If that's the road ahead, let's take a detour

 Dr Ilana Snyder

 The focus of the MacBride Round Table is 'two emerging and contradictory media worlds: one leading down the road to total market control, the other striving to democratise media and communication from local to global levels'. In this paper, I consider the proposition that both these worlds are represented in an immensely successful book - Bill Gates' (1996) The Road Ahead. Indeed, in Gates' book, these apparently polarised media worlds are deeply emeshed in complex, even sinister, ways. Gates, whom we all know controls a large segment of the global software market, presents himself as 'an ordinary man who made good', a possibility, he suggests, open to anyone with a little bit of luck and a lot of hard work. However, although he claims not to be an expert on matters educational as he never completed his college degree at Harvard, Gates proceeds with some assurance in this book to make remarkable claims about the educational benefits of the new technologies. Moreover, he espouses these views within the garb of the familiar rhetorics of democratisation, empowerment, enhanced learning, economic productivity and improved futures (Snyder 1997).

The result is something quite chilling as it becomes difficult to distinguish between Gates, the hugely successful businessman, one of the richest men in the world, and Gates, the self-acclaimed 'authority' on education. His chapter on education is of particular concern for in it the language of commercialism and profit rubs shoulders, so to speak, somewhat disconcertingly with, at least in its most idealistic formulations, the disinterested social and cultural objectives of democratic education. Using techniques derived from critical discourse analysis (Fairclough 1989; Luke 1995) and framing theory (McLaughlan & Reid 1995), I examine how this text, and by implication, others like it, work to position readers in relation to the new electronic communication and information processing technologies.

As a starting point, let us consider the impact of the cover. It tells us much. The author's name alone triggers a response in readers. No matter what is contained between the covers of the book, we cannot ever forget who Bill Gates is, his immense wealth and power, and just how much of the software market he controls. A cartoon published in the New Yorker in 1995 (Henderson 1996) springs to mind. The scene is a busy metropolitan street corner. Cars jam the road; people crowd the sidewalks. One of the skyscrapers has a large billboard attached to its wall. The sign reads:

 The cover of The Road Ahead features an Annie Leibovitz photograph of the Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of Microsoft. In the foreground, on the right-hand-side, stands Gates on a highway, hands in pockets, boyish, unassuming, cheerful. The straight road behind him narrows as it disappears into the distance - a somewhat literal image of the unending Al-Gorian Information Superhighway. But the highway in the photo is flanked by an orange-brown, seemingly lifeless, desert landscape. Leibovitz has constructed a delightfully ambiguous image, particularly when you consider her subject: yes, the uninterrupted highway appears to go on forever, into the future, but it is a highway carved through a barren, boring terrain.

Between the covers

Once we begin to read the book, it becomes clear that Gates assumes a not unfamiliar rhetorical style. We recognise the hyperbole with which the new technologies are too often discussed in a range of fora. We read that the technologies are transforming society and education, and breaking down the artificial divisions between the disciplines. We also read that the new technologies may influence intellectual development as profoundly as did the invention of alphabetic writing in the thirteenth century BC or the printed book in the fifteenth century AD (Snyder 1996). It is important, of course, to interrogate Gates' grandiose claims about the influence and power of these so-called revolutionary technologies.

The whole book provides a feast for close critical discourse analysis. My focus here is on just one chapter: Education: The best investment. The chapter begins:

 Maybe it's just my innate optimism, but I expect education of all kinds to improve significantly within the next decade. I believe that information technology will empower people of all ages, both inside and outside the classroom, to learn more easily, enjoyably, and successfully than ever before. (Gates 1996, p. 208)

 'Improve', 'empower', 'learn more easily, enjoyably and successfully' - big claims and, if they are realised, probably desirable. But readers cannot but help think that its achievement will involve us continuing to contribute to his wealth as measured by the Bill Gates Wealth Clock.

