These posts were thoughtful and intriguing. The problem was that, by the end of the semester, these were the only two posts to our blog.
I think it is fair to say that when setting up our blog site my students and I initially expected rousing online debate, scintillating insight, and even the occasional post from folks outside our small face-to-face circle. But what actually happened was that our weekly meetings satisfied our need for dialogue and debate. In between meetings we simply busied ourselves with the other demands of life and study.
Why Did the Blog Sputter Out?
So what went wrong? Or perhaps, since this was an experimental venture, the more appropriate question is, Why was there such a gap between our initial expectations and the (virtual) reality of our blogging experience? As a professor, what would I do differently the next time around to ensure greater success with online blogging as a pedagogical method?
Competing demands on students’ time meant that open-ended, self-directed blogging entries were the first things to fall by the wayside in the face of other pressing concerns. Studying for exams or writing a research paper quickly took priority over posting to our blog. As it turned out in this instance, a commitment to feminist theory and practice was overshadowed by deadlines for graded assignments in other classes. One might think or hope that concepts like activist commitment, internal motivation, and intellectual curiosity could play out in practice on a blog. I will admit, there was a bit of the Montessori background in me: I had certain expectations that my students would be drawn to post their feminist musings simply because their naturally curious, sponge-like minds led them to. The reality was that there needed to be some concrete payoff for taking part in the blogging process. There needed to be points. Scores. Maybe even a grade. Don’t get me wrong: My students loved the blog. They were as excited about the prospect of blogging as I was. But, like I said, without a concrete payoff, even the best of intentions could not be met once the demands of the college semester set in.
It is also quite possible that posting their thoughts-in-progress—publicly and perhaps permanently—was, for some students, a risk far greater than they were willing to take. My students are amazingly self-confident. But, still, compared to the fleeting embarrassment they might risk by speaking in class, when it came to blogging, they may have feared eternal ridicule in (what seems like) a potentially infinite public forum. This is not sheer hyperbole: Blogging involves risk. Even if we supposedly can remain anonymous online, who wants to be flamed?
My hunch is that along with the need for academic reward, I should not underestimate my students’ (real or imagined) anxiety over blog humiliation. This is important especially because the very essence of blogging is that is spontaneous and public. We blog with and for each other, and this is at once blogging’s great feminist potential and the potential source of our vulnerability. That said, the greater the risk, the greater the possibility for new ideas. The best new thoughts never come by playing it safe. Blogging means that students will weigh in freely and creatively, which is perhaps riskier than processing information through the safety and privacy of more traditional forms of academic research (which, for the record, I also use quite rigorously). Academic research may be more deliberately thought-out, but it leaves less room for the impulsiveness, spontaneity, and immediacy that the Internet offers.
