Communication and Learning 9781501502446, 9781501510731

Table of contents :
Preface to Handbooks of Communication Science series
Contents
Introduction
1. Learning in Response to Instructional Communication
Fundamental Perspectives
2. The Evolution of Instructional Communication Research
3. The End(s) of Learning and the Role of Instruction: Shaping the Debate
4. Theoretical and Methodological Approaches to Instructional Communication
Instructor Characteristics and Actions
5. Teacher Clarity: An Analysis of Current Research and Future Directions
6. Teacher Power and Compliance-Gaining
7. Instructor Immediacy
8. Instructor Credibility
9. Humor Enactment in Learning Environments
10. Teacher Self-Disclosure
11. Instructor Use of Aggressive Communication
12. Communicating Instructional Feedback: Definitions, Explanations, Principles, and Questions
Student Characteristics and Attitudes
13. Cultural Values and Human Development
14. Social Identities in the Classroom
15. Students’ Motivation to Learn
16. Communication Apprehension and Public Speaking Instruction
17. Social Perspectives on Student Learning
Pedagogy and Classroom Management
18. New Technologies and Distributed Learning Systems
19. Instructor and Student Technology Use in the College Classroom
20. The Development of Online Learning in the Basic Course in Communication
21. Service Learning and Innovative Pedagogies
22. Out-of-Classroom Interactions Between Teachers and Students: Advising, Tutoring, Mentoring, and Coaching
23 Critical Communication Pedagogy
Teaching and Learning Communication Across the Lifespan
24. Meeting Children Where They Are: Adaptive Contingency Builds Early Communication Skills
25. Teaching Communication to School Children and Adolescents
26. Teaching Communication to College and University Students: The Basic Course in Higher Education
27. Teaching Communication to Working Adults
28. Assessment of College-Level Communication Programs
Future Directions
29. The Future of Communication and Learning Research: Challenges, Opportunities, and Predictions
Biographical sketches
Index

Citation preview

Paul L. Witt (Ed.) Communication and Learning

Handbooks of Communication Science

Edited by Peter J. Schulz and Paul Cobley

Volume 16

Communication and Learning Edited by Paul L. Witt

The publication of this series has been partly funded by the Università della Svizzera italiana – University of Lugano.

ISBN 978-1-5015-1073-1 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-1-5015-0244-6 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-1-5015-0246-0 ISSN 2199-6288 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2016 Walter de Gruyter Inc., Boston/Berlin Cover image: Oliver Rossi/Photographer’s Choice RF/Gettyimages Typesetting: Meta Systems Publishing & Printservices GmbH, Wustermark Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com

Preface to Handbooks of Communication Science series This volume is part of the series Handbooks of Communication Science, published from 2012 onwards by de Gruyter Mouton. When our generation of scholars was in their undergraduate years, and one happened to be studying communication, a series like this one was hard to imagine. There was, in fact, such a dearth of basic and reference literature that trying to make one’s way in communication studies as our generation did would be unimaginable to today’s undergraduates in the field. In truth, there was simply nothing much to turn to when you needed to cast a first glance at the key objects in the field of communication. The situation in the United States was slightly different; nevertheless, it is only within the last generation that the basic literature has really proliferated there. What one did when looking for an overview or just a quick reference was to turn to social science books in general, or to the handbooks or textbooks from the neighbouring disciplines such as psychology, sociology, political science, linguistics, and probably other fields. That situation has changed dramatically. There are more textbooks available on some subjects than even the most industrious undergraduate can read. The representative key multi-volume International Encyclopedia of Communication has now been available for some years. Overviews of subfields of communication exist in abundance. There is no longer a dearth for the curious undergraduate, who might nevertheless overlook the abundance of printed material and Google whatever he or she wants to know, to find a suitable Wikipedia entry within seconds. ‘Overview literature’ in an academic discipline serves to draw a balance. There has been a demand and a necessity to draw that balance in the field of communication and it is an indicator of the maturing of the discipline. Our project of a multi-volume series of Handbooks of Communication Science is a part of this coming-of-age movement of the field. It is certainly one of the largest endeavours of its kind within communication sciences, with almost two dozen volumes already planned. But it is also unique in its combination of several things. The series is a major publishing venture which aims to offer a portrait of the current state of the art in the study of communication. But it seeks to do more than just assemble our knowledge of communication structures and processes; it seeks to integrate this knowledge. It does so by offering comprehensive articles in all the volumes instead of small entries in the style of an encyclopedia. An extensive index in each Handbook in the series, serves the encyclopedic task of find relevant specific pieces of information. There are already several handbooks in sub-disciplines of communication sciences such as political communication, methodology, organisational communication – but none so far has tried to comprehensively cover the discipline as a whole.

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Preface to Handbooks of Communication Science series

For all that it is maturing, communication as a discipline is still young and one of its benefits is that it derives its theories and methods from a great variety of work in other, and often older, disciplines. One consequence of this is that there is a variety of approaches and traditions in the field. For the Handbooks in this series, this has created two necessities: commitment to a pluralism of approaches, and a commitment to honour the scholarly traditions of current work and its intellectual roots in the knowledge in earlier times. There is really no single object of communication sciences. However, if one were to posit one possible object it might be the human communicative act – often conceived as “someone communicates something to someone else.” This is the departure point for much study of communication and, in consonance with such study, it is also the departure point for this series of Handbooks. As such, the series does not attempt to adopt the untenable position of understanding communication sciences as the study of everything that can be conceived as communicating. Rather, while acknowledging that the study of communication must be multifaceted or fragmented, it also recognizes two very general approaches to communication which can be distinguished as: a) the semiotic or linguistic approach associated particularly with the humanities and developed especially where the Romance languages have been dominant and b) a quantitative approach associated with the hard and the social sciences and developed, especially, within an Anglo-German tradition. Although the relationship between these two approaches and between theory and research has not always been straightforward, the series does not privilege one above the other. In being committed to a plurality of approaches it assumes that different camps have something to tell each other. In this way, the Handbooks aspire to be relevant for all approaches to communication. The specific designation “communication science” for the Handbooks should be taken to indicate this commitment to plurality; like “the study of communication”, it merely designates the disciplined, methodologically informed, institutionalized study of (human) communication. On an operational level, the series aims at meeting the needs of undergraduates, postgraduates, academics and researchers across the area of communication studies. Integrating knowledge of communication structures and processes, it is dedicated to cultural and epistemological diversity, covering work originating from around the globe and applying very different scholarly approaches. To this end, the series is divided into 6 sections: “Theories and Models of Communication”, “Messages, Codes and Channels”, “Mode of Address, Communicative Situations and Contexts”, “Methodologies”, “Application areas” and “Futures”. As readers will see, the first four sections are fixed; yet it is in the nature of our field that the “Application areas” will expand. It is inevitable that the futures for the field promise to be intriguing with their proximity to the key concerns of human existence on this planet (and even beyond), with the continuing prospect in communication sciences that that future is increasingly susceptible of prediction.

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Note: administration on this series has been funded by the Università della Svizzera italiana – University of Lugano. Thanks go to the president of the university, Professor Piero Martinoli, as well as to the administration director, Albino Zgraggen. Peter J. Schulz, Università della Svizzera italiana, Lugano Paul Cobley, Middlesex University, London

Dedicated to Lawrence R. Wheeless, my mentor and friend With Appreciation to Jordan E. Young, my editorial assistant

Contents Preface to Handbooks of Communication Science series

v

Introduction

1

Paul L. Witt Learning in Response to Instructional Communication

3

Fundamental Perspectives

2

Scott A. Myers, Melissa F. Tindage, and Jordan Atkinson The Evolution of Instructional Communication Research

13

3

Andrew Stables The End(s) of Learning and the Role of Instruction: Shaping 43 the Debate

4

Jennifer H. Waldeck and Sara LaBelle Theoretical and Methodological Approaches to Instructional 67 Communication

Instructor Characteristics and Actions

5

Scott Titsworth and Joseph P. Mazer Teacher Clarity: An Analysis of Current Research and Future 105 Directions

6

Alan K. Goodboy and Zachary W. Goldman 129 Teacher Power and Compliance-Gaining

7

Qin Zhang and Paul L. Witt 157 Instructor Immediacy

8

Jason Teven and James Katt 183 Instructor Credibility

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Melanie Booth-Butterfield and Melissa Bekelja Wanzer 211 Humor Enactment in Learning Environments

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Contents

Jacob Cayanus and Matthew M. Martin 241 10 Teacher Self-Disclosure Theodore A. Avtgis 11 Instructor Use of Aggressive Communication

259

Jeff Kerssen-Griep and Clayton L. Terry 12 Communicating Instructional Feedback: Definitions, Explanations, 287 Principles, and Questions

Student Characteristics and Attitudes Heejung Park 13 Cultural Values and Human Development

321

M. Chad McBride, Erika L. Kirby, Karla Mason Bergen, Shawn T. Wahl, Stephanie Norander, and Tucker Robinson 339 14 Social Identities in the Classroom Ann Bainbridge Frymier 15 Students’ Motivation to Learn

377

Chris R. Sawyer 16 Communication Apprehension and Public Speaking Instruction Tiffany R. Wang 17 Social Perspectives on Student Learning

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Pedagogy and Classroom Management Stephanie E. Kelly and David K. Westerman 18 New Technologies and Distributed Learning Systems

455

Amber N. Finn and Andrew M. Ledbetter 19 Instructor and Student Technology Use in the College Classroom Samuel P. Wallace and Lisa J. Goodnight 20 The Development of Online Learning in the Basic Course 505 in Communication

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Contents

Stephen K. Hunt and Chad E. Woolard 21 Service Learning and Innovative Pedagogies

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Regina Jucks and Benjamin Brummernhenrich 22 Out-of-Classroom Interactions Between Teachers and Students: 553 Advising, Tutoring, Mentoring, and Coaching Deanna L. Fassett and C. Kyle Rudick 573 23 Critical Communication Pedagogy

Teaching and Learning Communication Across the Lifespan Jessa Reed, Kathy Hirsh-Pasek, and Roberta Michnick Golinkoff 24 Meeting Children Where They Are: Adaptive Contingency Builds Early 601 Communication Skills Blair Thompson and Joseph P. Mazer 25 Teaching Communication to School Children and Adolescents

629

Cheri J. Simonds and Joseph Valenzano, III 26 Teaching Communication to College and University Students: The Basic 653 Course in Higher Education Steven A. Beebe and Seth S. Frei 27 Teaching Communication to Working Adults

673

Phil Backlund 28 Assessment of College-Level Communication Programs

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Future Directions Paul L. Witt, Tina Seidel, Ann-Kathrin Schindler, Mark P. Orbe, Kory Floyd, and Jon A. Hess 29 The Future of Communication and Learning Research: Challenges, 727 Opportunities, and Predictions Biographical sketches Index

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Introduction

Paul L. Witt

1 Learning in Response to Instructional Communication Abstract: This Handbook focuses on the role of interpersonal communication in the teaching-learning process. In this introductory chapter, the Editor outlines the general structure of the volume, including a brief overview of each of the sections beginning with historical and theoretical foundations and progressing to instructor characteristics and actions, followed by student characteristics and attitudes. The next sections focus on pedagogical issues and the teaching and learning of communication across the lifespan. Each chapter synthesizes major research findings, articulates the theories on which they are based, and advances a research agenda for the future development of the field.

This volume addresses what is known about the strategic role of interpersonal communication in the teaching-learning process. Human learning begins at birth (or perhaps before), continues throughout all the life stages, takes place both within and outside formal educational contexts, and can occur independently of others through intuition or internal cognitive activity. However, the focus of this volume is the learning that occurs in response to instruction – the intentional activity of teaching and learning. When spoken communication is the primary vehicle that carries instruction from teacher to learner, the teacher’s skillful and strategic use of language has measurable impact on learning outcomes. If that instruction occurs within the context of a positive teacher-student relationship, learning may be further enhanced. Thus, the cumulative findings of instructional communication research are instrumental in maximizing success for both teacher and student. Since the early days of the Greek city states, philosophers have been captivated by the power and effect of strategically designed messages skillfully delivered by credible speakers. Drawing on that rhetorical heritage, 20th-century scholars began to systematically examine teachers’ actions, tactics, and methods of instructional delivery, with the intent to measure differing effects on students’ cognitive, affective, and behavioral learning, as well as their attitudes about learning in general. Most of this research was conducted by professionals in the field of Education, and most of their samples consisted of students attending formal classes for various age levels and subject matters. However, in the 1970s, due in part to the introduction of the first doctoral program in Instructional Communication at West Virginia University (USA), a new cadre of scholars began to engage in the scientific study of instructional communication, with a particular interest in the use of spoken language as the most frequently employed instrument to deliver instruction. (The evolution of instructional communication as a field of study is detailed in Ch. 2.) Like

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the Education researchers before them, most of these Communication scholars collected their data from classroom students, primarily college and university students in the United States; but as the field of study evolved, the target population broadened to include younger students, adult learners, and a variety of contexts beyond the traditional classroom. Today, researchers examine instructors’ and students’ communication in the context of traditional classrooms for all age levels, e-learning, tutoring and coaching, work-related training, and continuing education for adults. The primary purpose of this volume is to synthesize the extensive findings of this body of research, to articulate the theories on which it is based, and to advance a research agenda for the future development of the field. An introductory section lays the conceptual groundwork by addressing the major theoretical and methodological perspectives that have shaped research about teaching and learning in general (Ch. 3) and instructional communication in particular (Ch. 4). These foundational chapters introduce major themes that orient readers to the discipline and equip them with basic terminology and concepts relevant to the chapters that follow. Broad in scope, these chapters integrate divergent philosophical and theoretical traditions and identify current issues and debates among scholars. Most scholars and practitioners who have a vested interest in communication, instruction, and learning are keenly aware of the complex nature of teacher-student interaction. During the instructional process, the teacher’s life experience, socio-cultural values, and intellectual expertise intersect (or collide) with the student’s life experience, socio-cultural values, cognitive abilities, and intellectual curiosity. The degree of learning and other desirable outcomes that result from the interaction depend to some extent on the successful negotiation of this multi-faceted interpersonal encounter. Thus, the next two sections of this volume address teaching and learning from the viewpoint of the instructor first, then the student.

Instructor Characteristics and Actions This section focuses on the teacher side of the dyad, where instructors bring to the interaction their own unique blend of characteristics such as their attitudes toward teaching and toward students, individual personality traits, intrinsic and extrinsic motivation, expertise in the subject matter, and of course their particular communicating style and skills. Classroom teachers typically present instructional material orally through lectures, explanation and clarification of details, guided discussions, and performance feedback, as well as supplemental one-on-one interaction with some students. Most of these instructional functions can be replicated for offsite students through computer-mediated communication, where online instructors typically adjust their teaching activities to accommodate these distance delivery systems. Believing that education is not limited to the transfer of information

Learning in Response to Instructional Communication

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alone, many teachers seek to develop some degree of mentoring or professional influence through interpersonal connection with their students, and it is within the context of the teacher-student relationship that some of the most significant learning occurs. What communication characteristics are shared by successful teachers? What oral communication skills and instructor actions enhance students’ learning? How important is it for teachers to conduct themselves in ways that manifest both competence and character? How can instructors most effectively provide feedback on student performance? These and other pertinent questions are the focus of this section of the volume, where leading scholars provide a survey of eight communication-related characteristics or actions that affect the teaching-learning process. They overview the conceptual and theoretical development of the focal constructs, examine current and past methods and measures, summarize major research findings, and project future research agendas for continuing inquiry. Each chapter concludes with an extensive reference list for further reading. These are the teacherrelated constructs that comprise this section: – Instructional Clarity – fashioning instructional messages in a logical manner using specific, understandable language that maximizes comprehension and learning (Ch. 5). – Teacher Power and Compliance-Gaining – the ways teachers exert their authority and social influence to ensure order and maintain a positive classroom environment (Ch. 6). – Instructor Immediacy – reducing psychological distance between teachers and students through verbal and nonverbal cues that result in perceptions of closeness and liking (Ch. 7). – Instructor Credibility – students’ perceptions of the source credibility of their instructor based on Aristotle’s philosophy of ethos: competence, character, and caring (Ch. 8). – Instructor Use of Humor – students’ perceptions and interpretations of their teacher’s use of humor during instruction, with an emphasis on appropriateness and relevance (Ch. 9). – Teacher Self-Disclosure – students’ perceptions of teachers who disclose personal information during instruction (Ch. 10). – Instructor Verbal Aggression – types and effects of aggressive verbal behavior directed toward an individual student or a class (Ch. 11). – Instructional Feedback – the ways teachers communicate correction, direction, or advice concerning a student’s academic performance (Ch. 12).

Student Characteristics and Attitudes The next section shifts the focus from instructors to learners. In order to receive instructional messages that prompt or enhance learning, students must possess

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certain cognitive skills or aptitudes, exhibit some degree of motivation and learning readiness, and (ideally) embrace positive attitudes about the teacher, the subject matter, and learning in general. Otherwise, even skillfully-designed instructional messages may fall short of desired effects. In addition, the perceived sense of interpersonal connectedness between teacher and student, and among the students themselves, often exerts an influence on learning outcomes. Accordingly, instructional communication scholars have investigated many student-related characteristics and attitudes that prepare and support optimum learning conditions, such as cultural orientation, ethnicity, gender, motivation, and interpersonal connection, to name but a few. Because of the centrality of communication in this body of research, special emphasis has been given to the challenging condition of communication apprehension, the anxiety that – for a segment of learners, at least – accompanies some types of interaction and may complicate or impede the teaching-learning process. Are certain characteristics commonly found among students who excel as learners? What student attitudes, perceptions, and expectations enhance their learning? How important are learners’ interpersonal connections with the instructor and other students? To what extent does communication apprehension impose deleterious effects on teaching and learning? These and other pertinent questions are the focus of this section of the volume. These authors provide theoretical perspectives and review research findings concerning how learners receive instruction and how they manage or interpret their role in the teaching-learning process. These are the student-related variables that comprise this section: – Cultural Values and Human Development – the ways learners are shaped by their culture, and implications for communication and learning in intercultural environments (Ch. 13). – Social Identity in the College Classroom – the ways race, gender, age, and (dis)ability affect receiving instruction and interacting with teachers and other students (Ch. 14). – Students’ Motivation to Learn – intrinsic and extrinsic sources of motivation that students bring to the activity of teaching and learning (Ch. 15). – Communication Apprehension and Public Speaking Instruction – common symptoms, possible causes, and interventions designed to manage anxiety about speaking to groups (Ch. 16). – Social Perspectives on Student Learning – student-to-student interaction and other sources of social support that enhance positive attitudes toward learning (Ch. 17).

Pedagogy and Classroom Management The next section addresses the context in which instruction occurs and some conditions that affect the type and timing of instructional messages. It is impossible to

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discuss teaching and learning in the twenty-first century without considering the powerful influence posed by communication technology, as mediated distribution systems enable the proliferation of instruction to unprecedented numbers and varieties of learners. At the same time, ever-present technologies present both opportunities and challenges in on-site classrooms, where teachers make use of digital projectors and classroom Internet access but also struggle to control students’ use of cell phones and laptops as sources of non-instructional distraction. Some creative classroom instructors make use of innovative instructional design such as service learning and flipped classrooms to establish non-traditional learning environments that capture students’ attention and facilitate hands-on learning. In contrast to classroom courses, some personal instruction takes place in one-on-one tutoring, mentoring, and training sessions, where instructors typically have more freedom to individualize instruction and maximize the teacher-student connection. Social scientists have assessed communication in all these learning environments using the customary tools and methods of scientific inquiry, and critical scholars have added their unique perspectives by speaking with clarity and insight into the nuances of interpersonal communication in various learning contexts. How effective is mediated instruction as compared with face-to-face delivery? Can the essential content of the Basic Communication Course for college students be delivered successfully online? How can classroom teachers make the best use of technology during instruction, yet limit students’ access to individual devices to maintain focus on instruction? Does communication research support the use of service learning and other innovative course designs? These and other questions are the focus of this section of the volume, where a diverse group of scholars discuss the techniques, processes, and technologies that enable learning in today’s classroom and computer-mediated contexts. These are the pedagogical and programmatic topics presented in this section: – New Technologies and Distributed Learning Systems – the use of computer-mediated and digital communication to extend teaching and learning beyond the traditional classroom (Ch. 18). – Tech Policies and Tech Use in the College Classroom – how classroom instructors use technology as teaching aids, and how they manage students’ use of technologies during class (Ch. 19). – Teaching the Basic Communication Course Online – development of curriculum and use of technologies to provide fundamental communication training to off-site learners (Ch. 20). – Service Learning and Innovative Pedagogies – development of non-traditional means of delivering instruction and promoting learning, both inside and outside the classroom (Ch. 21). – Advising, Tutoring, Mentoring, and Coaching – instructional communication in these non-classroom settings that support and enhance the total learning experience (Ch. 22).

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Critical Communication Pedagogy – using a critical lens to assess teacherstudent interaction and its socio-cultural effects (Ch. 23).