The next paragraph argues that the basic purpose of the PC - 'managing information to support thinking' and that this purpose 'aligns superbly with the mission of educational institutions' (p. 208). He goes on:

 Improving education is the best investment we can make because downstream benefits flow to every part of society. That's why putting computers and the Internet to work in schools is an exhilarating prospect. (Gates 1996, p. 208)

 The economic rationalist understanding of education - 'managing information to support thinking' is reductive, minimalist and corporate in its enunciation. Education is portrayed as an 'investment' with 'benefits' to consumers. And if we go down the Internet track, then who is likely to benefit most? The answer is patently obvious.

 Gates, continuing in the self-effacing manner he assumes throughout the book, describes the 'learners' at Microsoft:

 At Microsoft we read, ask questions, explore, go to lectures, compare our notes and findings with each other, consult experts, daydream, brainstorm, formulate and test hypotheses, build models and simulations, communicate what we're learning, and practise new skills. These are the same activities that go on in the best classrooms, but with a critical difference. At Microsoft these learning activities get a boost from the latest computing and communications technologies. Microsoft succeeds because its employees learn efficiently, in part by using information tools. (Gates 1996, pp. 208-9)

 Even though he professes not to be an expert on education, he purports to know what makes up the 'best classrooms' - and he also claims authoritatively that the latest computing and communications technologies can give them a 'boost'.

Of course, we must ask upon what does he base these claims? His assertions derive from anecdotal evidence yet he proceeds to theorise from such a vulnerable platform. What is implicit here and throughout the book is that if the richest man in the world has advice to give, we should listen. Just look what these principles did for him!

Gates laments the poorly resourced classrooms that are the norm, not only in the United States but also elsewhere around the world, and argues that if only schools were more like businesses, then this state of affairs would not be allowed to exist. Schools are resistant 'to the positive opportunities that technology can bring to education' (p. 210). But Gates believes that 'change is in the air' (p. 212) because people are 'wondering whether schools are giving their children the skills they'll need to succeed … in the Information Age' (p. 212).

Gates offers a number of reasons why schools will have to change which include pressure from the kids, parents who have the technology in their homes, and preparation for the workforce. But the key to change, argues Gates, lies with productivity:

 Productivity is the engine that drives improvement in any system. When we want better medical practice, we find ways to deliver treatment less expensively or more effectively or both. When we want cheaper food, we find ways to make agriculture more efficient. Just spending more - 'throwing money at the problem', as they say - isn't enough to create widespread improvement. If we want better education - faster leaning and better understanding - we have to find ways to get greater results for every dollar we spend. (p. 214)

 So again, he interpolates the familiar language and behaviours of the corporate world into his discussion of education and recommendations as to how it may be improved.

Gates 'reassures' readers that technology won't replace teachers. Nor will it 'dehumanise' schools, isolating students. It won't 'dominate' the learning experience, but will 'effectively augment learning, especially outside the classroom' (p. 215).

Gates' next topic is the 'promising capabilities of computers' (p. 216). The technologies will gratify more effectively highly motivated learners who best learn by exploration and discovery. The technologies also offer 'interaction' (p. 216), and suit individual learning styles. Further, he claims that 'cognitive science has shown that PCs can do a better job of supporting varied thinking and learning modes than lecturers and textbooks' (p. 217). Students, he predicts, will be provided with 'mass-customised' learning (p. 218):

 Multimedia documents and easy-to-use authoring tools will enable teachers to mass-customise a curriculum … computers will fine-tune educational materials so that students can follow their own paths in their own learning styles at their own rate. (p. 218)

 The marriage between the language of the corporate world with that of education is what I believe is sinister in its effect and potential persuasive impact. Gates does not express educational aims in purely economic rationalist terms which would be far easier to identify and dismiss. By merging the two - corporate-speak interwoven with apparently altruistic educational objectives - the reader is perhaps more likely to be seduced. The promise is an approach to education which is sensitive to the needs of the individual but with the ultimate goal of economic productivity and social progress.

