' of things and of their proper 'regulation,' usually of the cosmos an d nature, although occasionally of human systems as well. The clock, w ith its numerous intricate, precise, and interlocking components, an d felicitous ability to corporealize the abstraction of temporality, shaped western perceptions of the world by serving as its chief systemic metaphor for the next five hundred years. 2.

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18 of 23 In the early nineteenth-century, the metaphor of t he clock was gradually replaced by that of the engine, and somew hat more generally, by the notion of the machine as a phylum unto itsel f. The figures shift from those of intricacy and precision to those of 'drive and 'power,' from regulation to motivation. In the early twentieth-ce ntury, as technology became more sophisticated, the concepts of motivati on and regulation were to some extent merged in the figure of the sel f-regulating machine. This is essentially the dominant metaphor with whic h we've grown up, the notion of a 'system' which contains the means of bo th its own perpetuity and its own governance, and this metaphor has been applied to everything from political science, to nature, to th e human body, to the human mind. The enginic 'drive' of the Freudian unc onscious, Darwinian evolution, and the Marxian proletariat give way to 'family systems,' ecosystems, and political equilibria as the Industr ial Revolution lurches to a close. The edges of a new metaphor for complex systems ca n be seen emerging, however, one which is able to embrace the relativity and immanence which stress mechanical metaphors to the point of fatigue: that of the computer and its data networks. We see, and will see more, large-scale shifts away from the concepts of drive and regulation to those of processing and transmission. The raw material up on which processes act will be regarded not as objects and forces but as data, which is not a thing but immanence itself, an arbitrary arrangemen t given temporary and virtual form. The action will be seen as a program, a set of instructions, allowing for more or fewer degrees of freedom. Inte rrelationships will be embodied in paths, arrangements, and pointers rathe r than linkages (creakingly mechanical) through which objects trans mit force. Important phylogenic distinctions will be made between hardwa re (that which is fixed/infrastructure) and software (that which dete rmines use and function). This has tremendous consequences for our notions o f property, of originality and authorship, of privacy and relation ship. It may, perhaps, be less limiting than the mechanical metaphors it will largely displace. It is neither possible nor desirable to ignore the issue of gender here. It may be coincidence that the classroom, the one plac e where women have historically had a dominant institutional place, is repeatedly characterized by technologists as a place of darkness and chaos, stubbornly resistant to the enlightening gifts of rationalized technology. It may be coincidence that educational technologists are as a group overw helmingly male but direct their efforts at transformation not at the p owerful (and overwhelmingly male) community of planners and admi nistrators but at the formally powerless and (overwhelmingly female) comm unity of practitioners. It may be coincidence that the terms used to describe the insufficiency of the classroom and to condescend to the folk-craft of teaching are the same terms used by an androgenized society to derogate women's values and women's work generally. But that 's a lot of coincidence. Kerr discusses the differences in world-view and v alues between the teachers who deal with children and the technol ogists who approach the classroom from industrial and, as Noble demonst rates, often military backgrounds as well (Kerr, 1990; Noble, 1991). He s tops short of 3.

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19 of 23 characterizing what may perhaps be obvious but neve rtheless should be acknowledged: the casual, pervasive, pathetic misog yny which characterizes the attitude of dominant culture towa rds any environment or activity that is predominantly female. It is perhap s for this reason that we never see proposals to replace (mostly male) admini strators with machines. The usage of computers to perform adminis trative tasks should pose no more, and probably fewer, value dilemmas an d conflicts than their usage to define and practice teaching.The question of capture processes in education dese rves more exploration than I can give it here. As put forth b y Agre, "capture" describes the restructuring of workplace practices to facilitate the capture of information by a ubiquitous network technology. It contrasts with the surveillance model, which relies on visual metaphor s, is surreptitious, and is centrally organized. Capture processes, on the o ther hand, don't watch what you do but continuously interact with it. They are about as far from surreptitious as you can get, since they involve th e active reorganization of activities for the explicit purpose of gathering in formation. Rather than being centrally directed they are (re)enacted by in dividuals as they perform a socially-embedded set of tasks. Agre cite s as examples Automatic Vehicle Identification for highway toll c ollection, and the organization of large restaurant chains where every action from the greeting of customers to the taking of orders to th e preparation of food is designed around the needs of computerized informati on capture (Agre, 1993). 4. In the shift from a mechanical to a digital organiz ation of society we can expect the following changes in the social construc tion of relationship: Information, not authority; networks and pointers, not linkages; inexpensive ubiquity, not dear scarcity; simultaneo us possession, not mutuallyexclusive ownership; instantaneity/timesh ifting, not temporality; community of interests, not community of place; dis tributed horizontality not centralized verticality. I don't contend that w e thereby usher in Utopia. These new structures will bring new strictures. But they will be very, very, different. 5.About the AuthorSteven Hodas is now with the National Aeronautical and Space Administration. His email address is hhll@universe.digex.net.ReferencesAgre, P. E. (1993). Articulated Tracking and the Po litical Economy of privacy. In The Third Conference on Computers, Freedom, and Pri vacy, (pp. 9.3-9.5). San Francisco.Berry, W. (1970). A CONTINUOUS HARMONY: ESSAYS CULT URAL AND AGRICULTURAL. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.Bowles, S.,& Gintis, H. (1977). SCHOOLING IN CAPITA LIST AMERICA: EDUCATIONAL REFORM AND THE CONTRADICTIONS OF ECONOM IC LIFE. New York: Basic Books.