Teaching and Learning Communication Across the Lifespan The final section addresses how humans learn to communicate effectively and appropriately during each of the life stages, from early childhood to working adult. In the academic discipline of Communication Studies, the process of teaching communication skills in formal or informal contexts is identified as communication education. Developmental and educational psychologists have devoted much attention to the acquisition of language by very young children, including the role of parents, teachers, and siblings to influence the emergence of language and social skills of the very young. School children and teenage learners continue to develop age-appropriate communicating abilities through social interaction in the classroom, as well as courses devoted to debate or public speaking. To date, the largest body of communication education research has focused on teaching courses to college students, both communication majors and those fulfilling general education requirements for various degrees. In addition, many adult learners continue to develop their communication skills through seminars, training sessions, courses, and individual coaching or tutoring. Perhaps it can be said that no one ever stops learning about how to achieve shared understanding with others, and that an entire lifetime is not sufficient to arrive at the ability to communicate perfectly. What are the most effective methods of acquiring communication skills, beginning with early childhood and progressing through adult learners? What are the accepted communication competencies and skills for each stage of human development? How effective are speech courses, training seminars, and individual coaching as means toward achieving communication competence? How are communication programs assessed to determine their effectiveness? These are the topics discussed in this section by authors who present theoretical perspectives, describe common practices, and identify future opportunities and challenges related to helping learners develop good communication skills. The chapters in this section follow learners through the progression of the lifespan: – Teaching Communication to Pre-School Children (Ch. 24) – Teaching Communication to Children and Adolescents (Ch. 25) – Teaching Communication to College and University Students (Ch. 26) – Teaching Communication to Working Adults (Ch. 27) – Assessment of Communication Programs (Ch. 28)

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Conclusion In the final chapter, the Editor is joined by a panel of forward-thinking scholars from Europe and the United States to discuss the challenges and opportunities related to communication and learning in the twenty-first century. Collectively, they identify questions yet to be answered concerning the acquisition of communication skills, the formation of effective instructional messages, the complex interaction of teachers and students, the understanding of cognitive processes, and the development of successful educational programs and learning experiences. The result of their conversation is an outline of research questions to guide instructional communication scholars for years to come. When it comes to communication and learning, some of us are teachers and all of us are learners. We still have much to learn about the skillful, strategic use of communication during instruction. Though vast, the collective knowledge of instructors, professors, researchers, scholars, and practitioners is still incomplete, and the search continues for greater understanding of learning in response to instructional communication.

Fundamental Perspectives

Scott A. Myers, Melissa F. Tindage, and Jordan Atkinson

2 The Evolution of Instructional Communication Research Abstract: Instructional communication refers to the study of the human communication process across all learning situations independent of the subject matter, the grade level, or the learning environment. Since its beginnings in the 1970s, instructional communication researchers have dedicated their efforts to examining instructor and student communication practices, behaviors, and traits; instructor teaching and student learning strategies; instructor classroom management practices; and how the development and maintenance of instructor-student relationships affect the teaching-learning process. Many of these research efforts have been published in Communication Education, the premier journal of instructional communication research. A content analysis of the 1269 scholarly articles published in Communication Education from 1976–2014 reveals that each article falls into one of four categories: empirical studies, literature reviews, commentaries/essays, and instructional practices. A closer examination of the empirical studies indicates that the topics of these articles center on instructor classroom behaviors, student classroom behaviors, student characteristics, student learning outcomes, instructional content, program evaluation, learning environment, instructor characteristics, or mediated communication. Furthermore, many of these empirical studies adopt a quantitative research methodology, collect data through survey research, and utilize domestic undergraduate college students as their sample. Keywords: communication education, Communication Education, instructional communication, instructor-student relationship, student learning, learning environment, programmatic research

Since the formation of the National Association of Academic Teachers of Public Speaking in 1914, the sub-discipline of instructional communication has maintained a healthy presence in the Communication discipline (Friedrich & Boileau, 1990) by expending “considerable intellectual effort to the development of theory and research supportive of effective communication instruction” (Friedrich, 1987, p. 4). Early work in the discipline centered on speech communication pedagogy and communication education (Rubin, 2011), which then eventually branched into the separate, yet related, field of instructional communication. Considered initially to be a vehicle through which researchers could study the interdependencies that exist among human communication, human learning, and the science of teaching (Scott & Wheeless, 1977), contemporary scholars agree with Staton’s (1989) assessment that instructional communication centers on “the study of the human com-

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munication process as it occurs in instructional contexts across subject matter, grade levels, and types of settings” (p. 365). As noted by Beebe and Mottet (2009), these contexts can include both traditional settings (e.g., Kindergarten to 12 th grade, higher education institutions) and nontraditional settings (e.g., corporate training, community education); but regardless of the context, instructional communication practitioners typically focus on the role that communication variables play in the instructional environment, with the idea that these variables ultimately foster, in some way, student learning (Staton, 1989). The purpose of this chapter is to trace the evolution of instructional communication research. In the first section, we will review a brief history of instructional communication research. In the second section, we will provide the results of a content analysis of the journal Communication Education, the primary outlet for instructional communication research.

Instructional Communication Research: 1972–2015 By most accounts, the establishment of instructional communication as a legitimate field of study began in 1972 when the International Communication Association (ICA) approved the creation of the Instructional Communication Division (Friedrich, 1989). According to McCroskey and McCroskey (2006), this Division was the first academic group to focus exclusively on instructional communication by “encourage[ing] and support[ing] the development and empirical testing of communication theory relevant to individuals interacting in instructional settings” (Nussbaum & Friedrich, 2005, p. 578), even though other communication associations (e.g., the Speech Communication Association [SCA], the Eastern Communication Association [ECA]) had, at this time, pre-established divisions that focused on communication education. These initial efforts to create the Instructional Communication Division at ICA are attributed to Barbara Lieb-Brilhart, who was employed at the SCA national office, and Robert Kibler and Larry Barker, two professors at Florida State University (McCroskey & McCroskey, 2006; Richmond & Frymier, 2010). It was not until the mid-1970s, however, that instructional communication research began to become widely disseminated to scholars and instructors alike. Several events occurred during this time period that established the foundation for the sub-discipline of instructional communication. In 1976, The Speech Teacher, a publication of the SCA, was renamed Communication Education. Its focus shifted from publishing articles and activities intended to provide pedagogy to speech communication teachers to publishing articles on instructional communication variables targeted at assisting instructors of all academic disciplines with both teaching activities and research endeavors (McCroskey & McCroskey, 2006). In 1977, the ICA began publishing Communication Yearbook, a yearly periodical dedicated

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to disseminating the best research conducted by its members. From 1977–1986, Communication Yearbook published one overview chapter on each of the Association’s areas of study, as well as each Division’s top papers presented at the prior year’s convention. For instructional communication research, these overview chapters examined topics such as instructional communication theory and research (Scott & Wheeless, 1977), learning theory (Lashbrook & Wheeless, 1978), instructional strategies and systems (Wheeless & Hurt, 1979), classroom interaction (Daly & Korinek, 1980), and developmental communication (Van Kleeck & Daly, 1982). In 1978, Hurt, Scott, and McCroskey published Communication in the Classroom, the first instructional communication textbook built on the premise that “there is, indeed, a difference between knowing and teaching, and that difference is communication in the classroom” (p. 3). With this textbook, they introduced readers to a host of instructional communication variables (e.g., student communication apprehension; student affective, behavioral, and cognitive learning; instructor credibility, attraction, homophily, and power) that years later would become (and still remain) prominent areas of research. Additionally, several programmatic areas of research introduced during the mid- and late-1970s – much of which was published in Communication Yearbook – would become just as prominent in the decades to follow. Topics such as student communication apprehension (McCroskey, 1977), instructor credibility (McCroskey, Holdridge, & Toomb, 1974), instructor homophily (McCroskey, Richmond, & Daly, 1975), instructor attraction (McCroskey & McCain, 1974), instructor nonverbal immediacy (Andersen, 1979), instructor communicator style (Norton, 1977), instructor humor (Bryant, Comisky, & Zillmann, 1979), and instructor self-disclosure (Nussbaum & Scott, 1979), to name a few, would shape much of the research conducted during the 1980s, even though the genesis of these topics was rooted in the areas of general communication, interpersonal communication, and rhetorical communication (McCroskey, Richmond, & McCroskey, 2006). Notably, many of these studies, and others like them, laid the groundwork for the notion that the instructor-student relationship is one type of interpersonal relationship (Nussbaum & Scott, 1979, 1980), an idea that was later revisited and popularized by Frymier and Houser (2000). Other research conducted during this time period focused on exploring instructional communication variables through the Source-Message-Channel-Receiver model of communication (Preiss & Wheeless, 2014). Together, these studies began the variable-analytic practice of studying instructional communication, a practice that remains prevalent currently (Myers, 2010). During the 1980s, much of the instructional communication research was built off of these initial research projects, although expanded in scope. Several of these projects were extensions of the original topics, thereby creating several programmatic lines of research (Friedrich, 1989). For instance, the study of communication apprehension was broadened to include student apprehension toward participating in class (Neer, 1987); the study of nonverbal immediacy was expanded to in-

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clude a verbal component (Gorham, 1988; Richmond, Gorham, & McCroskey, 1987); and the study of communicator style extended itself to the examination of instructor use of dramatic behaviors (Norton & Nussbaum, 1980) and eventually the exploration of how instructors use humor, narratives, and self-disclosure in the classroom (Downs, Javidi, & Nussbaum, 1988; Javidi, Downs, & Nussbaum, 1988; Javidi & Long, 1989; Nussbaum, Comadena, & Holladay, 1987). The conceptualization of instructor credibility evolved (McCroskey & Young, 1981) as did a general interest in the communicative behaviors that comprised teacher effectiveness (Andersen, Norton, & Nussbaum, 1981; Nussbaum, 1984; Rubin & Feezel, 1986; Scott & Nussbaum, 1981) and the communication concerns that teachers experienced (Staton-Spicer, 1983; Staton-Spicer & Bassett, 1979). The notion of instructor power (McCroskey & Richmond, 1983; Richmond & McCroskey, 1984) was introduced, resulting in a seven-article series titled “Power in the Classroom” that examined how instructor use of power bases and compliance-gaining strategies (known as behavioral alteration techniques) affected student learning (see Richmond, 1990 for a review of this series), as well as its attendant construct of student resistance (Burroughs, Kearney, & Plax, 1989; Plax, Kearney, Downs, & Stewart, 1986). Affinity seeking was identified as a behavior instructors could use to generate liking from their students for both themselves and their subject matter (McCroskey & McCroskey, 1986). For many of these topics, its study was accompanied by the development of a quantitative survey instrument, thereby increasing both the breadth and the depth of the research conducted by instructional communication scholars (see Kearney & Beatty, 1994). Additionally, as summarized by Waldeck, Plax, and Kearney (2010), the conceptualization and measurement of student affective, behavioral, and cognitive learning, which began in the late-1970s, improved markedly during this time period. The 1990s witnessed a boom in both the study of instructor communication behaviors and student communication behaviors. Much of this research was published in Communication Education, as well as in Communication Quarterly and Communication Research Reports, two journals published by the ECA that were receptive to instructional communication scholarship. While scholars continued to explore the lines of research established in the 1980s, several constructs associated with interpersonal communication research were modified for study in the instructional communication context, including instructor argumentativeness and verbal aggressiveness (Myers, 1998; Myers & Knox, 1999), instructor socio-communicative style (Thomas, Richmond, & McCroskey, 1994; Wanzer & McCroskey, 1998), student communication motives (Martin, Myers, & Mottet, 1999), and student use of affinity-seeking strategies (Wanzer, 1998). Other constructs such as instructor misbehavior (Kearney, Plax, Hays, & Ivey, 1991), instructor use of relevance strategies (Frymier & Shulman, 1995), and instructor clarity (Chesebro & McCroskey, 1998; Civikly, 1992; Powell & Harville, 1990; Sidelinger & McCroskey, 1997; Simonds, 1997) emerged as viable areas of study. Humor research continued to grow, with

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researchers sharpening their focus on the role that instructor humor orientation (an interpersonal communication trait) played in the student learning process (e.g., Wanzer & Frymier, 1999). Moreover, instructional communication researchers expressed an interest in exploring student communication behavior, resulting in projects on student clarifying techniques (Kendrick & Darling, 1990), student motivation (Christophel, 1990), student use of compliance-gaining strategies (Golish, 1999), and student learner empowerment (Frymier, Shulman, & Houser, 1996). In regard to student learning, the measurement of affective learning was refined (McCroskey, 1994; Mottet & Richmond, 1998), and a new measure of student cognitive learning (i.e., Revised Learning Indicators Scale) was developed (Frymier & Houser, 1999). The measurement of instructor nonverbal immediacy (McCroskey, Sallinen, Fayer, Richmond, & Barraclough, 1996) and instructor credibility (McCroskey & Teven, 1999; Teven & McCroskey, 1997) continued to be fine-tuned, and several other quantitative instruments were developed to assess the constructs developed during this time period (see Rubin, 2009). Collectively, along with much of the research conducted in the two preceding decades, this decade of instructional communication research utilized the process-product paradigm and remained variable-analytic in its approach. The study of many of these aforementioned constructs (from both the 1980s and the 1990s) continued well into the 2000s, with the introduction of new constructs that centered on instructor-student and student-student classroom communication such as instructor confirmation (Ellis, 2000), instructor use of facework strategies (Kerssen-Griep, 2001; Kerssen-Griep, Trees, & Hess, 2008), student classroom emotion (Titsworth, Quinlan, & Mazer, 2010), connected classroom climate (Dwyer et al., 2004), and technology use in the classroom (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013). Several constructs typically associated with organizational communication research were applied to the instructional communication contexts, spawning several new lines of research such as classroom justice (Chory, 2007; Chory-Assad, 2002), student dissent (Goodboy, 2011), and student feedback orientations (King, Schrodt, & Weisel, 2009). Out-of-class communication (Bippus, Kearney, Plax, & Brooks, 2003; Nadler & Nadler, 2000) became a new context for studying instructor-student interactions, as did instructor-student e-mail exchanges (Stephens, Houser, & Cowan, 2009; Waldeck, Kearney, & Plax, 2001b). Researchers continued to make improvements in both the conceptualization and measurement of several instructional communication constructs, including instructor homophily and attraction (McCroskey, McCroskey, & Richmond, 2006), instructor self-disclosure (Cayanus & Martin, 2004, 2008), instructor humor (Frymier, Wanzer, & Wojtaszczyk, 2008), instructor nonverbal immediacy (Smythe & Hess, 2005), instructor power (Schrodt, Witt, & Turman, 2007), instructor misbehaviors (Goodboy & Myers, 2015), and student resistance (Burroughs, 2007). Moreover, several new measures to assess student cognitive learning – including confidence testing (King & Witt, 2009), student engagement (Mazer, 2012), and an instrument centered on student

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acquisition, retention, and application of course content (Frisby & Martin, 2010; Frisby, Mansson, & Kaufmann, 2014) – were introduced, as was a new measure to assess student communication satisfaction with instructors (Goodboy, Martin, & Bolkan, 2009). The 2000s also bore a surge in the development of models and theories targeted specifically at the instructional communication process. McCroskey and his colleagues (Katt, McCroskey, Sivo, Richmond, & Valencic, 2009; McCroskey, Valencic, & Richmond, 2004) developed the Generalized Model of Instructional Communication as a way to explain how classroom instruction occurs, whereas Weber, Martin, and Myers (2011) developed the Instructional Beliefs Model as a way to explain how instructor characteristics, student characteristics, and course-specific structural issues work together to influence students’ attitudes and behaviors toward instruction. Slightly disrupting the variable-analytic trend established during the 1990s, several theories were developed to guide instructional research efforts, which include emotional response theory, rhetorical/relational goal theory, relational power and instructional influence theory (Mottet, Frymier, & Beebe, 2006), and instructional humor processing theory (Wanzer, Frymier, & Irwin, 2010). In addition, research methodologies now commonly employ modeling as well as moderation and mediation analyses.

Communication Education: 1976–2014 The journal Speech Teacher debuted in 1952 as one of three journals published by the Speech Association of America (SAA; Reid, 2002) until it was rebranded (and renamed) Communication Education in 1976. Up to that point, and based on a suggestion by then SAA Executive Director Loren Reid as a way to increase association revenue (Reid, 1990), The Speech Teacher focused primarily on publishing articles about the effective instruction of speech communication courses and concepts (Richmond & Frymier, 2010). Today, Communication Education is one of 11 journals published by the National Communication Association (NCA), whose collective purpose is to “provide the latest research in the discipline and showcase diverse perspectives on a range of scholarly topics” (National Communication Association, 2015). According to Waldeck, Kearney, and Plax (2001a), Communication Education is considered the top publishing outlet for instructional communication research. “Throughout its history Communication Education has been a journal of many topics, many philosophical perspectives and many research methodologies” (Sprague, 2002, p. 339). To gain a more comprehensive picture of the role that Communication Education has played in the development of the sub-discipline of instructional communication, it is necessary to first gain a glimpse into the editors who have shaped the vision and the direction of the journal over the past 38 years (see Table 1). The first three volumes (Volumes 25–27, 1976–1978) of the newly anointed Communication Education were edited by Kenneth L. Brown of the University of

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Table 1: Communication Education Editors Years (Volumes)

Editor

1976–1978 1979–1981 1982–1984 1985–1987 1988–1990 1991–1993 1994–1996 1997–1999 2000–2002 2003–2005 2006–2008 2009–2011 2012–2014

Kenneth L. Brown, University of Massachusetts Gustav V. Friedrich, University of Nebraska-Lincoln Donald H. Ecroyd, Temple University John A. Daly, University of Texas-Austin James C. McCroskey, West Virginia University Lawrence B. Rosenfeld, University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill Douglas M. Trank, University of Iowa Ruth Anne Clark, University of Illinois Joe Ayres, Washington State University Don Rubin, University of Georgia Patricia Kearney, California State University, Long Beach Melanie Booth-Butterfield, West Virginia University Paul L. Witt, Texas Christian University

(25–27) (28–30) (31–33) (34–36) (37–39) (40–42) (43–45) (46–48) (49–51) (52–54) (55–57) (58–60) (61–63)

Massachusetts. In a section labeled “To Readers and Contributors” that appeared in each issue, Brown noted that the journal was intended to assist with all aspects of teaching and learning speech communication in elementary, middle, junior, and senior high schools and in higher education. Its purpose is to provide speech communication teachers with practical, well-conceived ideas and resources for developing speech communication competencies in their students. Communication Education also seeks to assist teachers of all disciplines and academic levels to apply communication theory and research to classroom teaching and learning.

Across these three volumes, the published articles fell into one of five categories. The first category featured articles that either addressed the topical nature of the journal issue, as Brown often devoted each issue to a specific thematic teaching topic (e.g., teaching oral interpretation, interpersonal communication, or the basic course), or the articles were empirical research reports that explored some avenue of communication theory and research. The second category was labeled Instructional Practices, which generally either offered advice and provided tips on how to teach a particular communication concept or described a teaching activity that could be implemented in a specific communication course. The third category was titled ERIC (Educational Resources Information Center) RCS (Reading/Communication Skills) Report, a speech communication module that was administered jointly by the SCA and the National Council of Teachers on Education in cooperation with the National Institute of Health. In this report, which was usually written by a member of the SCA national office, summaries of relevant convention papers, white papers, and resources (often reflective of the thematic nature of the issue) catalogued by, and made available through, ERIC were provided. The fourth category, which was edited by Sharon L. Ratliffe of Ambassador College, was titled “Reviews

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of Teaching/Learning Resources.” This section contained a review of both print (e.g., books, textbooks, manuals) and non-print (e.g., cassette tapes, filmstrips) resources that could be used to teach speech and theatre courses across all grade levels. A fifth category, which appeared regularly but not in each issue, was labeled “Communication Capsules: The National Scene” and was written by Barbara LiebBrilhart. In this feature, Lieb-Brilhart focused on the contemporary issues and trends (e.g., speaking literacy, communication competency) related to communication education at the national level. Additionally, advertisements touting undergraduate and graduate programs, textbooks, and instructional resources were placed inside both the front and back covers, on the back cover itself, and on the last few pages of each issue. Each front cover featured a graphic design unique to the issue, often associated with the issue’s theme. Graphics also were used to illustrate several of the articles and as logos for the Instructional Practices, ERIC RCS Report, and Reviews of Teaching/Learning Resources sections. Volumes 28–30 (1979–1981) were edited by Gustav W. Friedrich, who was a professor in the Department of Speech Communication at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Friedrich’s goal was to “produce a journal that would be read by and perceived as useful by all members of the association” (G. W. Friedrich, personal communication, September 29, 2015). He maintained the status quo in terms of the content published in Communication Education by publishing research articles, which he labeled as features (these articles were described as “provid[ing] the theory and research necessary for the improvement of instruction” in his note to contributors) as well as continuing the Instructional Practices, ERIC RCS Report, and the Review of Teaching/Learning Resources (edited by Cassandra L. Book of Michigan State University) sections. In his “From the Editor” note that appeared in the first issue of each volume, he especially encouraged contributions from K-12 teachers and community college instructors; he also worked actively to recruit submissions from both instructional and non-instructional communication scholars (G. W. Friedrich, personal communication, September 27, 2015). Of his 12 issues, two issues were specifically devoted to special topics: “The Status of Graduate Study in Communication” (Volume 28, Number 4) guest edited by Roderick P. Hart of the University of Texas and “The Status of the Discipline” (Volume 29, Number 3) guest edited by Frank E. X. Dance of the University of Denver. Although he discontinued Brown’s practice of thematizing issues, advertisements for speech communication programs and instructional aids (e.g., textbooks) still were prominently featured in the journal. The front cover continued to feature a graphic specifically designed for the issue by Friedrich’s wife, who was a professional graphic artist (G. W. Friedrich, personal communication, September 29, 2015), and often was linked to the topic of the first article contained in the issue. Donald P. Ecroyd, a professor in the Department of Speech at Temple University, edited Volumes 31–33 (1982–1984). He refined the purpose of the journal by informing readers in his “From the Editor” note appearing in each issue that Communication Education

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strives to provide teachers with practical, well thought out, well written articles focusing upon the relationship among theory, research, and the classroom experience. Its concerns are with all aspects of the teaching and learning of both verbal and nonverbal communication skills, and with issues in the educational profession which may affect that teaching and learning.