Gates details a scenario for a future that he believes is almost here:

 Let's imagine a fifth-grade classroom five years from now, in a school that has a computer for each teacher and one computer for every three students. The computers, which are similar enough that the same software can run on every one of them, are replaced every four years. Our imaginary school also has administrative computers and servers, and all of the school's computers are networked with each other and linked to the Internet on a high-speed connection. As they have for generations, students spend part of each day working alone, part working in groups, and part listening to the teacher and participating in class discussion. But now students studying alone or in groups work with a computer. The computers are in almost constant use, so the teacher rarely has to lead the whole class in discussion. Instead he [sic] interacts with students one-on-one or in small groups while the other students use the computers. This results in more personal attention from the teacher for each student. Even during class discussion the smaller group size makes for more eye contact from the teacher and more getting called on.

 The computers hold curricular material and support each student's progress through it. Software takes the place of many textbooks, workbooks, tests, and homework exercises. Software also provides much of the content teachers used to deliver by standing at the front of the room and lecturing. The teacher is freed to explain, lead discussion, provide guidance, and motivate. The system tracks each student's progress and keeps students, teachers and parents informed.

 The fifth-grade class devotes a lot of its time to reading and math as well as the other basic subjects such as science and social studies. Sometimes the disciplines are addressed directly, but often they are approached through a 'theme'. In this approach a variety of academic disciplines are used to study a real-world system such as forest ecology, house construction, criminal justice, or running a small business. (p. 224)

 Possibly what worries me most about this scenario is that educators, including myself, writing about the possible educational influences of the use of the new technologies, have painted similar pictures. But there is usually one important difference. Educational writers emphasise the centrality of the teacher who choreographs the directions the class takes and critically assesses the potential of all software used. And does Gates really think he has invented thematic approaches to teaching and learning? Give me a break!

What should we make of one of his concluding comments in this chapter:

 Many of the educational scenarios I've described so far would be feasible today if schools were better equipped and connected to the Internet, and if the necessary software existed. If we look down the road to the impact of broadband technology, we'll see even more ways to make our schools exciting places to learn. (p. 234)

 The phrase that jumps out at readers - 'and if the necessary software existed' - says it all.

Ascribing power to technology

Gates falls into the trap of many writers concerned with the connections between the new technologies and education - ascribing power to the technologies themselves. When these technologies began to appear in education contexts, both school and post-school, in the early 1980s, enthusiasts endowed them with utopian promise. For example, word processing and later hypertext were seen as technologies that would necessarily improve literacy. Electronic reading and writing technologies are often seen as having reached that critical mass which will enable them to supersede the printed word as the dominant means of enculturation and communication.

In a similar fashion, those with dystopian views draw our attention to what they describe as the insidious invasion of electronic communications and information processing technologies. They warn that it is easy to be so dazzled by the technologies that critique is relegated to the margins. Perceiving the new technologies as technocratic by nature and potentially dominant, they express grave concerns for what it means both for individuals and our culture to submit to a dominant technocratic force. These critics implore us to ask whether improved technology equates with moral betterment, if innovations in technology embody our choice of a future, and whether we should be according technology the significance of national progress. They point out a paradox - that at a time when all other meta-narratives are being scrupulously questioned there are those who would propose a grand narrative of technology-as-progress. Also deplored is the fetishisation of novelty - critics question whether the technology should be hailed as culturally and educationally valuable just because it is new.