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20 of 23 Char, C. A.,& Newman, D. (1986). DESIGN OPTIONS FOR INTERACTIVE VIDEODISC: A REVIEW AND ANALYSIS. Technical Report No. 39. Center for Technology in EducationChubb, J. E. & Moe, T. M. (1990). POLITICS, MARKETS AND AMERICA'S SCHOOLS. Washington, D.C.: The Brookings Institutio n. Cohen, D. K. (1987). EDUCATIONAL TECHNOLOGY, POLICY AND PRACTICE. Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysi s, 9, (Summer), 153-170. Collins, A. & Brown, J. S. (1986). THE COMPUTER AS A TOOL FOR LEARNING THROUGH REFLECTION. Technical Report No. 3 76. Center for Technology in Education.Cuban, L. (1986). TEACHERS AND MACHINES: THE CLASSR OOM USE OF TECHNOLOGY SINCE 1920. New York: Teachers College P ress. Dreeben, R. (1968) ON WHAT IS LEARNED IN SCHOOL. Re ading, Mass: Addison-WesleyDuffey, R. V. (1973). TEACHER AS READER. The Readin g Teacher (27), 132-133.Duffey, R. V. (1974). ELEMENTARY SCHOOLTEACHERS' RE ADING. In Annual Meeting of the College Reading Association, No. ED 098 554. Bethesda, MD: ERIC Document Reproduction Service.French, J. R. P., Jr. & Raven, B. (1968). THE BASES OF SOCIAL POWER. In D. Cartwright A. Zander (Eds.), Group Dynamics (pp. 259-269). New York: Harper Row.Friedman, M. (1962). CAPITALISM AND FREEDOM. Chicag o: University of Chicago Press.Fullan, M. G. (1991). THE NEW MEANING OF EDUCATIONA L CHANGE. New York: Teachers College Press.Galambos, E. C., Cornett, L. M. & Spitler, H. D. (1 985). AN ANALYSIS OF TRANSCRIPTS OF TEACHERS AND ARTS AND SCIENCES GRADU ATES. Southern Regional Education Board.Honey, M. & Moeller, B. (1990). TEACHER'S BELIEFS A ND TECHNOLOGY INTEGRATION: DIFFERENT VALUES, DIFFERENT UNDERSTAND INGS (Technical Report No. 6). Center for Technology in Education. Howley, A., Pendarvis, M.,& Howley, C. (1993). ANTI -INTELLECTUALISM IN AMERICAN SCHOOLS. Education Policy Analysis Archive s, 1(6). Kerr, S. T. (1991). LEVER AND FULCRUM: EDUCATIONAL TECHNOLOGY IN TEACHERS' THOUGHT AND PRACTICE. Teachers College Re cord, 93(Fall), 114-36.Kerr, S. T. (1990). TECHNOLOGY:EDUCATION :: JUSTICE :CARE.