While continuing to publish four of the same types of articles that appeared under Friedrich’s editorship (i.e., features, instructional practices, ERIC reports, and Reviews of Teaching/Learning Resources, which were edited by Edward J. Pappas of Wayne State University), the Instructional Practices section was no longer featured; instead, any articles focused on instructional practices were integrated into the features articles section. (Yet, for whatever reason, Volume 33, Number 4 contained a section labeled “Creative Instructional Ideas” that included five teaching activities.) Moreover, Ecroyd introduced a new “Forum” section in which he asked Communication Education readers to respond (either generally or specifically to a question he posed) in no more than 350 words to the articles published in the journal; these collective (usually between one to five) responses would then appear in a subsequent issue. Unlike Friedrich, Ecroyd did not designate any issues for special topics, although he did feature three symposiums (as part of an issue) guest edited by Gerald M. Phillips of Pennsylvania State University on the pedagogy of effective speakers (Volume 31, Number 3), John Stewart of the University of Washington on empathic listening (Volume 32, Number 4), and Sharon Ratliffe of Golden West College on speech communication in community colleges (Volume 33, Number 1). Additionally, similar to the prior volumes edited by Brown and Friedrich, Communication Education continued to include advertisements, although the inside of both the front and back covers featured either a product or service offered by the SCA. The cover, however, no longer contained a graphic; rather, it simply contained the journal’s name. Volumes 34–36 (1985–1987) were edited by John A. Daly, a professor in the Department of Speech Communication at the University of Texas. In his volumes, Daly continued publishing articles that could be classified into the four aforementioned sections published by Brown, Friedrich, and to a large extent, Ecroyd: features, instructional practices, ERIC RCS reports, and Review of Teaching/Learning Resources, which was now being edited by Judith S. Trent of the University of Cincinnati. Daly did, however, add two new sections to his issues. The first new section was titled “Reflections,” in which Daly invited communication scholars “to tell [Communication Education] readers something they ought to know about the discipline, about its history, about how we teach communication now and in the past, personal challenges that they overcame, [or] what they’ve learned in their long and distinguished careers” (J. A. Daly, personal communication, September 24, 2015). The second section was a Software Reviews section, which was edited by Frank E. X. Dance. Noting that the recent development of computers and computer software could assist SCA members in their teaching endeavors, Dance (1985) en-

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couraged the submission of software reviews “in terms of what it says it will do, if it does it, if it does it well, if it does it easily, and if everything that it does can help the reader” (p. 82). He further implored readers to submit the names of particular software products that they would like to see reviewed, stating that “software manufacturers seem not yet to be convinced of the value of being reviewed in this journal but if you tell me what you want to see reviewed I will try to acquire it and have it reviewed for a future column” (Dance, 1985, p. 82). During Daly’s tenure, the physical appearance of the journal changed slightly as well, with the front cover of each issue now listing the articles contained within the issue. The journal still contained advertisements for SCA products and services, textbooks, and graduate programs, although in some issues, both the inside front and back covers featured the masthead of the journal and the SCA, respectively. Beginning in 1985, the last issue (i.e., Number 4) of each volume contained an Index that referenced, by author name, each article published in the preceding issues of each volume, a practice that was carried forward with each subsequent volume until 2007. (The 1985 index, for whatever reason, appears in Volume 35, Number 4 of the 1986 volume; no indexes were published for 2002 or 2006.) James C. McCroskey edited Volumes 37–39 (1988–1990). A professor in the Department of Communication Studies at West Virginia University, McCroskey’s issues focused primarily on content (formerly known as features) articles and reviews. In his “Guidelines for Submissions” note featured in each issue, McCroskey stated that the journal publishes the best scholarship available on topics related to communication in instructional settings. … Articles in CE focus primarily on the role of communication in the instructional process and teaching communication in traditional academic environments. However, manuscripts related to teaching communication or the role of communication in non-traditional settings (e.g., training in business, health, and legal settings) are strongly encouraged.

At this time, the Instructional Practices section was discontinued (as were the ERIC RCS reports), as SCA debuted a new journal titled The Speech Communication Teacher (now known as Communication Teacher) whose focus was exclusively on the teaching of communication (Gehrke & Keith, 2015), thus eliminating the need for these types of articles to be published in Communication Education. The “Reviews” section (edited by Walter R. Zakahi of West Virginia University) was modified in its name, but it still continued to review print resources (e.g., books, textbooks, journals outside the Communication discipline) and non-print resources, including reviews of then-current technology (e.g., BITNET) and computer software (e.g., SPSS 3.0). Across his three volumes, McCroskey devoted one issue (Volume 30, Number 4) to a special issue on “Perspectives on the Interface on Communication and Instruction,” which offered both contextual and programmatic views of those scholars whose research efforts concentrated on the role that communication played in the instructional process. The physical appearance of the journal continued to evolve,

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with the front cover of each issue being a solid color (i.e., red, green, blue, and purple), but still listing the contents for each issue. The inside of the front and back covers, as well as the back cover and several pages at the end of each issue, continued to feature advertisements. A professor in the Department of Speech Communication at University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, Lawrence B. Rosenfeld, was the editor of Volumes 40–42 (1991–1993). Although Rosenfeld continued to publish content articles, he also solicited submissions for four features he termed instruction-related materials: master syllabi, reviews of instruments, teaching aid reviews, and book reviews (e.g., textbooks, popular books). In the “Editor’s Note” that appeared in his first issue (Volume 40, Number 1), Rosenfeld identified master syllabi submissions as syllabi that “present an approach to and argument for teaching either a new course or an established course in a new way,” review of instruments submissions as “descriptions and comparisons among measuring instruments that may be used in the classroom,” and teaching aid reviews as reviews of “materials easily and readily available to instructors, such as television programs and films on videocassette.” He also appointed associate editors for each of these three features, respectively: Roy M. Berko of Towson State University, Ann L. Darling of the University of Utah, and James Zalewski of La Cueva High School (Albuquerque, New Mexico); Isa N. Engleberg of Prince George’s Community College was appointed as the book reviews editor. In each volume, Rosenfeld featured one special issue, although these issues were not always labeled as such. Volume 40 featured a collection of articles on gender issues in the communication classroom (Number 1) and a special report on managing multicultural communication education (Number 3) co-edited by Fred L. Cashmir of Pepperdine University, Volume 41 (Number 2) examined a series of articles on the role of the instructor in the instructional communication process coedited by Ann Q. Staton of the University of Washington, and Volume 42 (Number 4) was a special issue devoted to the docustory, a term Rosenfeld used to refer to a narrative written in the form of a short story about a teaching moment that “works.” The physical appearance of the journal, as well as the inclusion of advertisements, remained similar in nature to McCroskey’s volumes, with the only difference being that the contents of each issue were now contained within a box on the front cover. Volumes 43–45 (1994–1996) were edited by Douglas M. Trank, a professor in the Rhetoric Department at the University of Iowa. Similar to McCroskey, Trank focused almost exclusively on publishing content articles and reviews, naming Jo Sprague of San Jose State University as the associate editor for the reviews articles. He did, however, add one new feature that he titled as “Commentary.” In his “From the Editor” preface that appeared in his first issue (Volume 43, Number 1), Trank solicited articles inviting “all those with ideas to offer, proposals to debate, or opinions to champion to present their views to the journal’s readers” with the “hope

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this section generates discussion and dissent that will bring [SCA members] closer to clarifying the intellectual centrality of [the] discipline.” While Trank also stated that his intention was to have the Commentary feature appear in several issues over his editorship, only the initial commentary (Wartella, 1994) was ever published. Instead, three issues contained the master syllabi feature instituted by Rosenfeld, and one issue (Volume 45, Number 3) contained a set of three review essays (written by one author) of several collaborative learning textbooks. In addition to a special issue (Volume 43, Number 2) dedicated solely to the Internet (guest edited by Gerald M. Phillips of Pennsylvania State University), Trank offered a twoarticle feature on distance learning (Volume 44, Number 4), a colloquy on “The Place of Literature in Performance Studies” (Volume 45, Number 2), and a symposium on “The Women’s University” (Volume 45, Number 4). The physical appearance of the journal retained a look nearly identical to Rosenfeld’s volumes, although the number of advertisements that appeared in the journal decreased. Ruth Anne Clark, a professor in the Department of Speech Communication at the University of Illinois, assumed the editorship for Volumes 46–48 (1997–1999). Her vision for the journal included publishing the best scholarship available on topics related to communication instruction, the systematic development of communication skills, and communication in instruction … Articles may focus on issues related to instruction in traditional classroom settings or in less traditional instructional contexts, such as organizations, health care facilities, or families, and across a variety of delivery media (face-to-face, computer-mediated, video, and the like). (Editorial Policy, Volume 46, Number 1)

She continued the trend of publishing content articles and reviews, although the reviews sections was renamed “Book Reviews” (with Donald Rubin of the University of Georgia assuming the Associate Editor for Reviews position), and she introduced the brief report, which was a shorter version of content articles. Unlike some of her predecessors, Clark did not designate any one issue as a special issue, but did devote some of her pages to special topics: a symposium on “Reflections on the SCA Summer Conference (on Graduate Education) and Beyond” (Volume 46, Number 2), a section on “Reflections on K-12 Standards” (Volume 47, Number 2), a section on “Communication Instruction Around the World” (Volume 47, Number 3), a section on “Reflections on Undergraduate Communication Education” (Volume 48, Number 3), and a review forum on “What’s the Use of a Textbook in the Basic Communication Performance Course?” (Volume 48, Number 4). No visible changes were made to either the physical appearance or the layout of the journal. Volumes 49–51 (2000–2002) were edited by Joe Ayres, a professor in the School of Communication at Washington State University. Following the editorial policy established by Clark, Ayres solicited content articles, brief reports, and book reviews (with Tim Hopf of Washington State University serving as the reviews editor), although book reviews only appeared in three of his issues. Ayres also introduced

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a new feature titled Instructional Review, which appeared in five of his issues. Additionally, Ayres offered two Special Focus issues (Volume 49, Number 1 centered on “The Nature/Nurture Balance” and Volume 50, Number 3 explored “Tech Advances”) and two Special Issues (Volume 51, Number 1 was labeled “Special Issue on the Communication Curriculum: What Should We Teach and How Should We Teach It?” guest edited by Philip M. Backlund of Central Washington University; Volume 51, Number 4 was a commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the founding of The Speech Teacher/Communication Education and featured guest commentary from all but two of the previous editors of Communication Education). As with the volumes edited by Clark, no visible changes in either the journal’s appearance or layout were made. Donald L. Rubin, a professor in the Department of Speech Communication at the University of Georgia, was named editor of Communication Education for Volumes 52–54 (2003–2005). In the “Editor’s Note” that appeared in his first issue (Volume 52, Number 1), Rubin established a commitment to soliciting articles indicative of the interdisciplinary diversity (e.g., topics, methodology, design) occurring within the instructional research process. In addition to continuing to publish content articles, brief reports, and book reviews (with Nancy Rost Goulden of Kansas State University serving as the Associate Editor for Reviews), Rubin initiated a new feature titled “Scholarship of Teaching and Learning” edited by Ann L. Darling of the University of Utah. According to Darling (2003), the purpose of this feature was to highlight “empirical examination[s] of teaching in relation to student learning. It is distinct from scholarly teaching in that it goes beyond teaching well, even superbly, to participating in a focused inquiry process and reflective practice about one’s own teaching” (p. 47). Rubin’s commitment to interdisciplinary diversity was further evident by two special issues. The first special issue centered on “Racial, Cultural, and Gendered Identities in Educational Contexts: Communication Perspectives on Identity Negotiation” (Volume 52, Number 3 & 4) guest edited by Ronald L. Jackson II of Pennsylvania State University and Katherine Grace Hendrix of the University of Memphis; the second special issue focused on “Communication Genres in Disciplinary Discourse Communities: Theoretical and Pedagogical Explorations of Communication Across the Curriculum and in the Disciplines” (Volume 54, Number 1) guest edited by Deanna P. Dannels of North Carolina State University. During his editorship, the physical appearance and layout of the journal changed drastically. Beginning with Volume 53, Number 1, the journal adopted a new front cover, which included the logos of both the NCA and Routledge/Taylor & Francis (the journal’s new publisher), and a new back cover, which listed the contents published in the issue. Although advertisements still appeared, they were minimal in number and followed the book reviews section at the back of the journal. Volumes 55–57 (2006–2008) were edited by Patricia Kearney, a professor in the Department of Communication Studies at California State University, Long Beach.

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As stated in the Editorial Policy that accompanied each issue, Kearney’s vision for the journal included publishing “the highest quality research that advances practice and theory in instruction generally and in communication education specifically … by encouraging systematic and programmatic research, theoretically grounded projects, rigorous literature reviews and meta-analyses, and interesting methodological and pedagogical papers.” While she continued to publish content articles, she discontinued the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning (SoTL) and the Book Reviews sections, instead integrating SoTL articles into the content articles and directing prospective book review submissions to The Review of Communication, a relatively new NCA publication. She instituted a new feature titled “Raising the Question” as ways to not only “cultivate a broader readership for Communication Education to include training and organizational consultants and their applied works,” but also to “create a dialogue among [the] readership about relevant issues” (P. Kearney, personal communication, September 25, 2015). Kearney asked context experts to provide a timely commentary on issues related to the instructional communication process (e.g., providing online instruction, teaching special student populations), the teaching profession (e.g., achieving tenure process, attending conventions), or professional opportunities (e.g., becoming a consultant). This feature appeared in all of her issues except for her last issue (Volume 57, Number 4), which was devoted to a special issue (with Kearney acting as editor) on “Instructional Communication in Organizational Contexts: Innovations in Training and Consulting.” The next editor of Communication Education was Melanie Booth-Butterfield, a professor in the Department of Communication Studies at West Virginia University. Booth-Butterfield edited Volumes 58–60 (2009–2011). Along with upholding Kearney’s vision for the journal and publishing content articles, Booth-Butterfield stated in her Editorial policy that appeared in each issue that achieving “high credibility and visibility of Communication Education as a premiere source of the highest level knowledge and information on communication in educational contexts” was one of her goals as editor. To reach this goal, she instituted a new feature titled “Major Reviews” that consisted of state-of-the art literature reviews on instructional communication topics, all of which were peer reviewed (M. Booth-Butterfield, personal communication, September 25, 2015). Across her three volumes, this feature appeared in eight issues and explored topics such as public speaking anxiety, communication across the curriculum, assessment of oral communication, and classroom participation, among others. Only one issue (Volume 59, Number 3) was designated a special issue and focused on “Communication Education and Health Promotion,” which was guest edited by Gary L. Kreps (George Mason University), Lisa Sparks (Chapman University), and Melinda M. Villagran (George Mason University). Paul L. Witt, a professor in the Department of Communication Studies at Texas Christian University, edited Volumes 61–63 (2012–2014). In a brief article in his first

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issue, Witt (2012) provided his agenda for the journal, which included incorporating research on new communication technologies and disciplinary and programmatic assessment; increasing the reach of international and intercultural researchers as well as interdisciplinary collaboration; enhancing methodological diversity; and examining communication education from the perspectives of K-12 students and adult learners in addition to college students. Similar to many of his predecessors, Witt continued to publish content articles, although he reinstated the brief research report, a feature that originally appeared in Clark’s volumes. Because NCA’s 100th anniversary occurred in 2014, Witt designated Volume 63, Number 4 as a special issue on “The Foundation and Future of Instructional Communication.” This issue was guest edited by Ann B. Frymier of Miami University and featured articles on the history of the fields of both the sub-disciplines of communication education and instructional communication, the research legacies of James C. McCroskey and Elwood Murray, future agendas for the sub-disciplines of communication education and instructional communication research, and contemporary instructional issues faced by both scholars and instructors. Additionally, though the journal’s physical appearance and layout remained relatively the same since 2004, the NCA logo that appeared on the front cover of Volume 63 was replaced with a logo designed specifically to highlight NCA’s 100th anniversary. Collectively, these 13 editors have been responsible for shaping the articles published in Communication Education for the past 39 years. However, aside from the editorial policies/directions for submissions that appear in the journal or from the reflection pieces offered by previous editors (Brown, 2002; Clark, 2002; Daly, 2002; Friedrich, 2002), we seek more clarity about the types of articles published in Communication Education over its lifespan. To examine this idea, we undertook a content analysis of Communication Education from 1976–2014. Guiding this content analysis is the first research question: RQ1: From 1976–2014, what types of articles appeared in Communication Education? Several reviews of the sub-discipline of instructional communication research conducted to date and published in regional, national, and international communication journals have identified the topics studied by researchers. In one of the earliest reviews of the research conducted during the 1960s and 1970s, Scott and Wheeless (1977) found that research could be classified based on the Source-Message-Channel-Receiver model that guided much of the research conducted during this time period. As such, they noted that instructional communication research could be categorized into one of six groups: teachers as sources and receivers, students as sources and receivers, message variables, learning strategies, media, and feedback and reinforcement. In their review of articles published during the years 1974–1982, Staton-Spicer and Wulff (1984) identified teacher characteristics, student character-

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istics, teaching strategies, speech criticism and student evaluation, speech content, and speech communication programs as the primary areas in which instructional communication research was being conducted. Waldeck et al. (2001a) examined the published research from 1990–1999 and arrived at six categories of published instructional communication research: student communication, teacher communication, mass-media effects on children, pedagogical methods and technology use, classroom management, and teacher-student interaction. In a review of the articles appearing in Communication Education from 2000–2013, Hendrix and Wilson (2014) sorted them into four categories: instructor-to-student communication, public speaking, technology, and identity. Although these efforts are informative in examining the content of instructional communication research published across multiple publication outlets, aside from those articles published in Communication Education, many of the articles examined in these aforementioned reports were published in journals that only rarely or occasionally featured instructional communication scholarship (e.g., Human Communication Research, Communication Monographs) or were published in Communication Quarterly or Communication Research Reports, two ECA journals that are known for publishing instructional communication research (Friedrich, 2002; McCroskey & McCroskey, 2006; McCroskey, Richmond, & McCroskey, 2002). With the exception of the review undertaken by Hendrix and Wilson (2014), there is not a comprehensive review of the topics of the research published in Communication Education since its inception. To correct this oversight, the following research question is posed: RQ2: From 1976–2014, what are the topics of the articles published in Communication Education? Instructional communication researchers have historically examined the instructional communication process through a post-positive paradigm, viewed through the logical empiricism lens (Nussbaum & Friedrich, 2005) and guided by the process-product paradigm (Sprague, 1992). This perspective has resulted in the frequent use of quantitative research methodologies and designs (Beebe & Mottet, 2009; McCroskey & McCroskey, 2006). However, we were interested in whether this methodological preference could be documented in the articles published in Communication Education. To explore this notion, we posed the following two research questions: RQ3: From 1976–2014, what are the predominant communication research methodologies of the articles published in Communication Education? RQ4: From 1976–2014, what research designs guide the articles published in Communication Education?

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Moreover, instructional communication research is frequently criticized for its predominately monocultural scope and its preoccupation with the context of higher education; that is, this research has relied largely on participants residing in the United States (McCroskey & McCroskey, 2006) who are enrolled in college courses (Nussbaum & Friedrich, 2005). Thus, we were curious as to whether this criticism could be applied to the articles published in Communication Education. Although instructional communication is concerned with the study of instruction across all educational levels and settings, not much research has been conducted using participants outside the college classroom (Myers, in press). To investigate this possibility, we posed the following two research questions: RQ5: From 1976–2014, what are the types of participants included in the articles published in Communication Education? RQ6: From 1976–2014, what are the represented cultures of the participants included in the articles published in Communication Education?

Method To examine the content published in Communication Education, we undertook a quantitative content analysis (Krippendorf, 2004) of the articles appearing in the journal from 1976–2014 (Volumes 25–63). This content analysis proceeded in several steps. To begin, the first author randomly selected two issues from each volume (N = 78) and reviewed each issue as a way to become familiar with the journal content. Second, based on this initial review, the first author’s extensive knowledge of the instructional communication field and the research it has generated, and the second and third authors’ training in instructional communication, the three authors worked together to identify the units of analysis for each research question, derive the categories for each unit of analysis within each question, and devise a coding scheme for each question. Third, to determine whether the coding scheme for each question was reliable, the second and third authors coded the content contained within 31 issues, which is roughly 20 % of the cumulative number of issues across the 39 volumes. (These 31 issues were selected using systematic random sampling.) Intercoder reliability was then assessed using Krippendorf’s alpha, with alpha coefficients ranging from .92 to .99 across the six research questions. Fourth, having reached an acceptable level of intercoder reliability for each research question (< .80; Hayes & Krippendorf, 2007; Krippendorf, 2004), the remaining issues (N = 125) were coded independently by the same two authors. Together, they coded a total of 1,269 articles across the 39 volumes.

