Online Teaching: How is it going?
When I was 14 years old (in 1988) my parents sent me to the United States to spend a summer with relatives. The glitch was that I had to fly from Istanbul to Baltimore, with a plane change in New York BY MYSELF. It was my first time on the plane. So our plane from Istanbul to New York was delayed, and I missed the next plane to Baltimore. At that time there were no extensive help for minors flying alone. I remember that I was extremely stressed, I had no way to find my way around in the crowd, and I approached the Pan Am desk at the airport. I said: “I missed my plane” with a terrified voice. “And I want to cry.” I added. The Black American woman behind the Pan Am desk said: “This would be the worst thing you can do.” and issued me a new ticket to the next plane to Baltimore, and I was on my way. I will never forget this experience.
I remembered this moment when our university decided to launch online teaching due to COVID-19 quarantine. We have absolutely no training in online teaching. I am the director of our institute, I have the responsibility for my fellow faculty members and especially our students, and I want everything to go smoothly. But I feel like the 14 year old on the plane to New York for the first time, excited and super stressed. And of course things can go wrong. But every time I feel like I want to give up in front of my laptop, I remember the Pan Am representative at JFK airport: “This would be the worst thing to do.”
Internalizing this American experience, means to improve our conditions by not despairing, I threw myself into online teaching by using digital tools (mainly Moodle, ZOOM and a deluge of emails). Within a few days, and absolutely zero experience in online teaching, I found myself struggling. First, I carried my desktop computer from the office to home. Now, I had a desktop and a laptop, with the idea that if one does not work, I have a a digital infrastructure that includes a backup machine. Then my partner spent several hours updating old software on my desktop as essential software kept crashing. With the basic digital infrastructure in place, I added a phone holder next to my computer. Rightfully, because the phone keeps on ringing for administrative questions while I am doing my online teaching. Third, I pulled my IKEA Book shelves close to my back, so my students would not see my family members and two cats going around the living room where I located my desk. Fourth, I put a bunch of roses in front of my computer, so I can remember what is important in life while I am glued to my computer screen. Last but not least, I set up a ZOOM plan for one semester, so my students and I have some predictability in the time of chaos.
Fast forward, my first online class… The students look tired and worried. Some of them have their questions reflected on their faces. I ask them how they are doing. This sets off a chain reaction amongst them: “How are you?” Their faces light up slowly. I can see their rooms, clothing racks and shoes at their backdrop; morning sun is reflecting on their faces; books and papers are crowding their desks. To establish an initial connection with them, we chat about their quarantine struggles. They use the words ‘scared’ and ‘trapped’. They are worried about their elderly relatives, their parents who have health problems, who live in other cities and even other countries. They are worried about their flatmates who lost their jobs, who got sick and who have cabin fever. They are worried about their part-time jobs, their scholarships and lack of space to work in crowded apartments they share with other students. But yet…the students say that they are privileged, and they do not complain about their situation.
They try to find their ways during these challenging times by registering in hastily prepared online courses. What they find are a multitude of uncoordinated online teaching strategies which mark the university’s half-functioning attempt to move 80 per cent of the courses online, without any overarching digital teaching concept or prior experience. Yet, this situation is billed as a successful launch of digital teaching by the university administration, and we have to carry on. But the reality is that thestudents are overwhelmed. I tell them: “Please send me an email when you have a question. I can help you”…. “Please help each other, we are a community”…We plan to put together a e-book from their project papers. I put together a table of contents, they see their names as authors. Small gestures to make it more communal, so I can take them out of their small rooms and into the online teaching platform where they feel like university students again, with a great idea to work on a semester project.
I put on a brave face, but I am not fully well either. As well as all my colleagues, I am overworked, and I start having headaches from having to look at the computer screen all day. I struggle with a whole new concept of teaching, which dramatically increased my work time. I do not have young children at home anymore, so I can use my time for work more easily. I laugh when my cats jump on top of my keyboard during an administrative online meeting while many younger assistants and professors are visibly struggling with multiple responsibilities — holding their babies in one arm, while correcting the angle of their webcams with the other. This is not actually funny. Rather, it is a worrying aspect of this experiment in online teaching. Not good by any means, but seemingly unavoidable due to the lack of alternatives.
I feel like I am the 14 year old at JFK Airport again, facing the uncertainty of a difficult and unexpected situation. I hope that this form of digital online teaching is a connecting flight that serves as a bridge between this crisis and the next semester. And the destination remains a full campus experience within the walls of the university. Although I can see the value of online courses in a future, more developed online teaching stategy, I cannot wait to go back to face-to-face interaction with the students.