As with Gates' text, strains of technological determinism permeate the discourses that surround the use of the new technologies. By 'technological determinism' I mean the assumption that qualities inherent in the technologies themselves are responsible for changes in social and cultural practices. The perception of technology as ‘an independent entity, a virtually autonomous agent of change’ (Marx & Smith 1994, p. xi) is not new. Indeed the imbuement of technology with this role ‘pervades the received popular version of modern history’ (Marx & Smith 1994, p. x). The compass and other navigational equipment are seen as having made possible Europe’s colonisation of the world. Similarly, the printing press is acknowledged as the cause of the Reformation. A further example is the linking of the invention of the cotton gin to the American Civil War. Such popular narratives convey a strong sense of ‘the efficacy of technology as a driving force of history’ (Marx & Smith 1994, p. x). Unlike more abstract forces such as sociocultural and political formations, the tangibility of mechanical devices seems to make it easier to assign them determinative power.

The popular discourse of technological determinism is typified by sentences ‘in which "technology," or a surrogate like "the machine," is made the subject of an active predicate: "The automobile created suburbia" . . . "The Pill produced a sexual revolution"’. And in the case of the new technologies, where the views are most often endorsements: ‘The new electronic communication and information processing technologies democratise education.’ ‘The technologies liberate the reader/writer.’ ‘The technologies transform schools.’ In each example, a complex event is made to seem the outcome of a technological innovation. ‘Many of these statements carry the further implication that the social consequences of our technical ingenuity are far-reaching, cumulative, mutually reinforcing, and irreversible’ (Marx & Smith 1994, p. xi).

Grandiose claims about the influence and power of any technology need to be interrogated assiduously since they build on the spurious premise that technology is directly responsible for changes that necessarily affect social relations. Overlooking the human agency integral to all technological innovation, they rely on an interpretative frame in which any notion of control over technology disappears. When examining the problems associated with technological determinism, Stoll's notion of ‘silicon snake oil’ (1995, p. 50) is both evocative and useful. It signifies the need to query the ‘technocratic belief that computers and networks will make a better society’; that access to information, better communications, and electronic programs ‘can cure social problems' (p. 50).

The functions of the new technologies are not wholly determined either by technology or society. As Selfe and Selfe (1994, p. 482) point out, 'computers, like other complex technologies, are articulated in many ways with a range of existing cultural forces and with a variety of projects in our educational system . . . that run the gamut from liberatory to oppressive'. To hail their advent as the beginning of a social and educational revolution, as does Bill Gates, is politically naive.

The road best taken

In this paper, I have argued that there are alternatives to the adoption of the characteristic stance of enthusiasts such as Gates, who embrace the new technologies as tools that can become vehicles of human creativity and productivity as well as the source of unlimited personal wealth, or critics, who warn that these technologies have penetrated not only our social relations but also our personalities and culture. Instead of celebrating or demonising these technologies, we need to look critically at assertions that they will either radically enhance or diminish the social interactions which are intrinsic to effective teaching and learning.

Incipient technological determinism is discernible in many evocations of the educational possibilities of the new technologies and manifests itself in 'propositional statements that ascribe agency to technology itself' (Grusin 1994, p. 470). It is present also in claims that the electronic media and network technologies could have deleterious effects on human consciousness and culture by splintering and isolating both groups and individuals (Bigum & Green 1993). Technological determinists who predict the social consequences of these technologies tend to rely vulnerably on either a utopian or a dystopian view of the future. But because they can be used for all sorts of purposes, they can both ‘liberate’ and 'constrain' educational and social practices. They ‘can be an enormously liberating innovation or a powerful system of ideological hegemony’ (Burbules & Callister 1996, p. 43).

The use of the new technologies certainly have the potential to affect the cultures of learning in significant ways. No technology, however, can guarantee any particular change in cultural practices simply by its 'nature'. The use and effect of a technology is closely tied to the social context in which it appears. All evolving technologies are socially constructed in the sense that they are shaped by the interests and assumptions of particular social groups. What we must retain at all odds in this rapidly changing media landscape is a position of informed scepticism. Maintaining more than a modicum of scepticism will enable us to interrogate how key global players such as Bill Gates are manipulating the technology landscape, attempting to dictate the educational uses of these technologies and, in many complex and sometimes barely discernible ways, profoundly influencing our lives.

References