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Results The first research question inquired about the types of articles that appeared in Communication Education. It was found that four types of articles (N = 1269) appeared in the journal from 1976–2014: empirical studies, literature reviews, commentaries/essays, and instructional practices.1 Empirical studies refer to research articles that examine a communication construct using some type of research methodology. These studies could be research reports, scale development pieces, or assessment articles. Literature reviews consist of non-empirical articles that specifically review one (or more) instructional communication topics, constructs, or theories by summarizing and critiquing the research conducted to date on the topic, construct, or theory. Commentaries/essays offer a perspective on a particular topic, a response to a previously published article, or a reflection on a specific issue. Instructional practices center on some aspect of teaching, whether it be detailing a specific type of teaching activity; offering recommendations for how to teach a communication construct, unit, or course; or providing general pedagogical advice. Of these four types (see Table 2), empirical studies (n = 637) appeared the most frequently, followed (in descending order) by commentaries/essays (n = 298), instructional practices (n = 297), and literature reviews (n = 37). Research questions 2–6 apply only to the empirical studies identified in the response to the first research question. The second research question inquired about the topics of the articles published in Communication Education. (Because an empirical study could contain more than one topic, all topics in any one article were coded.) Ten topics were contained within the articles published in the journal from 1976–2014: instructor characteristics, instructor classroom behaviors, student characteristics, student classroom behaviors, student learning outcomes, learning environment, mediated communication, program evaluation, instructional content, and other. Of these ten topics (see Table 3), instructor classroom behaviors (n = 255) was the most frequently studied topic, followed by student classroom behaviors (n = 239), student characteristics (n = 192), student learning outcomes (n = 181), instructional content (n = 85), program evaluation (n = 74), learning environment (n = 64), instructor characteristics (n = 63), mediated communication (n = 39), and other (n = 32).

1 After the initial review of the 78 issues, we decided to only code those articles that (a) had a clear research (i.e., empirical studies, literature reviews, commentaries/essays) or teaching focus (i.e., instructional practices, commentaries/essays) and (b) were either peer reviewed by the editorial board or invited by the editor. As such, we decided not to code the ERIC RCS reports that appeared in Volumes 25–36, any teaching/learning resource reviews or book reviews that appeared in Volumes 25–56, any editor remarks (e.g., editorial policy, notes to contributors, prefaces to regular or special journals) that appeared in any volume, the Communication Capsules reports that appeared in Volumes 25–27, and the Forums section that appeared in Volumes 31–33.

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Table 2: Types of Articles in Communication Education, 1976–2014 Editor

ES

LR

C/E

IP

Total

Brown Friedrich Ecroyd Daly McCroskey Rosenfeld Trank Clark Ayres Rubin Kearney Booth-Butterfield Witt

26 30 39 48 63 24 45 57 57 61 66 63 58

0 3 4 0 1 6 1 6 4 0 0 8 4

28 35 34 36 17 33 26 12 33 10 24  5  5

86 69 49 40  9 27 11  2  2  1  0  0  1

140 137 126 124  90  90  83  77  96  72  90  76  68

Note. ES = Empirical Study. LR = Literature Review. C/E = Commentaries/Essays. IP = Instructional Practices.

Table 3: Topics of Articles in Communication Education, 1976–2014 Editor

IC

ICB

SC

SCB

SLO

ENV

MED

EVL

CNT

OTH

Brown Friedrich Ecroyd Daly McCroskey Rosenfeld Trank Clark Ayres Rubin Kearney Booth-Butterfield Witt

2 6 0 9 6 4 5 6 4 7 8 3 3

 5  7  4 14 22  7 22 18 25 22 39 36 34

 7  6 15 16 25  9 19 20 25  6 19 12 13

 8  8 11 18 23  7 18 27 20 17 20 31 31

 9  5  5 14 18  5 17 18 13 10 28 19 20

 2  0  4  5  5  4  8  6  4  3 12  5  6

 0  0  1  1  2  1  3  6  7  2 10  2  4

 9  6 11  5  6  4  3  9  4  2  3  9  3

 3  5  9  8  9  1  5  2 19 14  6  1  3

1 5 2 2 5 2 1 0 3 0 4 5 2

Note. IC = Instructor characteristics. ICB = Instructor classroom behaviors. SC = Student characteristics. SCB = Student classroom behaviors. SLO = Student learning outcomes. ENV = Learning environment. MED = Mediated communication. EVL = Program evaluation. CNT = Instructional content. OTH = Other.

Instructor classroom behaviors refers to instructor use of instructional communication behaviors and student perceptions of instructors that result from instructor-student interaction in the classroom. These behaviors include, among others, verbal and nonverbal immediacy, clarity, content relevance, power use, humor, affinity seeking, self-disclosure, technology policies, emotions, burnout, job satis-

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faction, and confirmation. This category also includes student perceptions of instructor homophily, credibility, interpersonal attraction, communication competence, and classroom justice. Student classroom behaviors refer to student conduct, involvement, and communication in the classroom, as well as instructors’ and classmates’ perceptions of students that result from classroom interaction. Some of the behaviors investigated by researchers include participation, question asking, out-of-class communication, notetaking, interest, motives to communicate with instructors, dissent, compulsive communication, resistance, nonverbal responsiveness, and state anxiety. Student characteristics refer to the attributes that students bring with them to the classroom. These attributes include communication and personality traits (e.g., communication apprehension, reticence), social identities (e.g., race, ethnicity), ideologies, attitudes (e.g., self-efficacy, academic stress), values, and demographics (e.g., age, grade level). Student learning outcomes refer to the knowledge, skills, or attitudes that students obtain in the learning environment through either instructor-student interaction or the learning environment itself. These learning outcomes include affective, behavioral, and cognitive learning; task performance; oral communication competencies; state or trait motivation; and communication satisfaction. Instructor characteristics refer to the attributes that instructors bring with them to the classroom. Similar to student characteristics, these attributes include communication and personality traits (e.g., socio-communicative style, verbal aggressiveness, argumentativeness, communicator style), social identities (e.g., race, ethnicity, gender), ideologies, attitudes, values, and demographics (e.g., sexual orientation, teaching experience). Learning environment refers to the physical or psychological features of the learning context that can either hinder or enhance student learning. These features include classroom climate (e.g., connectedness, supportiveness, defensiveness), personalized education, seating and spacing arrangements, class size, provision of social and academic support, the presence of university or classroom tensions, the socialization process, and campus culture. Mediated communication focuses on the role that technology plays in the learning process. Examples include distance learning, online discussion boards, computer-assisted instruction, e-mail, cellular devices, virtual management techniques, social media, and other communication technologies. Program evaluation refers to the assessment of specific educational programs, pedagogical tools, or disciplinary scholarship. Some examples include course, department, program, and curricular assessment; other examples include the identification of prolific scholars, reports on doctoral dissertations, and degree and employment trends. Instructional content refers to the subject matter taught in a specific course, department curriculum, or training program. This content includes visualization, debate skills, cross-cultural communication, sex role identity, public speaking and listening competencies, perspective taking, rational emotive therapy, acting and theatre instruction, decision rule-use training, and interviewing skills. The Other category includes such topics

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Table 4: Research Methodologies in Communication Education, 1976–2014 Editor

QUAN

QUAL

Q/Q

RHET

CRIT

Brown Friedrich Ecroyd Daly McCroskey Rosenfeld Trank Clark Ayres Rubin Kearney Booth-Butterfield Witt

20 22 32 43 58 22 36 51 38 25 60 50 48

 3  8  5  3  4  2  7  4  6 25  4  9  8

3 0 1 2 1 0 2 2 8 7 2 3 2

0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 4 4 0 1 0

Note. QUAN = Quantitative. QUAL = Qualitative. Q/Q = Combination of quantitative and qualitative. RHET= Rhetorical. CRIT = Critical.

such as humor on television, textbook technology supplements, speech behaviors in the courtroom, reasons for attending conventions, interactions with Institutional Review Boards, HIV campaigns, and academic leadership positions. The third research question asked about the predominant communication research methodologies in the articles published in Communication Education. Five research methodologies were used in the articles published in the journal from 1976–2014: quantitative, qualitative, a combination of quantitative and qualitative, rhetorical, and critical. Of these five methodologies (see Table 4), the quantitative research methodology (n = 505) was the predominant methodology, followed (in descending order) by qualitative (n = 88), a combination of quantitative and qualitative (n = 33), critical (n = 9), and rhetorical (n = 2). The fourth research question addressed the research designs in the articles published in Communication Education. (Because an empirical study could utilize more than one research design, all research designs used in any one article were coded.) Ten research designs were used in the articles published in the journal from 1976–2014: survey (e.g., paper and pencil or computer-mediated), experiments, interviews (e.g., face-to-face or computer-mediated), focus groups, content analysis, meta-analysis, field study, case study, ethnography, and other. Of the 10 research designs (see Table 5), the survey research design (n = 373) was the most frequently used design, followed (in descending order) by experimental design (n = 125), content analysis (n = 58), interviews (n = 49), field study (n = 31), focus groups (n = 23), other (n = 9), meta-analysis (n = 8), and case study (n = 7). The fifth research question inquired about the types of participants included in the articles published in Communication Education. (Because an empirical study

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Table 5: Research Design in Communication Education, 1976–2014 Editor

SVY

EXP

IV

FG

CA

MA

FLD

CS

ETH

OTH

Brown Friedrich Ecroyd Daly McCroskey Rosenfeld Trank Clark Ayres Rubin Kearney Booth-Butterfield Witt

14 13 26 32 41 15 26 37 30 22 37 43 37

 6  4  5  6 16  6 10 14 13  4 20 11 10

 3  1  2  2  0  0  4  3  6 14  3  3  8

0 0 2 0 0 0 4 1 6 7 1 2 0

 2  8  4  7  3  2  2  1  5 15  3  2  4

0 1 0 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 3 0 0

 0  0  0  1  3  1  5  2  4 11  2  2  0

0 1 1 0 1 0 0 0 0 3 0 0 1

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 3 4 0 1 0

1 3 0 2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 0

Note. SVY = Survey. EXP = Experiment. IV = Interview. FG= Focus groups. CA = Content analysis. MA = Meta-analysis. FLD = Field study. CS = Case study. ETH = Ethnography. OTH = Other.

could include more than one type of participant, all types of participants included in any one article were coded.) Eight types of participants were included in the articles published from 1976–2014: students (i.e., preschool-12th grade, undergraduate, graduate), instructors (i.e., preschool-12th grade, college), educational stakeholders (e.g., parents, coaches, administrators, principals), artifacts (e.g., syllabi, research articles, textbooks, convention programs), and other (e.g., recent graduates, clergy, NCA/regional association members, organizational employees). Of the eight types of samples (see Table 6), undergraduate students (n = 371) were most frequently included, followed (in descending order) by preschool-12th grade students (n = 68), other (n = 66), college instructors (n = 58), artifacts (n = 52), educational stakeholders (n = 31), graduate students (n = 30), and preschool-12th grade teachers (n = 24). The sixth research question asked about the represented cultures of the participants included in the articles published in Communication Education. Three types of cultures were represented by the participants included in the articles published from 1976–2014: domestic (i.e., United States), international (i.e., Australia, Canada, China, Finland, Germany, Greece, Ireland, Kenya, Mexico, Netherlands, Russia), and a combination of domestic and international (i.e., Canada and South America; U.S. and Canada, China, Germany, Kenya, Korea; U.S., Germany, China, or Japan; U.S., Australia, Finland, and Puerto Rico). Of the three types of cultures represented by the participants (see Table 7), domestic (n = 576) was the most commonly represented culture, followed (in descending order) by international (n = 15) and a combination of domestic and international (n = 14).

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Table 6: Types of Participants in Communication Education, 1976–2014 Editor

Brown Friedrich Ecroyd Daly McCroskey Rosenfeld Trank Clark Ayres Rubin Kearney Booth-Butterfield Witt

Students

Instructors

P-12

UG

GRD

P-12

COL

STK

ART

OTH

 3  4  5  5  5  3  8  6  4 18  4  1  2

10  8 13 17 36  9 31 34 41 37 46 39 50

2 1 3 0 0 2 2 1 3 7 0 6 3

0 2 2 5 5 2 1 2 1 3 1 0 0

 0  3  5  2  5  0  4  5  9 10  6  7  2

1 2 6 2 6 1 2 3 0 2 3 2 1

3 8 4 2 4 3 1 3 4 9 6 2 3

 7  4  8  9  7  4  2  3  6  1  4 10  1

Note. P-12 = Preschool, elementary, and secondary school students. UG = Undergraduate students. GRD = Graduate students. P-12 = Preschool, elementary, and secondary school teachers. COL = College instructors. STK = Educational stakeholders. ART = Artifacts. OTH = Other.

Table 7: Represented Cultures in Communication Education, 1976–2014 Editor

DOM

INTL

DOM/INTL

Brown Friedrich Ecroyd Daly McCroskey Rosenfeld Trank Clark Ayres Rubin Kearney Booth-Butterfield Witt

23 20 35 48 59 20 41 51 50 53 56 58 62

1 1 0 0 0 1 1 2 2 3 2 0 2

0 1 0 0 1 0 3 1 2 0 3 2 1

Note. DOM = Domestic. INTL = International. DOM/INTL = Combination of domestic and international.

Conclusion Spanning over five decades, the sub-discipline of instructional communication research “has continued (and will continue) to enjoy a healthy existence” (Myers,

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2010, p. 156). Although early research efforts concentrated on instructor communication behaviors and student learning, instructional communication research has now expanded its focus to examine the role that communication plays in the instructional context across all learning participants and environments. With Communication Education at the forefront of the dissemination of instructional communication research, this healthy existence of research undoubtedly will continue to grow for decades to come.

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Gerhrke, P. J., & Keith, W. M. (2015). Introduction: A brief history of the National Communication Association. In P. J. Gehrke & W. M. Keith (Eds.), A century of Communication Studies: The unfinished conversation (pp. 1–25). New York, NY: Routledge. Golish, T. D. (1999). Students’ use of compliance gaining strategies with graduate teaching assistants: Examining the other end of the power spectrum. Communication Quarterly, 47, 12–32. doi:10.1080/01463379909370121 Goodboy, A. K. (2011). Instructional dissent in the college classroom. Communication Education, 60, 296–313. doi:10.1080/03634523.2010.537756 Goodboy, A. K., Martin, M. M., & Bolkan, S. (2009). The development and validation of the Student Communication Satisfaction Scale. Communication Education, 58, 372–396. doi:10.1080/03634520902755441 Goodboy, A. K., & Myers, S. A. (2015). Revisiting instructor misbehaviors: A revised typology and development of a measure. Communication Education, 64, 133–153. doi:10.1080/0363452.2014.978798 Gorham, J. (1988). The relationship between teacher immediacy behaviors and student learning. Communication Education, 37, 40–53. doi:10.1080/03634528809378702 Hayes, A. F., & Krippendorf, K. (2007). Answering the call for a standard reliability measure for coding data. Communication Methods and Measures, 1, 77–89. doi:10.1080/19312450709336664 Hendrix, K. G., & Wilson, C. (2014). Virtual invisibility: Race and Communication Education. Communication Education, 63, 405–428. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.934852 Hurt, H. T., Scott, M. D., & McCroskey, J. C. (1978). Communication in the classroom. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Javidi, M., Downs, V. C., & Nussbaum, J. F. (1988). A comparative analysis of teachers’ use of dramatic style behaviors at higher and secondary educational levels. Communication Education, 37, 278–288. doi:10.1080/03634528809378729 Javidi, M. N., & Long, L. W. (1989). Teachers’ use of humor, self-disclosure, and narrative activity as a function of experience. Communication Research Reports, 6, 47–52. doi:10.1080/08824098909359831 Katt, J. A., McCroskey, J. C., Sivo, S. A., Richmond, V. P., & Valencic, K. M. (2009). A structural equation modeling evaluation of the General Model of Instructional Communication. Communication Quarterly, 57, 239–258. doi:10.1080/01463370903107196 Kearney, P., & Beatty, M. J. (1994). Measures of instructional communication. In R. B. Rubin, P. Palmgreen, & H. E. Sypher (Eds.), Communication research measures: A sourcebook (pp. 7– 20). New York, NY: Guilford Press. Kearney, P., Plax, T. G., Hays, E. R., & Ivey, M. J. (1991). College teacher misbehaviors: What students don’t like about what teachers say and do. Communication Quarterly, 39, 309–324. doi:10.1080/01463379109369808 Kendrick, W. L., & Darling, A. L. (1990). Problems of understanding in classrooms: Students’ use of clarifying tactics. Communication Education, 39, 15–29. doi:10.1080/03634529009378724 Kerssen-Griep, J. (2001). Teacher communication activities relevant to student motivation: Classroom facework and instructional communication competence. Communication Education, 50, 256–273. doi:10.1080/03634520109379252 Kerssen-Griep, J., Trees, A. R., & Hess, J. A. (2008). Attentive facework during instructional feedback: Key to perceiving membership and an optimal learning environment. Communication Education, 57, 312–332. doi:10.1080/03634520802027347 King, P. E., Schrodt, P., & Weisel, J. J. (2009). The Instructional Feedback Orientation Scale: Conceptualizing and validating a new measure for assessing perceptions of instructional feedback. Communication Education, 58, 235–261. doi:10.1080/03634520802515705 King, P., & Witt, P. (2009). Teacher immediacy, confidence testing, and the measurement of cognitive learning. Communication Education, 58, 110–123. doi:10.1080/03634520802511233

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Krippendorf, K. (2004). Content analysis: An introduction to its methodology (2 nd ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Lashbrook, V. J., & Wheeless, L. R. (1978). Instructional communication theory and research: An overview of the relationship between learning theory and instructional communication. In B. D. Ruben (Ed.), Communication yearbook 2 (pp. 439–456). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Martin, M. M., Myers, S. A., & Mottet, T. P. (1999). Students’ motives for communicating with their instructors. Communication Education, 48, 155–164. doi:10.1080/03634529909379163 Mazer, J. P. (2012). Development and validation of the Student Interest and Engagement Scales. Communication Methods and Measures, 6, 99–125. doi:10.1080/19312458.2012.679244 McCroskey, J. C. (1977). Oral communication apprehension: A summary of recent theory and research. Human Communication Research, 4, 78–96. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2958.1977.tb00599.x McCroskey, J. C. (1994). Assessment of affect toward communication and affect toward instruction in communication. In S. Morreale & M. Brooks (Eds.), Assessing college student competency in communication (pp. 56–70). Annandale, VA: Speech Communication Association. McCroskey, J. C., Holdridge, W., & Toomb, J. K. (1974). An instrument for measuring the source credibility of basic speech communication instructors. Speech Teacher, 23, 26–33. doi:10.1080/03634527409378053 McCroskey, J. C., & McCain, T. A. (1974). The measurement of interpersonal attraction. Speech Monographs, 41, 261–266. doi:10.1080/03637757409375845 McCroskey, J. C., & McCroskey, L. L. (1986). The affinity-seeking of classroom teachers. Communication Research Reports, 3, 158–167. McCroskey, J. C., & McCroskey, L. L. (2006). Instructional communication: The historical perspective. In T. P. Mottet, V. P. Richmond, & J. C. McCroskey (Eds.), Handbook of instructional communication: Rhetorical and relational perspectives (pp. 33–47). Boston, MA: Pearson. McCroskey, J. C., & Richmond, V. P. (1983). Power in the classroom I: Teacher and student perceptions. Communication education, 32, 175–184. doi:10.1080/03634528309378527 McCroskey, J. C., Richmond, V. P., & Daly, J. A. (1975). The development of a measure of perceived homophily in interpersonal communication. Human Communication Research, 1, 323–332. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2958.1975.tb00281.x McCroskey, J. C., Richmond, V. P., & McCroskey, L. L. (2006). The role of communication in instruction: The first three decades. In B. M. Gayle, R. W. Preiss, N. Burrell, & M. Allen (Eds.), Classroom communication and instructional processes (pp. 15–28). Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. McCroskey, J. C., Sallinen, A., Fayer, J. M., Richmond, V. P., & Barraclough, R. A. (1996). Nonverbal immediacy and cognitive learning: A cross-cultural investigation. Communication Education, 45, 200–211. doi:10.1080/03634529609379049 McCroskey, J. C., & Teven, J. T. (1999). Goodwill: A reexamination of the construct and its measurement. Communication Monographs, 66, 90–103. doi:10.1080/03637759909376464 McCroskey, J. C., Valencic, K. M., & Richmond, V. P. (2004). Toward a general model of instructional communication. Communication Quarterly, 52, 197–210. doi:10.1080/01463370409370192 McCroskey, J. C., & Young, T. J. (1981). Ethos and credibility: The construct and its measurement after three decades. Central States Speech Journal, 32, 24–34. doi:10.1080/10510978109368075 McCroskey, L. L., McCroskey, J. C., & Richmond, V. P. (2006). Analysis and improvement of the measurement of interpersonal attraction and homophily. Communication Quarterly, 54, 1–31. doi:10.1080/01463370500270322