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21 of 23 Educational Technology(November 1990).Newman, D. (1990). TECHNOLOGY'S ROLE IN RESTRUCTURI NG FOR COLLABORATIVE LEARNING (Technical Report No. 8). Ce nter for Technology in Education.Newman, D. (1992). TECHNOLOGY AS SUPPORT FOR SCHOOL STRUCTURE AND SCHOOL RESTRUCTURING. Phi Delta Kappa n, 74(4), 308-15.Noble, D. D. (1991). THE CLASSROOM ARSENAL : MILITA RY RESEARCH, INFORMATION TECHNOLOGY, AND PUBLIC EDUCATION. Londo n; New York: Falmer.Perelman, L. J. (1992). SCHOOL'S OUT : HYPERLEARNIN G, THE NEW TECHNOLOGY, AND THE END OF EDUCATION (1st ed.). New York: William Morrow.Sarason, S. B. (1990). THE PREDICTABLE FAILURE OF E DUCATIONAL REFORM. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.Senge, P. M. (1990). THE FIFTH DISCIPLINE. New York : Doubleday. Sheingold, K. & Hadley, M. (1990). ACCOMPLISHED TEA CHERS: INTEGRATING COMPUTERS INTO CLASSROOM PRACTICE. Cent er for Technology in Education.Shepard, L. A. (1991). WILL NATIONAL TESTS IMPROVE STUDENT LEARNING? Phi Delta Kappan, 73(3), 232-38.Shepard, L. A. & Dougherty, K. C. (1991). EFFECTS O F HIGH-STAKES TESTING ON INSTRUCTION. In Annual Meetings of the A merican Educational Research Association, Chicago, IL:Tyack, D. B. (1974). THE ONE BEST SYSTEM: A HISTORY OF AMERICAN URBAN EDUCATION. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard Universi ty Press. Vieth, M. (1981) TIME TEACHERS SPEND READING VERSUS TIME THEY SPEND WATCHING TV. ERIC Document Resource No. ED 20 0 922, Kean College of New Jersey.Wilson, K. & Tally, W. (1991). LOOKING AT MULTIMEDI A: DESIGN ISSUES IN SEVERAL DISCOVERYORIENTED PROGRAMS. (Technical Report No. 13). Center for Technology in Education.Copyright 1993, All Rights ReservedCopyright 1993 by the Education Policy Analysis ArchivesEPAA can be accessed either by visiting one of its seve ral archived forms or by subscribing to the LISTSERV known as EPAA at LISTSE RV@asu.edu. (To subscribe,

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22 of 23 send an email letter to LISTSERV@asu.edu whose sole contents are SUB EPAA your-name.) As articles are published by the Archives they are sent immediately to the EPAA subscribers and simultaneously archived in thr ee forms. Articles are archived on EPAA as individual files under the name of the author a nd the Volume and article number. For example, the article by Stephen Kemmis in Volum e 1, Number 1 of the Archives can be retrieved by sending an e-mail letter to LISTSER V@asu.edu and making the single line in the letter read GET KEMMIS V1N1 F=MAIL. For a ta ble of contents of the entire ARCHIVES, send the following e-mail message to LIST SERV@asu.edu: INDEX EPAA F=MAIL, that is, send an e-mail letter and make its single line read INDEX EPAA F=MAIL. The World Wide Web address for the Education Policy Analysis Archives is http://olam.ed.asu.edu/epaaEducation Policy Analysis Archives are "gophered" at olam.ed.asu.edu To receive a publication guide for submitting artic les, see the EPAA World Wide Web site or send an e-mail letter to LISTSERV@asu.edu and in clude the single line GET EPAA PUBGUIDE F=MAIL. It will be sent to you by return e -mail. General questions about appropriateness of topics or particular articles ma y be addressed to the Editor, Gene V Glass, Glass@asu.edu or reach him at College of Edu cation, Arizona State University, Tempe, AZ 85287-2411.Editorial Board John CovaleskieSyracuse UniversityAndrew Coulson Alan Davis University of Colorado--DenverMark E. Fetlermfetler@ctc.ca.gov Thomas F. Greentfgreen@mailbox.syr.edu Alison I. Griffithagriffith@edu.yorku.ca Arlen Gullickson gullickson@gw.wmich.edu Ernest R. Houseernie.house@colorado.edu Aimee Howleyess016@marshall.wvnet.edu Craig B. Howley u56e3@wvnvm.bitnet William Hunterhunter@acs.ucalgary.ca Richard M. Jaeger rmjaeger@iris.uncg.edu Benjamin Levinlevin@ccu.umanitoba.ca Thomas Mauhs-Pughthomas.mauhs-pugh@dartmouth.edu Dewayne Matthewsdm@wiche.edu Mary P. McKeowniadmpm@asuvm.inre.asu.edu Les McLeanlmclean@oise.on.ca Susan Bobbitt Nolensunolen@u.washington.edu Anne L. Pembertonapembert@pen.k12.va.us Hugh G. Petrieprohugh@ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu Richard C. Richardsonrichard.richardson@asu.edu Anthony G. Rud Jr.rud@purdue.edu Dennis Sayersdmsayers@ucdavis.edu Jay Scribnerjayscrib@tenet.edu

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23 of 23 Robert Stonehillrstonehi@inet.ed.gov Robert T. Stoutaorxs@asuvm.inre.asu.edu


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