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TLDR 162

Too Long; Didn't Read Issue 162

Published: 2018-08-24 • 📧 Newsletter

Welcome to Issue 162. Pausing in stride.

Let's get started with the end of a busy week.

Here's some of what I posted this week:

🔖 Key Takeaways

📺 Watch

Classes are getting started up in K-12 and higher education. As we make the transition into the school it's fun to see students starting to snooze in class.

This video from sWooZie is a funny talking point for you and your students as the semester begins.

📚 Read

The Internet Health Report team from Mozilla launched a call for ideas this week. As a regular reader of TL;DR, your insight is valued...and necessary.

I've reported on this in the past, but the Internet Health Report is a check up on the internet. It includes research and stories from people all over the world on how the internet is working for good–or bad–in their lives.

They're inviting everyone to submit ideas before September 14. They're looking for research, articles, and inspiring initiatives to make the internet healthier, but also suggestions about issues people don't hear enough about.

We need to hear from all voices to fight for a healthier Internet. This participatory approach recognizes that internet health isn't determined by tech companies or policymakers alone—it requires input from diverse users experiencing internet effects in different contexts and communities.

A great post from Amy Hasinoff in Hybrid Pedagogy examining the challenges in critical digital pedagogy and trust in your classroom.

I've written about this in the past as we have students work with digital texts and tools. There has to be a certain amount of responsibility and respect for the instructor and the students. There also needs to be respect for the transitory nature of these online spaces. Put simply, all members of the learning environment need to be patient and flexible as we understand the challenges as we connect in these spaces.

Trust isn't naive optimism—it's pedagogical foundation. When we design systems assuming students will cheat, plagiarize, or misuse technology, we create surveillance structures that undermine learning relationships. When we trust students with real responsibility, we create conditions for genuine engagement and growth.

The question isn't whether individual students will sometimes violate trust—some will. The question is whether our default stance treats students as threats to be monitored or learners to be supported. That philosophical choice shapes everything else about our teaching.

I'd also like to share this text on learning spaces and critical digital pedagogy that was brought to my attention this week by Verena Roberts. The book is open source, and examines youth in remote indigenous Australia.

Benjamin Doxtdator with an important post examining the connections between grit, passion, and innovation. Doxtdator frames this by looking at the narratives we've created about educators that they need to be "passionate" and always willing to expend energy to excite learners and keep them involved. The challenge is that educators are also humans (or are supposed to be) and life gets in the way. They get sick, tired, and disenfranchised.

I felt this way at the end of the last semester where you begin to question some of the choices I've made, and energy expended on different tasks. Part of this is learning how to say no. Part of this has to do with respecting individuals that you go to for support and innovation/inspiration.

The mindset and grit discourse places unreasonable emotional labour demands on teachers. We're expected to maintain endless enthusiasm regardless of working conditions, compensation, or support. When teachers burn out, the narrative blames insufficient passion rather than examining systemic conditions that make sustained engagement difficult.

This emotional labour is gendered and classed—expectations of constant care work fall disproportionately on women and on teachers in under-resourced schools. The "passion" requirement obscures that teaching is work deserving fair compensation and reasonable conditions, not a calling requiring personal sacrifice.

This post from Andre Perry in The Hechinger Report was very much needed in my world this week.

Perry concludes the post with the following:

There is no escaping the fact that teachers must use the N-word. But how they use it makes all the difference. Pretending the word doesn't exist because it makes you uncomfortable is like believing that Trump isn't racist: an act of delusion.

My slam poetry class is starting up this week and I'm busy reading The Hate U Give and White Fragility to get prepared. I'll share more about the content and materials for the course soon. But, I know that our discussions will soon include the N-word, and discussions about social/political landscapes. I've traveled these paths before, but I can always do a better job understanding.

The avoidance of difficult words reflects broader avoidance of difficult conversations about race, power, and history. When teachers encounter the N-word in literature—in To Kill a Mockingbird, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, contemporary hip-hop, or student writing—they face pedagogical choice: engage or evade.

Evasion teaches that racial discomfort matters more than understanding racial history and present reality. Engagement requires context, care, and willingness to sit with discomfort while creating space for students—especially students of color—to process their own relationships with language, history, and harm.

This isn't permission to use the word casually or claim teacher judgment supersedes student pain. It's recognition that pretending the word doesn't exist serves no one, while thoughtful examination of how and why it appears in texts and contexts serves everyone.