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McCroskey, L. L., Richmond, V. P., & McCroskey, J. C. (2002). The scholarship of teaching and learning: Contributions from the discipline of communication. Communication Education, 51, 383–391. doi:10.1080/03634520216521. Mottet, T. P., Frymier, A. B., & Beebe, S. A. (2006). Theorizing about instructional communication. In T. P. Mottet, V. P. Richmond, & J. C. McCroskey (Eds.), Handbook of instructional communication: Rhetorical and relational perspectives (pp. 255–282). Boston, MA: Pearson. Mottet, T. P., & Richmond, V. P. (1998). Newer is not necessarily better: A reexamination of affective learning measurement. Communication Research Reports, 15, 370–378. doi:10.1080/08824099809362136 Myers, S. A. (1998). Instructor socio-communicative style, argumentativeness, and verbal aggressiveness. Communication Research Reports, 15, 141–150. doi:10.1080/08824099809362108 Myers, S. A. (2010). Instructional communication: The emergence of a field. In D. L. Fassett & J. T. Warren (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of communication and instruction (pp. 149–159). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Myers, S. A. (in press). Instructional communication. In M. Allen (Ed.), The SAGE encyclopedia of communication research methods. Los Angeles, CA: Sage. Myers, S. A., & Knox, R. L. (1999). Verbal aggression in the college classroom: Perceived instructor use and student affective learning. Communication Quarterly, 47, 33–45. doi:10.1080/01463379909370122 Nadler, M. K., & Nadler, L. B. (2000). Out of class communication between faculty and students: A faculty perspective. Communication Studies, 51, 176–188. doi:10.1080/10510970009388517 National Communication Association (2015). Journals. Retrieved from http://www.natcom.org/ journals.aspx# Neer, M. R. (1987). The development of an instrument to measure classroom apprehension. Communication Education, 36, 154–166. doi:10.1080/036345 Norton, R. W. (1977). Teacher effectiveness as a function of communicator style. In B. D. Ruben (Ed.), Communication yearbook 1 (pp. 525–542). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Norton, R., & Nussbaum, J. (1980). Dramatic behaviors of the effective teacher. In D. Nimmo (Ed.), Communication yearbook 4 (pp. 565–573). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Nussbaum, J. F. (1984). Classroom behavior of the effective teacher. Communication, 13, 81–93. Nussbaum, J. F., Comadena, M. E., & Holladay, S. J. (1987). Classroom verbal behavior of highly effective teachers. Journal of Thought, 22(4), 73–80. Nussbaum, J. F., & Friedrich, G. (2005). Instructional/developmental communication: Current theory, research, and future trends. Journal of Communication, 55, 578–593. doi:10.1111/j.1460-2466.2005.tb02686.x Nussbaum, J. F., & Scott, M. D. (1979). Instructor communication behaviors and their relationship to classroom learning. In D. Nimmo (Ed.), Communication yearbook 3 (pp. 561–583). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Nussbaum, J. F., & Scott, M. D. (1980). Student learning as a relational outcome of teacherstudent interaction. In D. Nimmo (Ed.), Communication yearbook 4 (pp. 553–564). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Plax, T. G., Kearney, P., Downs, T. M., & Stewart, R. A. (1986). College student resistance toward teachers’ use of selective control strategies. Communication Research Reports, 3, 20–27. Powell, R. G., & Harville, B. (1990). The effects of teacher immediacy and clarity on instructional outcomes: An intercultural assessment. Communication Education, 39, 369–379. doi:10.0180/03634529009378816 Preiss, R. W., & Wheeless, L. R. (2014). Perspectives on instructional communication’s historical path to the future. Communication Education, 63, 308–328. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.910605

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Reid, L. (1990). Speech Teacher: A random narrative. Annandale, VA: Speech Communication Association. Reid, L. (2002). The Speech Teacher: Early years. Communication Education, 51, 333–336. doi:10.1080/03634520216529 Richmond, V. P. (1990). Communication in the classroom: Power and motivation. Communication education, 39, 181–195. doi:10.1080/03634529009378801 Richmond, V. P., & Frymier, A. B. (2010). Communication Education and instructional development. In J. W. Chesebro (Ed.), Studies in honor of the 100 th anniversary of the Eastern Communication Association (pp. 310–328). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Richmond, V. P., Gorham, J. S., & McCroskey, J. C. (1987). The relationship between selected immediacy behaviors and cognitive learning. In M. L. McLaughlin (Ed.), Communication yearbook 10 (pp. 574–590). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Richmond, V. P., & McCroskey, J. C. (1984). Power in the classroom II: Power and learning. Communication Education, 33, 125–136. doi:10.1080/03634528409384729 Rubin, R. B. (2009). Measurement in instructional communication. In R. B. Rubin, A. M. Rubin, E. M. Graham, E. M. Perse, & D. R. Seibold (Eds.), Communication research measures II: A sourcebook (pp. 43–56). New York, NY: Routledge. Rubin, R. B. (2011). Educational communication. In W. Donsbach (Ed.), The international encyclopedia of communication. Retrieved from http://www.communicationencycloedia.com Rubin, R. B., & Feezel, J. D. (1986). Elements of teacher communication competence. Communication Education, 35, 254–268. doi:10.1080/03634528609388348 Schrodt, P., Witt, P. L., & Turman, P. D. (2007). Reconsidering the measurement of teacher power use in the college classroom. Communication Education, 56, 308–332. doi:10.1080/03634520701256062 Scott, M. D., & Nussbaum, J. F. (1981). Student perceptions of instructor communication behaviors and their relationship to student evaluation. Communication Education, 30, 44–53. doi:10.1080/03634528109378452 Scott, M. D., & Wheeless, L. R. (1977). Instructional communication theory and research. In B. D. Ruben (Ed.), Communication yearbook 1 (pp. 495–511). Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Sidelinger, R. J., & McCroskey, J. C. (1997). Communication correlates of teacher clarity in the college classroom. Communication Research Reports, 14, 1–10. doi:10.1080/0882099709388640 Simonds, C. J. (1997). Classroom understanding: An expanded notion of teacher clarity. Communication Research Reports, 14, 279–290. doi:10.1080/08824099709388671 Smythe, M. J., & Hess, J. A. (2005). Are student self-reports a valid method for measuring teacher nonverbal immediacy? Communication Education, 54, 170–179. doi:10.1080/03634520500213389 Sprague, J. (1992). Expanding the research agenda for instructional communication: Raising some unasked questions. Communication Education, 41, 1–25. doi:10.1080/03634529209378867 Sprague, J. (2002). Communication Education: The spiral continues. Communication Education, 51, 337–354. doi:10.1080/03634520216532 Staton, A. Q. (1989). The interface of communication and instruction: Conceptual considerations and programmatic manifestations. Communication Education, 38, 365–371. doi:10.1080/03634528909378777 Staton-Spicer, A. Q. (1983). The measurement and further conceptualization of teacher communication concern. Human Communication Research, 9, 158–168. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2958.1983.tb00690.x Staton-Spicer, A. Q., & Bassett, R. H. (1979). Communication concerns of preservice and inservice elementary school teachers. Human Communication Research, 5, 138–146. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2958.1979.tb00629.x

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Staton-Spicer, A. Q., & Wulff, D. H. (1984). Research in communication and instruction: Categorization and synthesis. Communication Education, 33, 377–391. doi:10.1080/03634528409384767 Stephens, K. K., Houser, M. L., & Cowan, R. L. (2009). R U able to meat me: The impact of students’ overly casual email messages to instructors. Communication Education, 58, 303– 326. doi:10.1080/03634520802582598 Teven, J. J., & McCroskey, J. C. (1997). The relationship of perceived teacher caring with student learning and teacher evaluation. Communication Education, 46, 1–9. doi:10.1080/03634529709379069 Thomas, C. E., Richmond, V. P., & McCroskey, J. C. (1994). The association between immediacy and socio-communicative style. Communication Research Reports, 11, 107–115. doi:10.1080/08824099409359946 Titsworth, S., Quinlan, M. M., & Mazer, J. P. (2010). Emotion in teaching and learning: Development and validation of the Classroom Emotions Scale. Communication Education, 59, 431–452. doi:10.1080/03634521003746156 Van Kleeck, A., & Daly, J. A. (1982). Instructional communication research and theory: Communication development and instructional communication – An overview. In M. Burgoon (Ed.), Communication yearbook 5 (pp. 685–715). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Waldeck, J. H., Kearney, P., & Plax, T. G. (2001a). Instructional and developmental communication theory and research in the 1990s: Extending the agenda for the 21st century. In W. B. Gudykunst (Ed.), Communication yearbook 24 (pp. 207–229). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Waldeck, J. H., Kearney, P., & Plax, T. G. (2001b). Teacher e-mail message strategies and students’ willingness to communicate. Journal of Applied Communication Research, 29, 54–70. doi:10.1080/00909880128099 Waldeck, J. H., Plax, T. G., & Kearney, P. (2010). Philosophical and methodological foundations of instructional communication. In D. L. Fassett & J. T. Warren (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of communication and instruction (pp. 161–179). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Wanzer, M. (1998). An exploratory investigation of student and teacher perceptions of studentgenerated affinity-seeking behaviors. Communication Education, 47, 373–382. doi:10.1080/03634529809379144 Wanzer, M. B., & Frymier, A. B. (1999). The relationship between student perceptions of instructor humor and students’ reports of learning. Communication Education, 48, 48–62. doi:10.1080/03634529909379152 Wanzer, M. B., Frymier, A. B., & Irwin, J. (2010). An explanation of the relationship between instructor humor and students learning: Instructional humor processing theory. Communication Education, 59, 1–18. doi:10.1080/03634520903367238 Wanzer, M., & McCroskey, J. C. (1998). Teacher socio-communicative style as a correlate of student affect toward teacher and course material. Communication Education, 47, 43–52. doi:10.1080/036345 Wartella, E. (1994). Challenge to the profession. Communication Education, 43, 54–62. doi:10.1080/10.1080/03634529409378961 Weber, K., Martin, M. M., & Myers, S. A. (2011). The development and testing of the Instructional Beliefs Model. Communication Education, 60, 51–74. doi:10.1080/03634523.2010.491122 Wheeless, L. R., & Hurt, H. T. (1979). Instructional communication theory and research: An overview of instructional strategies as instructional communication systems. In D. Nimmo (Ed.), Communication yearbook 3 (pp. 525–541). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Witt, P. L. (2012). The future of Communication Education. Communication Education, 61, 1–3. doi:10.1080/03634523.2012.6455391

Andrew Stables

3 The End(s) of Learning and the Role of Instruction: Shaping the Debate Abstract: Learning is a term applied to certain instances of change, often retrospectively. It is not possible to draw scientifically verifiable conclusions about the nature of learning from what is conventionally regarded as empirical evidence. There can be no direct observational test of learning. Furthermore, learning cannot be divorced from practices, so it takes as many forms as there are forms of activity; learning is not a form of life. It is therefore inevitable that it should be a contested term. Instruction (cf. the broader term teaching) serves whatever purposes are ascribed to learning, on whatever account. The contours of a practice shape the demands of teaching it. Instructors can tell students about a practice, show them how they themselves practise, and practise with them. For instructional purposes, practices can be grouped according to subject form and content or in relation to the human being under development; this in turn rests on conceptions of human progress. Taking all the above into account, the argument is made for moving from a performative to an adaptive model of teaching/instruction, acknowledging that instruction affects learning outcomes but does not directly cause them. This entails discarding certain myths that can repress effective instruction and learning. Keywords: learning, instruction, teaching, practices, Wittgenstein, semiotics, performativity

Learning is a broader concept than instruction. Whereas instruction is intended as a means towards learning, not all learning requires instruction. Similarly, not all instruction requires instructors. Consider the contrast between “I learnt that World War 2 ended in 1945” and “I learnt to cope on my own.” Learning implies change – some say merely positive change, but not all change (positive or otherwise) is learning. Philosophical perspectives contextualise approaches to communication science. This chapter will not use philosophy merely to develop any one version or aspect of communication science; it will, however, invite consideration of the grounding principles of the discipline and explore the implications of a particular set of such principles that derive from such a consideration. Those who see communication science as an unproblematic and fast-progressing discipline may therefore be disappointed by what follows. The philosopher’s task is both to clarify and problematise the concepts that underpin both empirical research and professional practice. This chapter will therefore discuss first learning and second instruction as a servant of learning, employing resources from Aristotle, ordinary language

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philosophy and deconstruction. It will argue that learning is an empty concept when divorced from contexts of practice, and that there are no solid grounds for regarding it as a purely mental construct. The chapter will conclude with a perspective on learning and instruction as semiotic engagement, characterised by unpredictability of outcomes, openness of systems, and ubiquity of interpretation: an approach that opposes simplistic linear input-output models that are often implicitly supported by both policy makers and empirical researchers, but which fail to address the complexities of human interaction. The proposed approach therefore also goes beyond cybernetic accounts that operate on the basis of closed systems. The aim is to develop a theory of learning and instruction that is empirically verifiable (in a broad sense) without being cripplingly reductive, and that avoids inflexible dualisms of individual against society, mind against matter, and nature against nurture. In these latter respects, the proposed account challenges assumptions in learning theories derived from cognitive science and rhetoric.

In Search of Learning Defining Learning Learning has been defined in many ways, most of which postulate some kind of sustained and purposeful change. A well respected example of recent years includes that of Anne Edwards: My understanding of learning reflects a concern with within-person changes, which modify the way in which we interpret and may act on our worlds. Learning is therefore a change in state, which alters how we act on the world and in turn change it by our actions. (Edwards, 2005, p. 50)

Any such definition is, however, in effect stipulative: it is not possible to draw scientifically verifiable conclusions about the nature of learning from what is conventionally defined as empirical evidence. Rather, we are compelled to consider how the word is deployed and to ground one’s considerations in prior usage. There can be no direct observational test of learning, as learning is always construed as a qualified version of change, and change is ubiquitous.

Learning and Context All terms have to be understood in relation to their context of use. Broadly, in the Anglophone world, learning is commonly associated with concepts of instruction (particularly in North America) and teaching (more widely), and is widely associated with the appropriation of information or the acquiring of skill. In the German

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tradition, a richer conceptual framework exists, in which learning can be associated with bildung (the growth of the individual within the social and cultural context; e.g., Benner, 2005; Siljander, Kivelä, & Sutinen, 2012) and pedagogik (the science of upbringing: a much broader use of the term than pedagogy as a synonym for approaches to teaching in the Anglophone tradition). In the bildung tradition, for example, the concept of competence becomes richer than its near synonymity with skill in the Anglophone tradition (e.g., Pikkarainen, 2014). Aristotle’s ancient distinction between techne and praxis relates broadly to these two traditions of learning as instrumental or socially, and thus ethically, engaged. The Francophone tradition offers another set of emphases, from a strong emphasis on public rationality exemplified by Condorcet, the Enlightenment, and l’Encyclopédie, to the influences of deconstruction in Derrida’s Groupe de Recherches sur L’Enseignement de la Philosophie (GREPH) and Rancière’s “ignorant schoolmaster” who, in the tradition of Socrates (a tradition respected but rarely emulated by latter-day pedagogues) teaches most by knowing least (Rancière, 1991). Thinkers in the Russian tradition have been particularly powerful in challenging the individualistic theories of mind dominant in the Western tradition and manifested to some degree in Piagetian learning theory, and the emphasis on autonomous rational agency that has dominated Anglophone philosophy of education from Locke (1692) to Peters (Cuypers, 2010) and beyond. Key figures here include Leontiev, Luria, and Davydov, but the most influential has undoubtedly been Vygotsky (particularly 1978) whose work was not widely discovered in the West for several decades after its emergence, but who now has significant Anglophone following (e.g., Cole, 1996; Wertsch, 1988). In many educational institutions, Vygotsky’s concept of social mental development, including the Zone of Proximal Development, has become more influential than Piaget’s (1973) biologically driven developmental stages, and the whole, often vaguely defined field of social constructionism/constructivism seems reliant on the Vygotskian heritage.

Nature and Nurture The differences between individual/biological and social approaches to learning can be very profound. Where Nature is deemed the cause, the specific causal factors include inheritance, hormones, body and brain structure and mechanics, and the effects are understood in terms of learning speed, capacity, and complexity, as measured on standard intelligence tests. Here the factors affecting success stress appropriateness of input in relation to readiness of learner. Where Society is deemed the cause, as in sociocultural theories (e.g., Daniels, 2001), the causal factors include hierarchies, traditions, and the division of labour, and the effects can be understood with respect to appropriation of object relations, induction into practices, and social positioning (see also Harré, 2004). Here, factors affecting success stress the utilisation of methods, tasks and artefacts as mediating tools, and

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interiorisation of social relations in ways that empower. On both these accounts, outcomes can seem quite highly predictable; there is a strong element of determinism in each, whether biological or sociological. Later in this chapter, a semiotic model will be suggested that avoids the sharp distinctions between these approaches but also offers less in terms of predictability of outcomes.

Learning vis-à-vis Change In short, with so many influences and construals, it is very difficult to generalise about learning. However, we might draw the following conclusions from the various attempts there have been to define it, given that it is inevitably a matter for interpretation. First, all learning is change, but not all change is learning; all definitions seem to accept this proposition. For example, not every change in brain state is likely to be accepted as an example of learning, even at the level of the creation of new synapses. Self-evidently, certain changes are symptoms of decline, whereas others may be pathological. Second, learning is often associated with positive change, but not all positive change is regarded as learning, and there are situations in which we commonly speak of learning from negative experience; the potential here for definition is problematised by value judgments relating to positive and negative experience. Third, learning involves elements of both biological inheritance and social context, can be conscious or unconscious, and can be identified either by the learner or by others; what we have learnt can comprise more than what we know we know.

Learning, Experience and Practices Objectively, then, learning is ultimately unverifiable. It must refer to something more specific than merely change, which is a fundamental universal condition, yet attempts to define it further are subject to contestable value judgments. Agreement about learning must therefore be based on inter-subjective judgments rather than objective empirical evidence. We may ground such agreement in experience (that is, empirically in the broadest sense) but not in the narrow sense associated with empirical science (that is, observation-based data collection). For a fuller discussion of the differences between “thick” or “rich” and “thin” empiricism, see Stables (2013). Given the inextricability of culture from considerations of learning, there cannot be learning without reference to human practices, intentions and purposes. In short, we cannot separate what learning is from what it is for. Learning is thus largely a concept realised and validated teleologically. We do not merely learn: we always learn something. When we use the term “a good learner,” we base this on

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evidence that the person in question has learnt many things. Ludwig Wittgenstein made the case in stark terms that understanding (widely accepted as one of the ends of learning) is not best construed in terms of brain states, but rather as induction into practices: Try not to think of understanding as a “mental process” at all. – For that is the expression which confuses you. But ask yourself: in what sort of case, in what kind of circumstances, do we say, “Now I know how to go on …” (Wittgenstein, 1967, p. 154)

If learning is a concept realised teleologically, and if also it is impossible to separate objective discovery of learning from human talk about learning, then we should also be sensitive to uses of the term in unreflexive everyday speech as well as more formal contexts such as policy statements. Originally, “ordinary language” philosophy tended to focus on relatively expert and formal construals of a term, but an interesting distinction arises in the case of learning. It is common for professional educators to talk about learning as an ongoing process: a junior colleague might be praised, for example, on the grounds that “There is good learning going on in your classroom.” Similarly, if one is attending French speaking classes, one is likely to say, “I am learning French.” However, these uses are rather more conventional than defensible under investigation. The young teacher’s class may be attentive, involved, and happy, but it can only be assumed that they are learning. By the same token, I may attend French classes but be learning very little, although I might have learnt quite a lot about the journey to the classes (perhaps I had to negotiate a difficult drive to get there) but do not stop to articulate this as something I have learnt. In other words, sometimes we talk about learning largely just as a marker of some formal contexts. On the other hand, when we feel we have learnt something of significance, we tend to talk about it in the past tense. Rather like choices and decisions, significant learning experiences are things we tend to have recognised as having happened rather than as happening. We might say, “I learnt something today,” or, deeper in the past, “I learnt a lot from moving to the United States.” In these cases, the attribution is rather more solidly grounded in empirical evidence: we have reasons for claiming we have learnt that go beyond mere convention. If this argument is accepted, learning is best understood as a concept realised retrospectively as well as teleologically: whether I, or you, have learnt is a retrospective judgment dependent on teleological validation.

Learning as (not) a Form of Life On this account, learning has a somewhat empty, merely conventional status as a discrete form of life. Generalised statements such as “You go to school to learn” derive their salience from the assumptions that certain things are learnt (both prac-

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tices – learning how, and knowledge – learning that) and that the fruits of this learning are evident later. It may be the intention that schooling produces learning (that is to say, learning may be construed as a necessary condition of schooling), but only certain kinds of things are likely to be learnt at and from school; there is no guarantee that they will be learnt thoroughly, and many things will be learnt from other contexts. Research shows that concepts are not in any case acquired on a simple on-off basis, but are rather developed with experience. Thus Tillman and Barner (2015) show that time concepts are early acquired by young children, who quickly learn that, for example, an hour is longer than a minute, but take some years to understand just how long a minute or an hour is as measured by clock time. Thus, it is not valid to make a clear-cut judgment about the point at which a typical child learns what an hour or a minute “is.” This argument can be further extended to the denial of learning as a discrete form of life at all. After all (as argued in Stables, 2006, for example), if all living entails semiotic engagement with aspects of the environment, and if all living results in change, then all learning also entails such semiotic engagement that results in change; there is no clearly identifiable form of life (to use Wittgenstein’s term) that is learning. Some cybernetic models also acknowledge this. There will be some further consideration of cybernetic vis-à-vis semiotic approaches below. That which we call “learning” happens to each of us in the same way all of the time. Learning is change; change learning. “Teacher” and “Learner” change (learn) together in a constant feedback network of communication. (Murray, 2006, p. 215)

However, as noted above, we do not ascribe the category “learning” to all change, nor would we have any use for the category were it a pure synonym for change. On the present account, learning is best understood as (inter)subjective judgment on significant change, where “significant change” means “change worth mentioning.” Note that this is far from a simple materialist/physicalist explanation of learning as a change in brain states involving the creation of new or strengthened synaptic connections. (See Geinisman [2000] for research evidence linking synaptic strengthening and creation to memory and learning, though without imputation of direct cause.) It does not deny that learning produces such brain states; rather that the former can simply be read off from the latter. Surely not every change in brain state can validly be construed as learning; the judgment of which changes can be so construed is a matter of interpretive judgment and is thus not finally resolvable through pure data analysis. Lest this argument seem whimsical and arbitrary, let us consider the nature of learning from a classical philosophical perspective, utilising Aristotle’s diagnosis of the Four Causes, as this will serve to strengthen the argument that “learning” is empty without practices.

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Learning and Philosophy: Aristotle In Physics, Aristotle argues that the nature of anything (alive or otherwise) can be understood with respect to four criteria, conventionally construed as the Material, Formal, Efficient, and Final Causes. A human being, for example, is composed of flesh and bone, has a human form, indulges in characteristically human behaviour, and has a certain function or role as a citizen (Aristotle, 350 BCE). Let us apply this to learning. Aristotle argues that we learn by doing, through mimesis (imitation in all its forms, from mimicry to representation). Like Wittgenstein so much later, he argues that we learn through induction into practices. Learning a practice is therefore synonymous with becoming a practitioner, with all that implies, and the contours of a practice will be the contours of the actions involved in learning it. Even in Aristotle there is an implicit warning against reifying and mystifying learning as a form of life in its own right, through abstracting it entirely from context. One always learns something, and learning something is always connected to learning to do something. This notwithstanding, this discussion concerns the philosophy of learning as if it were abstractable. On this questionable basis, how might Aristotle construe it? Learning’s Material Cause might be the physically identifiable changes that are associated with it: the creation of new connections in the brain, and also certain other physical changes, such as the building of certain muscles through training in a particular sport. Learning also takes certain forms, these being broadly the forms of the practices into which the learner is being inducted: one learns to think mathematically, historically, and so on. It is hard to identify forms of learning other than those of the practices that are learnt, however. In terms of the Efficient Cause, students tend to behave in certain ways, but it is never entirely clear how much of the student lifestyle is driven by pure learning in the abstract sense, and how much by a conventionalised cultural context. Finally, students are always learning something; learning cannot take place without a learning object, even though what is learnt may not be entirely synonymous with what the teacher (for example) intended, as the student interprets the material from her own perspective. Aristotle’s typology has some value here, but it may be misleading to consider these aspects of learning as “causes.” It would be strange to speak of the brain changes that accompany learning as preceding, or causing, learning, for example, even though it can be shown that insights are often registered in the brain before they are consciously articulated (Velmans, 1990). The form of the subject matter will certainly, at least in part, determine the form of the learning, but the subject matter per se is not the learning. As to what learners do, much of this can be dismissed as merely conventional behaviour, associated by context with learning: aspects of the student life, if you will. Finally, learning is indeed always directed, or at least appears directed in retrospect, but this insight in a way diminishes rather than increases the status of learning. If learning is (no more than) getting better at doing certain things, the scope for a specialist science and craft of educa-

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tion seems limited: one might as well merely join in with things until one gets better at them.

Learning and Philosophy: Empiricism and the Question of Mind Aristotle underpins learning theory in the Western tradition, as he underpins the development of empirical science, in contradiction to his tutor, Plato, who seems to teach us that sensory environmental response is no sound basis for learning, as in the Myth of the Cave, in the Republic, for example, in which prisoners take shadows on the cave wall as reality (Plato, 360 BCE). The empirical tradition is developed through the impressions vs. ideas approach of Locke (1690), who sees learning as always beginning in sense impressions, out of which the mind forms ideas. While the rationalist, idealist tradition associated with Plato has, of course, also been developed since the Enlightenment (via Kant and Hegel), modern experimental psychology and empirical communication science are still strongly grounded in Enlightenment empiricism, at levels of both theory and method. Thus, recent studies of memory formation construe early memories as episodic (the child remembers the word ball when it is associated with a rolling object), while conceptual knowledge inheres in semantic memories and arises from generalisation across a number of instances (so mature understanding of a ball comes from encounters across a number of contexts; e.g., Conway, 2001; Mastin, 2010). It is firm conceptual knowledge that enables us to claim we know something, other than merely recall or recognise it. People suffering various forms of mental decline lose the capacity to lay down new episodic memories, even though they may retain much conceptual memory. Dementia patients, for example, can often remember much from their youth, but nothing about what has happened recently. Although these contemporary studies offer much more sophisticated explanations than that of Locke and include direct monitoring of brain states and other physical responses, a case can be made that a fundamental problem with Locke’s explanation remains unresolved in contemporary accounts: that of the dualism of mind and body. A problem with Locke’s account is that all learning starts with sense impression, yet the mind forms ideas. This does not account for how the mind arises in order to form ideas. Is the mind itself (merely) an idea, for example? If so, ideas are formed by an idea. Locke seems to argue that the mind pre-exists but is empty of knowledge. Although Locke is commonly regarded as in opposition to Descartes’ subjective rationalism (cogito ergo sum: Descartes, 1998), there is clearly a Cartesian (and Platonic) legacy here, demanding an acceptance that mind is of a different substantial nature from body/matter. A century after Locke, Hume was the first great empiricist to question whether mind may have any validity as a concept at all, suggesting that people are “bundle[s] of perceptions” (Hume, 1739–40). Such a response, while admirably sceptical

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and certainly free of Cartesian dualism, does little to help us discuss how we learn, or, indeed, to talk of us as persons at all. More recent scientists and philosophers have, of course, continued to grapple with the problem of mind, but Descartes’ legacy still haunts the debate. For example, the Twentieth Century’s strong distinction between behaviourist and cognitivist approaches to learning rests on, rather than bypasses, the mind-body problem: it merely emphasises one side or the other. Depending on its interpretation, even the distinction between episodic and conceptual memory may fall prey to it. For example, conceptual memories are only prompted by certain contexts and are themselves therefore narratively dependent. The distinction between knowledge and recollection need not be seen as absolute either. It may be that we claim we know something when we are not aware of the likelihood of competing recollections. We make softer claims when we feel others may have different construals. Contrast, for example, “I know it was last Thursday” with “I think it was last Thursday” or “It may have been last Thursday.” The latter two cases anticipate or invite reappraisal from other parties. Although the concept ball may arise from a composite of experiences, it may be regarded as more of a shorthand than a mental construct. Much rests on whether these distinctions are matters of degree or of kind. If the latter, then the human mind is qualitatively distinct from that of any other sentient natural being, and on this rests an entire worldview (one that effectively treats animals as machines, for example). If the former, then central Enlightenment assumptions, grounded in the fundamental tenets of Descartes and Newton, need to be overturned, including with respect to our relations with the non-human world.

Breaks from Cartesian Dualism The past century has witnessed many attempts at a more radical break from this Cartesian substance-dualist legacy. Sometimes these attempts do not effect the escape as successfully as they aim to; sometimes the escape leaves us at a loss about where to go next. An example of the former may be the attempts of philosophers including Sellars, Davidson, McDowell, and Brandom to explain the relationship between the causal laws governing the natural world and the space of reasons (see Scharp & Brandom, 2007) that defines the human realm, with differing emphases put on the degree to which reasons may be effectively causal. This debate is grounded in a Cartesian, Newtonian, and humanist distinction between human and non-human survival, accepting the mechanical causal model for the non-human and assuming (rather than inferring) that humans operate with the “space of reasons.” McDowell (1996) attempts to resolve the problems associated with this dualism by suggesting a conception of Second Nature, that naturalises the human without descending into “brute naturalism”: that is, the “givenism” of Locke’s conception of the sense impression allied to Hume’s nascent rejection of mind.

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It can be argued that an alternative, and perhaps more thoroughgoing antidualism might be ascribed to John Dewey, whose pragmatist conative learning theory discusses the development of “body-mind” as an integrated cognitive-behavioural enterprise understood as a form of biological adaptation realised socially, and whose work McDowell does not address (Dewey, 1928; Stables, 2010). Dewey will be a major influence on the semiotic perspective detailed in the concluding remarks of this chapter, as semiotics is a movement strongly allied to pragmatism.

Learning and the Linguistic Turn Learning therefore is context dependent (as in Aristotle) and is not simply “there” to be discovered, as naïve empiricism might assume (though Locke himself stressed the importance of habit and training in Some Thoughts Concerning Education, 1692). It is manifested by change yet does not account for all change; rather, there is an element of retrospective judgment in whether change is deemed to have qualified as learning. In turn, judgment is interpretive and therefore always culture- and language-dependent. The past century has embraced a strong linguistic turn in philosophy, though in two very different incarnations. The mainstream linguistic turn in Anglophone philosophy has concerned the role of usage in concept clarification. Frege instigated a renewed philosophical interest in relative roles of formal and everyday perception of language (Rein, 1985). A later instantiation of this movement is the “ordinary language” philosophy of J. L. Austin and others in the mid-Twentieth Century (Austin, 1962). On this account, learning should be understood with respect to its use in the everyday world of relative experts (which in the case of learning, might be considered to be a great many people). If educators commonly refer to certain kinds of behaviour as learning, we should therefore accept it as learning. Of course, this approach simultaneously accepts and denies cultural context, for what might be seen as a consensus at one time and in one part of the world might not hold, and the assumed definition may soon no longer reflect widespread views. Furthermore, giving the definition no more hold than consensual usage (in one context, however broad), makes difficult any use of the concept in a science of communication, as normally understood. “If we call this learning, then it is” does not seem a firm basis for scientific inquiry, whereas “This is what we call learning” clearly can be the basis of, at least, comparative anthropological or sociological enquiry. The Continental, largely Francophone version of the linguistic turn is often more radical and also more interdisciplinary, grounded as much in the structural linguistics of Ferdinand de Saussure (2013, first published 1916) as the process philosophy of Bergson and the phenomenology of Heidegger (Bergson, 2014, first published 1911; Heidegger, 1978, first published 1927). Structuralism (after Saussure) understands languages and, in the work of Levi-Strauss and others, whole cultures in terms of underlying codes (rather like cultural DNA) that drive surface utteran-

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ces and practices. Thus, everything operates on the basis of a socially accepted system of signs, rather than as a simple “reading off” of the material environment or as an exercise of pure rationality or innate human character. The emphasis is on the creation, rather than the clarification, of concepts (Deleuze & Guattari, 1994). Furthermore, the meaning of any one unit within such a system, such as a word, is defined by its relations to other units. In short, a term is defined in relation to what it is not, rather than chosen as a representation of an external entity. Learning, on this account, can only be understood in relation to what learning is not. The major thrust of philosophy since Plato has been on discovering essences, but this is a philosophy of difference. In the poststructuralism of Derrida and Deleuze, various conceptions of anti-humanist structuralism and post-structuralism offer insights into the nature of language and sense-making more broadly. (It should perhaps be noted that Continental philosophy can be seen as generally more Hegelian than Kantian, though there is not space to trace these legacies here.)

Deleuze, Derrida, and Philosophy of Difference Various educators have referred to Deleuze as a useful model, including Semetsky (2006), Munday (2012), and Stables (2004). Deleuze and Guattari (2013) contrast the rationalistic arborescent model of change and development (both biophysical and cultural), in which new beginnings can always be understood as logical inferences from their immediate premises, with a rhizomatic model, in which various forms of change can arise from nodes at less predictable points in the system. In other words, cause and effect do not follow in neat succession: we cannot guarantee desired learning outputs from prescribed instructional inputs, for example. This has obvious implications that will be discussed later in this chapter. Let us simply note here that Deleuze, particularly, provides insights for educators: for example, in Difference and Repetition (Deleuze, 1994), in which he stresses the importance of engagement in problems, with its attendant unpredictability, as at the heart of learning or apprenticeship: To learn is to enter into the universal of the relations which constitute the Idea, and into their corresponding singularities. The idea of the sea, for example, as Leibniz showed, is a system of liaisons or differential relations between particulars and singularities corresponding to the degrees of variation among these relations − the totality of the system being incarnated in the real movement of the waves. To learn to swim is to conjugate the distinctive points of our bodies with the singular points of the objective Idea in order to form a problematic field. This conjugation determines for us a threshold of consciousness at which our real acts are adjusted to our perceptions of the real relations, thereby providing a solution to the problem. Moreover, problematic Ideas are precisely the ultimate elements of nature and the subliminal objects of little perceptions. As a result, “learning” always takes place in and through the unconscious, thereby establishing the bond of a profound complicity between nature and mind. (Deleuze, 1994, p. 165)

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Derrida’s philosophy of difference is encapsulated in his development of deconstruction, with its attendant concepts, including those of différance and the trace (Derrida, 1976, 1978). Derrida in effect coined the concept of poststructuralism with his 1966 essay Structure, Sign and Play in the Human Sciences (reproduced in Derrida, 1978), with its rejection of the working belief that a structure has a centre. Structures without centres are, like rhizomatic organisms, always developing new structures that are open and fluid, rather than closed and fixed, systems. New structures are not simply the offspring of older ones, though they bear their traces. Everything of significance is developed out of spatial difference and temporal deferment (hence the neologism différance.) The aim of the academic, according to Derrida, therefore becomes a quest to resist the temptation to see closure and logical clarity by deliberating seeking discordant elements within a system: that is, deconstruction. Though many, particularly outside academia, have rejected deconstruction as negative and useless (for example, see Trask [n. d.]), it can have positive educational value: for example, in delaying the rush to easy conclusions, and in coming to realise the complex nature of creation. For example, I have in the past argued for a greater emphasis on deconstruction in teaching students to become critical (Stables, 2003).

In Conclusion: Learning, Interpretation, and Judgment With the exception of a naïve empiricism, which sees all truths as directly discoverable from (given) data, all the philosophical influences detailed here accept that learning is a matter of interpretation and judgment, employing these terms in the very broadest sense to include unconscious as well as conscious selection and adaptation. Learning demands change, but not all change is learning; that which is thus regarded is a matter of usage and reflection on usage. This premise will ground the argument of the next set of considerations, on the nature of instruction. Before turning to a consideration of how this debate might affect theories of instruction, however, a word of warning might be sounded about the experimental method, which holds heavy sway in contemporary psychology and communication science. Experimental techniques tend to test distinctions and thereby reinforce them. To take an example from earlier, if one assumes the distinction between episodic and conceptual memories and then tests for it, one is inclined to reinforce the acceptance. Attempts to quantify the qualitative may serve to reify distinctions that were better kept fluid and under review. Experimental methods may sometimes serve to stall progress in the name of furthering it. The next section should be read with that danger in mind.

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The Limits and Possibilities of Instruction Instruction vis-à-vis Teaching Much time has so far been spent in attempts to problematise assumptions about the empirical basis of learning. There is no clearly identifiable form of activity that is learning: for example, students in a class may or may not be learning; the activities they are engaged in are generally those of the practices they are learning, and though they may be improving at these by practice, this does not allow for the identification of a discrete learning situation because we are all undertaking practices all of the time. Note that the same is not true of teaching. Teachers managing classes are generally held to be teaching, even though it is unclear how effective their teaching is in relation to student learning. We can see teaching in a way we cannot see learning. Interestingly, however, not all teaching is instruction, at least in the direct sense. While teachers may only infrequently adopt the ironically named FOFO technique (“F*** Off and Find Out”), they often guide, motivate, attempt to persuade, or simply encourage or console their students. Teacher-as-facilitator is a well-tried formulation, and sometimes teachers’ work may seem less instrumental even than this. Let us begin with an uncontroversial proposition. Teachers are communicators, but not all communication counts as teaching. For it to do so requires an acceptance that the teacher has a certain power or authority, vested in position and/or character and/or knowledge. Teaching is thus a form of communication carried out under conditions of asymmetric power relations. Other such forms include those associated with policing and management, but one might argue that the emphases in the latter are on compliance rather than development (though actually this is open to some debate). Beyond this, it is difficult to offer an uncontroversial definition of teaching, though instruction can be construed as either a small or a very large part of the teacher’s role, depending on how far aspects of facilitation are considered alongside, or in opposition to, direct instruction.

Teaching, Instruction and Practices Given all these caveats, it is nevertheless possible to draw some tentative conclusions about teaching and instruction from the argument of the previous section. The key assertion here is that instruction should serve whatever purposes/ends are ascribed to learning, on whatever account. Learning is too vague to be of much use to us in the abstract; it tends to collapse into “change” or perhaps “change for the better.” (Arguably it is synonymous with adaptation: Gough & Stables, 2012.) One is always learning something and for something. The contours of practice shape the contours of learning and therefore the demands of instruction. If there is little

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value in considering learning in the abstract, there is surely less in consideration of instruction, which exists to serve learning. We shall go on to consider these ends and purposes in broad terms below. As a general rule, however, it can be argued that each will require something different from the instructor. Issues for instructors relate to the potential of instruction in relation to each practice, which in turn requires consideration of both possibilities and constraints. In what situations can instruction yield the most power, and in what ways is it always limited? The postmodern condition tends to reduce valueladen concepts such as education to matters of performativity (Lyotard, 1984), but if instruction were merely a mechanical input that always produced a regular and entirely predictable output, education and parenting would be easy: children would simply do what their parents said, and the capacity for learning in this direct way would remain undiminished until the mechanisms wore out. This is self-evidently not the case: the complexities of human learning cannot be understood in terms of very simple stimulus-response machines, even though people clearly do respond to stimuli – but stimuli are both various and variously responded to. This is not to deny the power of persuasive rhetoric (O’Keefe, 2016). How material is presented can make a difference to how it is received, including how much the addressee “buys in” to the message, but this is not to assert that any two addressees will “buy in” in the same way, or with the same consequences. To instruct in a practice is therefore more than to implant information relating to it in the memories of learners, and it involves more than the art of persuasion. One might be persuaded to try something, but it is through the practice that the learning will come. Memories develop episodically. It follows that the instructor must be engaged in a practice herself in some way, both modelling and co-operating with students’ own engagement. In short, instructors can 1. tell students about practices, 2. show them how they practise, and 3. practise with them. Before exploring further the implications of this, some clarification relating to practices is called for. The emphasis on practices as fundamental, and on concepts as only making sense within the context of practices, comes from Wittgenstein’s later work, particularly the Philosophical Investigations (Wittgenstein, 1967), in which he refers to practices variously as “forms of life” or “language games.” The idea is a simple one and grounds the present argument: we should not distract ourselves into seeking context-free definitions. For instance (my examples), how can we know what multiplication is when it means “make bigger” in the Bible (“go forth and multiply”) but can mean “make smaller” in mathematics (multiplication by a factor less than one), and how can we know what fairness is when a fair test in science is different from fair skin or fairness in social justice talk? We simply cannot. It is also important to note that forms of life can include preconscious elements, so not all are specifically language games. In this sense, the semiotic approach being developed here differs from one grounded in rhetoric (Rutten & Soetaert,

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2014; O’Keefe, 2016), though at the level of overt linguistic and cultural interaction, semiotics and rhetoric are often effectively interchangeable. We should not allow ourselves, however, to think that practices are windowless monads: closed systems completely separate from one another. There are clearly connections between the use of multiplication in mathematics and everyday talk, and between the use of fairness in scientific inquiry and politics. Wittgenstein refers to these overlaps as “family resemblances,” though he has little to say about how they arise or how, in general, practices affect and infect one another. Cybernetics, which generally deals with feedback loops within closed systems, has also had to tackle this issue. Murray (2006) argues that systems are always observerdependent; the observer is effectively an inside outsider, as it were. Thus, the systems in which we are engaged can be described at a number of levels. Whether or not it is valid to regard them as neatly nested, however, remains a matter of debate, as is the broader issue of whether the messiness of life can ever validly be reduced to the identifiable circuits comprising artificial systems. Despite the many overlaps between cybernetic and semiotic approaches, apparent in the work of influential thinkers such as Bateson (1991) and Brier (2013), it should not be forgotten that cybernetics has arisen more from a technologically driven desire for control than semiotics, the roots of which are more religious and philosophical, and the history of which can be said to underpin liberal education (Olteanu, 2015). Taken together, insights from these two disciplines may warrant the working hypothesis that systems/practices appear self-contained for limited periods, but are both constantly evolving internally and are periodically affected by changes originating in other practices, as actors cross practices. (This is even true of species evolution in the long run.) This explains why individuals experience Batesonian “double binds” and why learners never learn exactly what teachers teach. Even systems that should be as tightly closed as possible – one might think of aeroplanes, for example – are somewhat leaky and are always subject to change through each contextual encounter. There are two obvious ways in which practices can be grouped for educational reasons. The first is common, the second less so. The first is to group individual subject disciplines under a broader umbrella. In some British schools, for example, history, geography and religious studies are grouped as Humanities (of course, in higher education, this term has a broader and somewhat different remit), and in North America, the term Language Arts can embrace a number of practices. Curricula are often divided along such lines. The danger with this approach is that while history, or “being a historian,” can easily be understood as a practice, “being a Humanities teacher” relates less easily to any practice recognised outside school and is much harder – perhaps impossible – to either model or develop in collaboration. The second way of grouping practices is in relation to the conception of the human being that is under development. This approach is somewhat Aristotelian,

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as Aristotle understood the development of practices in relation to the development of the virtues that constitute each sort of useful citizen. Although we may not want to share Aristotle’s assumptions about the fixity of social roles, or even the sense that personal fulfilment can only come through one’s role as a citizen (though what this means is of course open to debate), we can certainly generalise about practices to some extent in terms of the kinds of human development they are engendering. Such a generalisation can be arrived at through a consideration of what we mean by human progress.