This story was very scary and exciting for me when it popped up this week. This is the sort of story that sparks discussion, and instantly polarizes people and their views about tech/literacy. I love using this in classroom discussions.

The WSJ reports that the library is, somewhat bizarrely, turning the Instagram app into an ebook reader.

The new service, dubbed "Insta Novels," will be available to all Instagram users starting Wednesday, regardless of whether they have a NYPL card or live in New York City.

The technology works in such a way that when readers are on the Instagram app, they hold the page of a book by resting their thumb on the screen, library officials said. They turn the page by lifting their thumb.

The experience is "unmistakably like reading a paperback novel," Corinna Falusi, Mother in New York's partner and chief creative officer, said in a statement.

This initiative reveals fundamental tensions about literacy, technology, and access. Critics argue Instagram is inappropriate platform for sustained reading—designed for quick visual consumption, not extended narrative engagement. Supporters counter that meeting readers where they already are expands access more effectively than expecting people to download dedicated ebook apps.

The debate echoes longstanding literacy anxieties: Is reading on Instagram "real reading"? Does platform matter if people engage with texts? Should libraries prioritize traditional formats or experiment with reaching audiences through whatever channels work?

From access perspective, InstaNovels eliminate barriers. No library card required, no special app to download, no dedicated ereader to purchase. Anyone with Instagram can read. That democratizing potential matters even if the reading experience differs from turning physical pages.

The deeper question: Are we nostalgic for specific reading experiences, or committed to reading itself? If Instagram gets people reading who wouldn't otherwise engage with these texts, does it matter that the experience isn't "unmistakably like reading a paperback novel"—or does that marketing claim itself reveal anxiety about legitimacy?

I spend a lot (most) of my time helping students, faculty, family, and others use technology for a variety of purposes. For educators, there is a general reticence to use tech for the fear of it failing.

My first piece of advice is that technology is going to fail...or at least you should plan on it failing, and have a pedagogical backup.

Richard Byrne takes this to the next step as he gives you a quick checklist of what to do when things don't go as planned:

  1. Have a backup plan - Always prepare alternative activity that doesn't require technology
  2. Test beforehand - Check all technology before class starts when possible
  3. Know who to call - Keep IT contact information readily available
  4. Stay calm - Students take cues from teacher's response to technical difficulties
  5. Learn from it - Document what went wrong to prevent future occurrences

The fear of technology failure shouldn't prevent using technology any more than fear of fire drills should prevent conducting them. What matters is preparation, flexibility, and recognizing that the pedagogical goal—what students are learning—matters more than the specific tool used to facilitate that learning.

This perspective shift helps: Technology is means to learning end, not the end itself. If a digital tool fails, the learning objective remains. Having pedagogical backup means you've thought through what matters about the lesson and can deliver it through alternative means.

This also models important lesson for students: When systems fail (and they will), problem-solving and adaptability matter more than perfect execution. Teachers who gracefully handle tech failure demonstrate resilience students need to develop themselves.

🤔 Consider

"If you get tired, learn to rest, not to quit." — Banksy

Banksy's wisdom about rest versus quitting resonates profoundly with this issue's theme of pausing in stride. The items throughout explore tension between sustainable effort and unrealistic expectations. Doxtdator's analysis of grit and passion as emotional labour exposes how education narratives demand teachers never tire, never rest—only persist with endless enthusiasm. But humans need rest. Confusing exhaustion with failure, or rest with quitting, creates conditions for burnout rather than sustained contribution. Hasinoff's question about trusting students reflects similar tension—do we create rigid control systems because we can't pause to build trust, or do we rest in confidence that students deserve responsibility? Perry's piece on teaching the N-word requires emotional rest—sitting with discomfort rather than rushing to resolution. Mozilla's call for internet health ideas recognizes we must pause to assess rather than assuming perpetual technological progress equals improvement. InstaNovels provoke debate about whether reading on Instagram is rest (meeting people where they are) or quitting (abandoning traditional literacy). Richard Byrne's tech failure guidance advocates building rest into teaching—having backup plans means technology failure becomes pause rather than disaster. The distinction Banksy draws isn't between those who succeed and those who fail—it's between those who recognize need for rest and those who push until they break. Pausing in stride isn't weakness or quitting. It's wisdom that enables continuation.

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Part of the 📧 Newsletter archive documenting digital literacy and technology.