Forms of Human Progression Stipulatively, human progress can be understood: 1. materially and bodily, manifest in physical health and material possessions (as in Marxism, neoliberalism); 2. rationally and logically, in terms of progress in science and the growth of understanding (as in Kant; this process is construed as individual and biological in Piaget, but social in Vygotsky); 3. morally, in terms of the development of human virtues and social justice (Aristotle; Noddings’ ethics of care); 4. aesthetically, in terms of the depth and breadth of human response, sensitivity and engagement (Nietzsche, Sartre, Romanticism, existentialism); and 5. ecologically, in terms of human custody of the Earth and its resources – and arguably, in future, of resources beyond Earth (environmentalism and deep ecology: e.g. Lovelock, Naess). I have resisted the temptation to construe human progress as 6. mere compliance, though many totalitarian practices, within and beyond totalitarian states, seek mere compliance; indeed, many of the original arguments for compulsory formal education concerned the needs for a willing workforce and an unquestioning military. The motivations here for individuals are, I suppose, fear and desire for respect. While noting that conceptions of human progress rest on metaphysical assumptions that can be challenged and are always answers to the question, “What do I mean by progress?” so are not absolute, there is one considerable advantage to approaching the challenge of instruction partly in this way. That is, it reminds us that when we teach, we teach both practices and people. We teach What and How (practices), but also Who(m) and Why. People require to make sense of individual practices in relation to their own perceived integrity as persons in relation to other persons, and their sense of motivation or alienation with respect to learning results from how this occurs. To put it crudely, our students will be either turned on or turned off by our instruction. It is certainly in part the case that merely offering opportunities to engage in a practice that proves successful is motivating in itself,

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but there is another element at play that is often overlooked, that relates to the learner’s predispositions and the effects of these on her orientation to the task.

Planning Instruction: “So What?” and “How?” In summary, instructors should be as aware as possible of two sets of parameters in planning their courses. The first is the contours of the practice into which they are inducting their students (noting that philosophy is as much a practice as baseball); the second is the kind of human aspiration(s) this practice serves, and how this aspiration is likely to be manifest in the life stories of the students. In turn these parameters can be understood in terms of possibilities and constraints. Let us briefly consider these in relation to the specific challenges facing those planning a course of instruction. I suggest that the overriding questions here are “So What?” and “How?” The So What? question addresses the motivations and expectations of the learner, and the kind of human progress furthered by mastery of the practice in question. The How? question relates to the contours of the practice itself, as well as to the rhetorical devices at a teacher’s disposal. Some elements of the So What? question can be identified. They include, “What does this have to do with me?” and “How is my life going to be better for learning this?” Instructors/teachers can address these issues by being aware of their students’ histories and inclinations and explaining how the practice in question serves as part of a broader offering in terms of increasing their capacities and enriching their identities. Elements of the How? question include “What do I do next?” and “How do I know if I’m getting better at this?” Instructors/teachers can address these issues by being clear about both aims and techniques engaged in a particular activity. Note that in neither of these cases is the emphasis on an exclusive concept of intelligence, expressed in terms of cognitive ability or readiness to undertake a certain task. The emphases are rather all on motivation and accessibility. Students can show us what their levels of understanding are rather than having the instructor make assumptions about what they will and will not understand. The rule of thumb here is to help students progress as far as they can rather than limit them according to learning objectives set on the dubious understanding that their potential is known in advance.

Living and Learning as Semiotic Engagement Performativity vs. Adaptivity There are two fallacious ways of understanding the teaching-and-learning/learningand-instruction process on the present argument. The first is as a simple means-

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end, input-output model, in which pre-specified learning aims can be fulfilled as outcomes of the instructional inputs that precede them. The second is a simple (as opposed to a sophisticated) cybernetic feedback model, in which learner simply feeds back to instructor. Each of these is a closed-system model. However, neither learner, instructor, nor subject matter can validly be seen as a closed system over time, and insofar as each is self-referencing, they collide in the practice/system of a particular form of learning-and-instruction. Each act of communication that is intended to pass on knowledge is interpreted rather than merely absorbed; it will be understood in relation to the receiver’s diachronic (life story) and synchronic (present) context. Consider how different your reaction to a lesson on the Second World War would be if you had recently discovered important facts about your grandparent, in terms of his ethnicity perhaps, or role at that time. Your learning experience might prove much richer, perhaps much more painful, than your teacher could ever imagine. The learning experience can be much richer than the teaching experience, and vice versa. The factors responsible for these reactions can never be fully known in advance. All forms of life, including those related to teaching and instruction, and those classified as learning, can be understood as forms of semiotic engagement, of response to various kinds of stimuli (including the linguistic and conceptual) in the light of habitual responses filtered and distorted by the demands of the present context. All our changes, including those we ascribe to learning, are in effect adaptations of habitual responses to new conditions. We are neither autonomous in these responses nor culturally determined, but both immured in received responses and distinct from others in our responses to new conditions. Simple means-ends and feedback models fail to take into account two important factors. One is learner identity and aspiration. The strong drive to survive and prosper operates slightly differently in each individual, and each individual therefore makes more or less, but always distinct, use of the course of instruction. The second is the ubiquity of practice. Instruction is never in isolation. It is always instruction in something. Taking these two considerations together, we can see how both individuals and practices are modified over time through use and communication, in ways that are beyond the fully conscious control of any individual or even expert group. Indeed, it can be argued that every communication about and in a practice has a tiny effect on the development of that practice: nobody is ever merely passing things on. The present argument calls for a shift from a performative to an adaptive model of teaching/instruction and learning. On the performative account, instruction causes specific learning outcomes; on the adaptive, instruction affects learning outcomes. The performative model assumes closed systems; the adaptive, open. Furthermore, both the cognitive and behaviourist traditions that dominated Twentieth Century learning theory are restricted by the legacy of Cartesian mind-body dualism. In the cognitive tradition, it is assumed that minds learn while bodies

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merely react; in the behaviourist, that bodies react, causing mind(sets) to change. Each rests on the assumption of the mechanical body. Following Dewey, however, as well as his pragmatist predecessor, Peirce, we should consider the person as body-mind, as complex organism attempting to thrive in a shifting environment. Policy-makers might not like this model, as it removes the illusion that predetermined teaching objectives can produce highly predictable outcomes, if only the best approaches are used. However, perceived usefulness can be bought at the cost of reductionism. In the long run, the performative model is doomed, as its aims are never fully realised in practice. Whatever the intentions of those who have influence over our instructional systems, they exist ultimately for the somewhat unpredictable learners rather than the planners, with their understandable desire for neatness and efficiency.

Learning as Challenge It is time to be more sceptical about the simplistic positivistic agenda that has dominated the educational policy debate for some time. Not only are learners’ responses somewhat unpredictable: learning is also not necessarily always a happy event. The granddaughter of a Holocaust victim who learns about Auschwitz in school is not going to enjoy this experience. In a very real sense, all learning is a matter of dis-illusionment, in the sense of realising that the world is not quite as it was imagined to me; it is a matter of realising relative weakness as well as relative strength. Even the most inspiring experience, such as hearing Mozart and suddenly “getting it” for the first time, entails an element of loss and dislocation as one realises that one’s previous prejudices have been rendered invalid. On this account, all instruction is a form of more or less controlled identity disruption: however the learner takes on board the instruction, it will change something about her, in a way that may be experienced as positive or negative, and this reaction cannot be known in advance by the instructor. Further than this, all instruction is induction into practices that are imperceptibly modified by the intervention. The combination of naïve sentimentality with a simple linear model of learning and instruction diminishes us all, however strong its sway in the current policy context.

Activity-Centredness and Learner-Awareness Should instruction therefore be content- or learner-centred? Neither of these is enough. The preceding arguments suggest that instruction should be activity-centred and as learner-aware as possible. Teachers should be engaging learners in practices in ways that challenge but do not inhibit them, involving their distinctive concepts-in-use, choosing the appropriate mode of engagement on the basis of the best knowledge of their learners they can possibly have, though this knowledge

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will never be complete. Whether direct instruction occurs in a formal classroom in the presence of a teacher, in a laboratory, on a sports field, or in private engagement with an electronic device, this principle remains the same. To enact this principle entails discarding certain myths that can repress effective instruction and learning: 1. myths of cognitive capacity, as exposed by Wittgenstein (1967): “Try not to think of understanding as any kind of mental operation at all …” (S. 154); 2. myths of readiness, such as Piagetian and Kohlbergian oversimplifications about developmental stages (Kohlberg, 1984; Piaget, 1973); 3. myths of relevance as found in certain sociological perspectives; 4. and over-emphasis on learning outcomes and measurable performance (Lyotard’s performativity). On the other hand, as John Dewey argued so forcefully in Democracy and Education (Dewey, 1916), effective communication is both effective education and effective democracy – though it can be argued that even Dewey, especially in the early writings, made some naïve assumptions about the predictability of outcomes (Stables, 2008). Consideration of the limitations above should never blind us to the immense potential of fruitful teacher-student relationships, well enacted. It is through learning and instruction in various forms that the practices that define human life are renewed and revised.

Concluding Remarks In summary, the arguments presented in this chapter lead to the conclusion that, instructors/teachers might most productively focus on the following: 1. making instruction/teaching activity-centred and learner-aware (as opposed to either content- or learner-centred); 2. stimulating rich dialogue and absorbing activity; 3. not over-narrowing learning objectives; 4. not being seduced by easy, “transparent” models of evaluation and assessment or “what works”; 5. challenging students, for learning implies suffering and disillusionment, but not to the point of disaffection and withdrawal; the student should be working in a zone of proximal development (Vygotsky, 1978) rather than a comfort zone. A major thrust of the argument is that there is far more to instruction than passing on or feeding in information. On a simple linear input-output model, it is impossible to instruct, for there are always reasons why information cannot simply be transported from an instructor’s head into a learner’s. However, acceptance of this critical limitation prompts much richer reflection on what instruction/teaching can

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achieve, though policy-makers attached to simple linear models, or even open to circular, feedback models but within strongly demarcated closed systems, may never fully be supportive. Part of the duty of instructors, therefore, is to disabuse policy makers about learning and instruction. This is not a flippant wish. The future prosperity of the human condition rests on succeeding generations being able to solve problems that currently seem intractable or have not yet even been formulated or recognised. Malthusian economics have been discredited on one level: the rising population of the Nineteenth Century was in the end matched by humanity’s ability to feed itself. However, the challenge remains the same for each generation. We rely on our children and grandchildren to support a level of population that seems unsustainable on present models, notwithstanding challenges other than food production such as climate change, energy security, and the misuse of technology. If all we do is pass on all the knowledge we have, the human race will quickly head towards oblivion. Thankfully, however, all our attempts to pass on knowledge are tempered by the realisation that succeeding generations will interpret anew and eventually reach conclusions different from our own. It will be through our partially failing attempts to convey what we know that succeeding generations will make possible some of what is now impossible as they develop the practices they inherit, sometimes in surprising ways.

References Aristotle (350 BCE). Physics (R. P. Hardie & R. K. Gaye, Trans.). Retrieved from http://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/physics.html Austin, J. L. (1962). How to do things with words (J. O. Urmson & M. Sbisà, Eds.). Oxford, England: Clarendon. Bateson, G. (1991). A sacred unity: Further steps to an ecology of mind. New York, NY: HarperCollins. Benner, D. (2005). Allgemeine Pädagogik: Eine systematisch-problemgeschichtliche Einführung in die Grundstruktur pädagogischen Denkens und Handelns. Weinheim, Deutschland: BeltzJuventa. Bergson, H. (2014). Creative evolution: An alternate explanation for Darwin’s mechanism of evolution (A. Mitchell, Trans.). North Charleston, SC: Createspace. Brier, S. (2013). Cybersemiotics: A new foundation for transdisciplinary theory of information, cognition, meaningful communication and the interaction between nature and culture. Integral Review, 9, 220–263. Cole, M. (1996). Culture in mind. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Conway, M. A. (2001). Sensory-perceptual episodic memory and its context: Autobiographical memory. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London. Retrieved from http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC1088521/pdf/TB011375.pdf Cuypers, E. (2010). Autonomy in R. Peters’ educational theory. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 43, 189–207. Daniels, H. (2001). Vygotsky and pedagogy. Hove, England: Psychology Press.

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Deleuze, G. (1994). Difference and Repetition (P. Patton, Trans.). Retrieved from http://sociology. sunimc.net/htmledit/uploadfile/system/20110414/20110414150123784.pdf Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (1996). What is philosophy? (H. Tomlinson & G. Burchell, Trans.) New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Deleuze, G., & Guattari, F. (2013). A Thousand Plateaus (B. Massumi, Trans.). London, England: Bloomsbury. Derrida, J. (1976). Of grammatology (G. C. Spivak, Trans.). Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Derrida, J. (1978). Writing and difference (A. Bass, Trans.). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Descartes, R. (1998). Discourse on method and meditations on first philosophy (D. A. Cress, Trans.). Cambridge, MA: Hackett. Dewey, J. (1916). Democracy and education. Retrieved from www.gutenberg.org/files/852/852-h/ 852-h.htm Dewey, J. (1928). Body and mind. Bulletin of New York Academy of Medicine, 4, 3–19. Edwards, A. (2005). Let’s get beyond community and practice: The many meanings of learning by participating. The Curriculum Journal, 16, 49–65. Geinisman, Y. (2000). Structural synaptic modifications associated with hippocampal LTP and behavioral learning. Cerebral Cortex, 10, 952–962. Gough, S., & Stables, A. (2012). Interpretation as adaptation: Education for survival in uncertain times. Curriculum Inquiry, 42, 368–385. Harré, R. (2004). Positioning theory. Retrieved from www.massey.ac.nz/~alock/virtual/ positioning.doc Heidegger, M. (1978). Being and time (J. Macquarrie & E. Robinson, Trans.). Oxford, England: Wiley-Blackwell. Hume, D. (1739–40). A treatise of human nature. Retrieved from http://www.davidhume.org/texts/ thn.html Kohlberg, L. (1984). The psychology of moral development: The nature and validity of moral stages (Essays on Moral Development, Vol. 2). New York, NY: Harper and Row. Locke, J. (1690). An essay concerning human understanding. Retrieved from https://ebooks. adelaide.edu.au/l/locke/john/l81u/contents.html Locke, J. (1692). Some thoughts concerning education. Retrieved from www.bartleby.com/37/1/ Lyotard, J-F. (1984). The postmodern condition: A report on knowledge (G. Bennington & B. Massumi, Trans.). Manchester, England: Manchester University Press. Mastin, L. (2010). The human memory: Episodic and semantic memory. Retrieved from http://www.human-memory.net/types_episodic.html McDowell, J. (1996). Mind and world. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Munday, I. (2012). Roots and rhizomes: Some reflections on contemporary pedagogy. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 46, 42–59. Murray, J. (2006). Cybernetic circularity in teaching and learning. International Journal of Teaching and Learning in Higher Education, 18, 215–221. O”Keefe, D. J. (2016). Persuasion: Theory and research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Olteanu, A. (2015). Philosophy of education in the semiotics of Charles Peirce: A cosmology of learning and loving. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Piaget, J. (1973). Main trends in psychology. London, England: George Allen and Unwin. Pikkarainen, E. (2014). Competence as a key concept of educational theory: A semiotic point of view. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 48, 621–636. Plato (360 BCE). Republic. Retrieved from http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/republic.html Rancière, J. (1991). The ignorant schoolmaster: Five lessons in intellectual emancipation (K. Ross, Trans.). Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

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Rein, A. (1985). Frege and natural language. Philosophy, 60, 513–524. Rutten, K., & Soetaert, R. (2014). A rhetoric of turns: Signs and symbols in education. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 48, 604–620. Saussure, F. de (2013). Course in general linguistics (R. Harris, Trans.). London, England: Duckworth. Scharp, K., & R. B. Brandom (Eds.). (2007). In the space of reasons: Selected essays of Wilfrid Sellars. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Semetsky, I. (2006). Deleuze, education and becoming. Rotterdam, Holland: Sense. Siljander. P., Kivelä A., & Sutinen, A. (Eds.). (2012). Theories of bildung and growth: Connections and controversies between continental educational thinking and American pragmatism. Rotterdam, Holland: Sense. Stables, A. (2003). From discrimination to deconstruction: Four modulations of criticality in the humanities and social sciences. Assessment and Evaluation in Higher Education, 28, 665– 672. Stables, A. (2004). Responsibility beyond rationality: The case for rhizomatic consequentialism. International Journal of Children’s Spirituality, 9, 219–225. Stables, A. (2006). Living and learning as semiotic engagement: A new theory of education. Lewiston, NY: Mellen. Stables, A. (2008). Semiosis, Dewey and difference: Implications for pragmatic philosophy of education. Contemporary Pragmatism, 5, 147–162. Stables, A. (2010). Making meaning and using natural resources: Education and sustainability. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 44, 137–152. Stables, A. (2013). Semiotics as philosophy for education: From concepts to signs. In K. Tirri, & E. Kuusisto (Eds.), Interaction in educational domains (pp. 37–49). Rotterdam, Holland: Sense. Tillman, K. A., & Barner, D. (2015). Learning the language of time: Children’s acquisition of duration words. Cognitive Psychology, 78, 57–77. Trask, J. (n. d.). Millennials exemplify the age of all equal, all useless. Retrieved from http://www. returnofkings.com/49088/millennials-exemplify-the-age-of-all-equal-all-useless Velmans, M. (1990). When perception becomes conscious. British Journal of Psychology, 90, 543– 566. Vygotsky, L. (1978). Mind in society: The development of higher psychological processes. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Werstch, J. V. (1988). Vygotsky and the social formation of mind. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wittgenstein, L. (1967). Philosophical investigations. Oxford, England: Blackwell.

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4 Theoretical and Methodological Approaches to Instructional Communication Abstract: The instructional communication literature is rich with a number of theoretical frameworks and innovative research protocols. This chapter provides a review of the instructional communication literature, with an emphasis on publications since 2010. In an effort to assess the state of the field in terms of theoretical and methodological innovation, this chapter (1) provides a summary and analysis of the theories employed in investigations of instructor communication variables, student communication variables, communication among students, out-of-class and mediated interactions, and mentoring and advising relationships; (2) offers a constructive critical analysis of the research designs that characterize the state of the art in instructional communication; and (3) lists and briefly discusses the original measures published since 2010, analyzing one as an exemplar. Based on our review, we offer several areas for reconsideration and/or development in the areas of theory, research design, and measurement for instructional communication. Keywords: communication theory, research methods, learning measurement, instructor variables, student variables, out-of-class communication, mediated instruction, mentoring Since instructional communication (IC) was first recognized as a distinct area of study in 1972, the serious, focused academic inquiry into communication as it relates to teaching and learning has developed and flourished. The first author of this chapter contributed to state of the discipline reviews published in 2001 and 2010 in which agendas were set, progress tracked, and weaknesses discussed. For example, Waldeck, Kearney, and Plax (2001a) encouraged IC researchers to take up projects investigating the interactive nature of instruction and learning; in 2010, they noted an encouraging response to that call, and that work has continued over the past five years. The study of relational constructs and a focus on the kinds of interactions that occur in educational systems, rather than just individual behaviors, have expanded the breadth and depth of what we know about IC. Further, since 2001, the field’s research, on balance, has become much more programmatic and theory informed than the variable analytic work that had represented a young, growing discipline. In 2010, Waldeck, Plax, and Kearney concluded that the field had “continued to mature” in terms of the heuristic value of scholarship being published, the bearing of communication theory on IC inquiry, and preliminary efforts to build IC theory based on empirical research. The authors noted that

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IC researchers had “employed increasingly sophisticated thinking, research designs, and data analyses in interpreting findings” (p. 168). In this chapter, we examine the state of the art in the theories and methodologies associated with instructional communication as it has emerged since the 2001 and 2010 reviews. We provide an overview of the primary theories that have framed IC research, discuss preliminary efforts toward a theory of IC, review research methods characteristic of this area of study, and discuss recent original measurements of IC variables. In all these areas, we emphasize work published since Waldeck et al.’s 2010 review but provide older context where helpful. Our review of this literature shows strong, steady development. Research informed by theory is the norm, rather than the exception; we are no longer the stereotypical researchers “equipped with questionnaire … hot on the chase of the isolated and meaningless statistic” (Merton, 1957, p. 102). Some IC studies are characterized by innovative research designs, and the sophistication of the analytic procedures reflected across the literature is impressive. A growing corpus of theoretically informed research places instructional communication on the precipice of great influence not only within the communication field, but across the academy, and in applied settings where instructors and learners are communicating. Several methodological and measurement issues linger, however, and will hinder IC until they are addressed. Although we still have some scholarly distance to travel before we can build, test, and develop an original theory of IC, this chapter, overall, reveals a healthy state of instructional communication scholarship.

Major Theoretical Frameworks The following theories are representative of those traditionally employed by researchers in the field: arousal theory, Keller’s model of instructional design, French and Raven’s bases of power and relational power and instructional influence theory, attribution theory, expectancy or learned helplessness, arousal valence theory, approach-avoidance, information-processing theory, social cognitive/learning theory, and cultivation theory. In an effort to provide an updated review of the use of these theories in instructional communication (IC), the focus of this chapter is primarily on research published after 2010. For a more comprehensive review of their use as well as of theories used in older IC scholarship, see Waldeck et al. (2001a), Waldeck, et al. (2010), and Waldeck (2014). In a review of the extant IC literature, we also found recent developments in the use of theory and model testing including emotional response theory, instructional humor processing theory, psychological reactance theory, mentoring enactment theory, predicted outcome value theory, goals plans actions theory, relational dialectics theory, leader member exchange theory, and rhetorical and relational goals theory. IC researchers have also developed theoretical models, such as the general model of instructional communication

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and the instructional beliefs model. We review each of these theories and models briefly below and provide representative examples of how they are used in IC research. These examples illustrate early uses of the theory with an emphasis on more recent applications.

Keller’s Model of Instructional Design Keller’s (1983, 1987) ARCS Model of Motivational Design posits that instructors who make material relevant to students’ lives or goals increase their motivation to learn. The model delineates four concepts which, in sum, define learners’ motivation: attention focused on the subject matter, relevance of the content or instructional medium to students’ personal goals or interests, confidence or self-efficacy in mastering the material, and satisfaction with the outcome of the learning experience. Frymier and Shulman (1995) found that the more effectively instructors communicated relevance in their instruction, the more motivated students were to learn. Waldeck and Dougherty (2012) demonstrated that when students attend to the reasons for using course-related technology, perceive the relevance of the technology to the course, have confidence using the medium, and are satisfied with the outcome, their motivation to learn ensues. Given the increasing attention paid to student motivation as an explanatory mechanism for student performance in and outside of the classroom (e.g., Bolkan, 2015; Bolkan, Goodboy, & Griffin, 2011; Goldman, Bolkan, & Goodboy, 2014; Kerssen-Griep & Witt, 2012; Trad, Katt, & Miller, 2014), the utility of the ARCS in understanding this construct cannot be understated for IC researchers.

French and Raven’s Power Bases/Relational Power and Instructional Influence Theory French and Raven (1959) conceptualized five power types: coercive, referent, legitimate, reward, and expert. This perspective inspired one of the most influential lines of research in IC, which focused on teacher use of behavior alteration techniques (BATs) and behavior alteration messages (BAMs) to gain student compliance (cf., Kearney, Plax, Richmond, & McCroskey, 1984). Researchers have examined how teachers communicate their power resources, student and teacher perceptions of teacher power, and the relationship between teachers’ selective power use and student learning across a variety of samples and contexts. French and Raven’s power bases continue to provide the theoretical framework from which increasingly complex statistical models of power in the classroom have been derived (e.g., Schrodt et al., 2008). For instance, Finn and Ledbetter (2013) found that teacher power mediates the relationship between perceived technology polices and perceived instructor credibility.

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Integrating the work of French and Raven (1959) and Kelman’s (1961, 1974) model of social influence, Mottet, Frymier, and Beebe (2006) presented the relational power and instructional influence theory (RPII). Together, the three propositions of RPII argue that when instructors use more relational forms of power, the instructor-student relationship is enhanced, and it is more likely that instructors will achieve long-term influence. Although this theory has yet to be empirically tested, it suggests that IC researchers need to consider the complex ways in which persuasion and social influence operate as transactional phenomena in the classroom, as opposed to furthering the outmoded perspective that only instructors have power, and that students will be responsive to their uses of it. Further, the focus on relational constructs will move the field away from an earlier variableanalytic tendency.

Attribution Theory Attribution theory elucidates the process through which individuals make inferences about the causes of their own and others’ behavior (Heider, 1958; Weiner, 1986). People are more forgiving of another’s negative behavior when the cause is attributed to external forces, and likewise are more judgmental of behaviors they believe are caused by internal factors, or attributed to the person (Weiner, Amirkhan, Folkes, & Verette, 1987). In an examination of student attributions for their own behavior, Sabee and Wilson (2005) found that students with learning as a primary goal were more likely to attribute responsibility for disappointing grades to themselves; conversely, students who made an external attribution for a bad grade (i.e., blaming the instructor) were more aggressive in discussing the grade. Research in IC indicates that students also tend to make biased assessments regarding instructors’ negative behavior by attributing internal causes (Kelsey, Kearney, Plax, Allen, & Ritter, 2004; McPherson & Young, 2004). Such attributions of instructor internality, in turn, are more likely to result in students’ rhetorical, expressive, and vengeful dissent following a disagreement or difference of opinion (LaBelle & Martin, 2014). Overall, attribution theory has been used to illuminate how student attributions of their own, and their instructor’s, behaviors are related to subsequent communication. The theory appears to be an appropriate and insightful framework for continued investigations of IC; researchers should consider extending its use to examine the relationship of instructor attributions of student behavior to corresponding communication behaviors both in and outside the classroom environment. Additionally, attribution theory might prove fruitful in investigations of student-student communication and corresponding outcomes. Students’ perceptions of one another’s behavior are associated with their subsequent communication in a given course (e.g., Frisby & Martin, 2010; Johnson & LaBelle, 2015, 2016; Sol-

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litto, Johnson, & Myers, 2013); these associations might be further understood from a theoretical perspective.

Expectancy or Learned Helplessness This perspective suggests that people learn to expect positive or negative outcomes of their own behavior over time, and that learned helplessness results when consequences are random and impossible to predict. McCroskey and Richmond (1987) used this theoretical framework in examining communication apprehension and anxiety as learned behaviors in the educational context. When peoples’ experiences with and resulting expectations about communication are unpredictable, they lose confidence and become anxious; when outcomes are negative, they become fearful. These learned responses have negative influences on affective, cognitive, and psychomotor learning. More recently, expectancy learning has illuminated the experiences of learning to use new technologies (Turner, Turner, & Van de Walle, 2007) and adapting to perceived “difficult” subjects in school, such as math and computer science (Wilson & Schrock, 2001). Learned helplessness has been used to explain the academic and behavioral deficits that characterize students with emotional and behavioral disorders (Sutherland & Singh, 2004). Based on an examination of the minimal research on learned helplessness in the college classroom, this perspective could be valued and utilized profitably in IC research. Researchers might consider how the expectations of struggling students inform, guide, and potentially inhibit their experiences in the classroom. Perhaps such investigations might shed light on why students struggling with depression, anxiety, and stress report significantly less involvement and interaction in their courses than students without such ailments (Carton & Goodboy, 2015).

Arousal Valence Theory Closely aligned with expectancy theory, arousal valence theory has been used to explain students’ responses to instructor behavior (Andersen, 1985; Neuliep, 1995; Sanders & Wiseman, 1990). Specifically, arousal valence theory indicates that individuals hold expectations for their environments. Such expectations are influenced by a variety of factors, including cultural background, past experiences, individual differences, and contextual characteristics. Exposure to stimuli inconsistent with an individual’s expectations result in arousal – a heightened state of emotional and cognitive attention. Once arousal occurs, the individual assigns either a positive or a negative valence to the experience. The direction of the valence, then, influences the person’s reactions to the experience. For instance, Vallade and Myers (2014) found that students view instructor misbehaviors as relational transgressions, and base their decision to forgive on factors such as transgression severity and trans-

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gressor blameworthiness. Further, there is a growing body of evidence that student communicative reactions to differences in opinion or disagreements in the classroom are largely related to varying individual differences and situational characteristics (e.g., Bolkan & Goodboy, 2013; Goodboy & Bolkan, 2013; Goodboy & Frisby, 2014). Notably, these studies did not directly apply arousal valence theory. Rather, their inclusion in this review speaks to the potential to develop a theoretical understanding of the student expectations we now know to be influential in their communicative decisions. IC researchers are discovering fascinating relationships among such constructs, but variable analytic tests of such relationships do little to forward our comprehensive theoretical understanding of these processes. A related framework, expectancy violations theory (EVT; Burgoon, 1978) has been used to examine the role of student expectations in and outside the classroom. In an examination of the expectancies of traditional and nontraditional students, Houser (2006) found that negative violations of instructor clarity had negative implications for both groups’ cognitive learning and motivation, whereas positive violations of affinity seeking were associated with negative outcomes for nontraditional students. This theory has been underutilized given its potential to examine both student and instructor expectations, and subsequent reactions to behavioral violations, in and outside of the classroom context. EVT might offer a fruitful lens for more in-depth examinations of the student expectations of instructor technology policies (and reactions to such policies). In an ever-evolving technological culture, how do students regard strict instructor technology policies that prohibit the use of personal computers or cellular devices? In this context, which factors might lead to (un)favorable reactions of instructor classroom management policies? Together, the arousal and expectancy theories outlined in this chapter offer a number of possibilities to respond to these (and other) inquiries.

Approach-Avoidance Theory Approach/avoidance theory proposes that individuals gravitate toward what they like, evaluate positively, and prefer; and they avoid what they dislike, evaluate negatively, and do not prefer (Mehrabian, 1971). As the theoretical basis for investigating immediacy in the classroom (Andersen, 1979), approach/avoidance theory is arguably the most fundamental and frequently used perspective in the field of IC. Researchers have illuminated how approach/avoidance may predict the impact of teacher immediacy and student communication apprehension on student outcomes. For instance, apprehensive students are more likely to avoid classroom discussions than students who have low communication apprehension (Neer, 1990). Waldeck, Kearney, and Plax (2001b) used approach/avoidance theory in a study of digital out-of-class communication and found that students who evaluate digital media positively, even if they had not used them to communicate with instructors, were likely to use it to contact professors outside of class. Witt and Kerssen-Griep

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(2011) interpreted their conclusions about student perceptions of instructor feedback through the lens of approach/avoidance theory, and made recommendations for encouraging student “approach” reactions to instructional feedback, including avoiding or mitigating (through the use of immediacy cues, for instance) feedback that may be face-threatening to students.

Emotional Response Theory Emotional response theory (ERT; Mottet et al., 2006) addresses the role of student emotions in the instructional context. The theory has three key components: instructor communicative behavior, student emotional responses, and students’ subsequent approach-avoidance behaviors. Specifically, ERT argues that students’ emotional responses mediate the relationship between instructor verbal and nonverbal communication and student behavioral outcomes (Mottet et al., 2006). The theory goes on to predict that enhanced feelings of pleasure, arousal, and dominance result in students’ approach behaviors. These include increased engagement with the content being presented in the course and more positive affect for the material. On the other hand, decreased levels of these emotional responses will result in disengagement or avoidant behaviors, which are indicative of lower motivation and decreased learning. In a test of ERT, Horan, Martin, and Weber (2012) found partial support for the theory: Although relationships were found among students’ perceptions of instructor power use and classroom justice, emotional responses, and approach/avoidance behaviors, direct tests of the causal relationships predicted in ERT did not yield significant results. As the authors note, the failure of ERT to predict student outcomes in this study should be interpreted within the scope of the particular instructor communication behaviors examined, as opposed to being viewed as evidence that the propositions of the theory are erroneous. Further tests of the theory’s predictive capabilities in the context of other instructor behaviors, and using more direct measures of those behaviors, are still necessary.

Instructional Humor Processing Theory Instructional humor processing theory (IHPT; Wanzer, Frymier, & Irwin, 2010) incorporates elements of incongruity-resolution theory, disposition theory, and the elaboration likelihood model of persuasion to explain why some types of instructor-generated humor result in increased learning, whereas other types do not. Specifically, IHPT predicts that appropriate and related incongruous messages will lead to increased learning and retention, as these messages provoke effortful message processing. Although Wanzer and colleagues found preliminary support for the proposed relationships of the IHPT, a test of the full causal model (Bolkan &

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Goodboy, 2015) indicated that IHPT does not adequately explain the impact of humor on student learning. Rather, they found that self-determination theory offered a stronger explanation for the link between instructor humor and student learning. According to this perspective, instructor humor creates a positive climate that fulfills students’ psychological needs in the classroom, which in turn leads to heightened motivation and desire to do well in the course. An important conclusion can be drawn from Bolkan and Goodboy’s (2015) work. Namely, it is imperative that IC researchers subject theories, both the well-worn and recently developed, to rigorous empirical investigations of their utility in explaining and predicting communicative phenomena. Such investigations are crucial to the continued improvement of our comprehensive understanding of the teaching-learning process, particularly when building original theory.

Psychological Reactance Theory Psychological reactance theory (PRT; Brehm, 1966; Brehm & Brehm, 1981) posits that when individuals receive a persuasive message they perceive to threaten, reduce, or eliminate their behavioral freedom, they experience a state of psychological, emotional, or motivational arousal. This arousal, or reactance, manifests itself in a desire to restore the threatened behavioral freedom. This theory has played an influential role in the study of persuasion and social influence and was first adapted to the instructional context by Zhang and Sapp (2013), who studied student responses to instructor requests. They found that instructor use of politeness strategies, high legitimacy requests, high instructor credibility, and close instructor-student relationships lowered students’ experience of reactance and subsequently lowered intentions to resist the request. Later, Ball and Goodboy (2014) found positive associations between instructor use of unclear and forceful language and students’ reports of perceived threat, which resulted in increased psychological reactance; this reactance in turn mediated the relationship between perceived threat and intention to engage in both instructional dissent and challenge behaviors. Continued investigations applying and testing PRT in the instructional context would help to illuminate the nuanced ways in which instructors and students interface as mutual agents of persuasion in the classroom.

Mentoring Enactment Theory Mentoring enactment theory (MET; Kalbfleisch, 2002) explains what motivates individuals to enter mentoring relationships, how they express interest in initiating such relationships, and why these relationships are maintained and repaired. Mansson and Myers (2012) tested two of the nine propositions of MET in their examination of ongoing mentoring relationships among graduate students and their

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academic mentors. Although there were no significant sex differences in mentee enactment of relational maintenance (as was predicted per MET), Mansson and Myers did find that mentees’ reports of the relational maintenance behaviors they enact with their advisors were positively related to both mentee and mentor reports of mentoring support. The researchers noted that the partial support obtained for MET may have been due to methodological limitations (e.g., small sample size); thus, continued tests of MET are warranted. As the strategies that advisees use to maintain relationships with their advisor have been uncovered (i.e., appreciation, tasks, protection, courtesy, humor, and goals; Mansson & Myers, 2012), instructional researchers are now capable of achieving a more nuanced understanding of the ways in which these messages contribute to both advisor and advisee satisfaction, efficacy, and success across varied academic disciplines, levels of study, and communication channels.

Predicted Outcome Value Theory Predicted outcome value theory (POV; Sunnafrank, 1986) asserts that individuals engage in uncertainty reducing techniques in initial interactions to determine the perceived outcome value of the relationship and ultimately maximize rewards over costs. Research indicates that students form both positive and negative POV judgments of instructors in initial interactions based on instructor communication (Horan, Houser, Goodboy, & Frymier, 2011), and that these judgments are associated with students’ subsequent enactment of either prosocial or antisocial communicative behaviors (Horan & Houser, 2012). Using POV as a theoretical framework, Young, Kelsey, and Lancaster (2011) examined the association of students’ predicted outcome values with instructor and student-instructor communication via email. The frequency of instructor-student email exchanges was positively associated with the students’ perceptions of relational development with the instructor. As noted above, there is a still a need to uncover the communicative processes involved in selecting an academic mentor and initiating a mentoring relationship; scholars interested in these interactions could examine how individuals engage in uncertainty reduction in potential mentee-mentor relationships as well as the influence of POV judgments made in the early stages of these pivotal relationships.

Goals Plans Actions Theory The goals-plans-action (GPA) theory of message production (Dillard, 1990; 2004) posits that the interplay of goals, plans, and actions between two interactants is useful in understanding not only influence attempts but also a wider array of interpersonal phenomena. GPA has received support in the instructional context as a means of understanding student academic decision-making. In the context of ap-

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proaching an instructor regarding a disappointing grade, Henningsen, Valde, Russell, and Russell (2011) found that students’ activated goals elicited planning, which led to the decision to engage in an influence attempt, which ultimately predicted students’ decision to engage in a discussion with the instructor. In an experimental study, Henningsen, Valde, and Denbrow (2013) found that students’ primary and secondary goals could be used to predict their decision to either explicitly confront or report a peer suspected of academic misconduct. To date, the majority of research conducted on instructor and student influence attempts has been grounded in theoretical assumptions regarding the five power bases (see above for descriptions of these and the recently developed RPII theory). The successful application of GPA in understanding students’ decision making is indicative of the increased efforts of IC researchers to understand traditionally studied phenomena in increasingly complex ways.

Relational Dialectics Theory Relational dialectics theory (RDT; Baxter, 2004; Baxter & Montgomery, 1996) posits that tensions sustain and challenge all relationships; these tensions manifest as oppositional forces. RDT has been used to examine the African-American student experience in higher education (Simmons, Lowery-Hart, Wahl, & McBride, 2013) as well as the identity negotiation and relationship formation of nontraditional students (O’Boyle, 2014). Although RDT might best be described as a metatheoretical perspective, as it has neither the axiomatic structure nor the predictive ability of a true theory (Baxter & Montgomery, 1996), there are a number of research implications that can be drawn from applying RDT to the instructional context. In their essay outlining a research agenda for utilizing the epistemological underpinnings of RDT to examine teacher-student relational development, Rudick and Golsan (2014) highlight its promise in (re)examining the sociocultural and contextual elements of major lines of research in IC. The authors appropriately end their essay by calling for a wider appreciation of varied epistemological perspectives, methodologies, and paradigms in the quest for a theory of instructional communication.

Leader-Member Exchange Theory Leader-member exchange theory (LMX; Dansereau, Graen, & Haga, 1975; Graen & Cashman, 1975; Graen & Uhl-Bien, 1995) is rooted in the assumption that superiors form unique relationships with their subordinates ranging on a continuum from high to low quality. The formation of such relationships supports the construction of in-groups and out-groups in the organization, the classification of which predicts individual and organizational outcomes for both superiors and subordinates. The more productive, trustworthy, and competent subordinates form an “in-group” with their supervisors and subsequently tend to have relatively informal ex-

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changes. On the other hand, the less productive, less trustworthy, and less competent subordinates comprise an out-group in the organization, and tend to communicate formally with supervisors (Bauer & Green, 1996; Krone, Kramer, & Sias, 2010). Horan, Chory, Carton, Miller, and Raposo (2013) found that students’ perceptions of LMX have both mediating and moderating effects on their perceptions of justice in the classroom and intentions to engage in antisocial communication. The use of LMX in instructional contexts represents an important effort to apply theories as appropriate across contexts and situations. Instruction and learning take place across the lifespan in a number of contexts, and the nature of leadership communication in those contexts will have an impact on participant perceptions of their experiences.

Rhetorical and Relational Goals Theory Grounded in the rhetorical and relational traditions in IC, this theoretical perspective suggests that students enter the classroom with both academic and relational needs (Mottet et al., 2006). Academic needs are related to a student’s desire to acquire information and ideas, and achieve goals such as learning or obtaining a particular grade. Relational needs involve feeling confirmed as a student and a person, and they are met through interactions with instructors and other students. Similarly, instructors have both rhetorical (content-related) and relational goals, and may emphasize one of these over the other through their communication with students. Effective teaching, then, occurs when teachers set appropriate goals and are able to employ communication strategies to achieve those goals; further, student learning and motivation are increased by having their needs met in the classroom. IC researchers are particularly interested in the interplay between a focus on academic content and the benefits of context-appropriate interpersonal relationships between instructors and students. In an application of rhetorical and relational goals theory, Claus, Booth-Butterfield, and Chory (2012) found that students’ positive perceptions of their instructors reduced the likelihood of student enactment of antisocial communication with the instructor. However, instructor misbehaviors (i.e., actions that interfere with the instructional process, such as boring lectures, giving unfair tests, or being late to class) increased the likelihood of antisocial instructor-student interactions, regardless of the degree to which an instructor was perceived as interpersonally attractive, humorous, or relationally close with students. As the authors note, the negative influence of instructor behaviors that disrupt students’ academic need fulfillment are rarely overcome by instructor behaviors that promote an interpersonal relationship with students. The propositions of rhetorical and relational goals theory have not been subjected to a comprehensive empirical investigation. However, Finn and Schrodt (2012) provided evidence supporting one proposition – that when students’ aca-

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demic and relational needs are met, students will be more satisfied with their classroom experience. More specifically, they found that when students perceived teachers as straightforward in their teaching and nonverbally immediate, they rated those teachers as understanding. Subsequently, students experienced heightened feelings of competence relative to the course, viewed the content of the course as valuable, and felt appreciated as contributing and valued class members. Finn and Schrodt’s work represents the recent efforts of IC scholars to investigate the underlying mechanisms that connect widely studied teacher behaviors such as nonverbal immediacy and clarity to valued student learning, relational, and communicative outcomes. Although rhetorical and relational goals theory provides an effective lens for examining the association of teacher goals and student needs in the classroom, there is still a need for the development of reliable and valid measurements of the theory’s key variables. As noted by the authors, the development of rhetorical and relational goals theory (along with the aforementioned emotional response theory and theory of relational power and instructional influence) was meant to initiate a more in-depth conversation on the theoretical knowledge of instructional communication, not to finish it.

Theoretical and Statistical Models In addition to the aforementioned theories, several models have been used to examine the relationships among variables of interest to IC researchers. These include models specifically developed for IC research, such as the General Model of Instructional Communication (McCroskey, Valencic, & Richmond, 2004) and the Instructional Beliefs Model (Weber, Martin, & Myers, 2011).

The General Model of Instructional Communication The General Model of Instructional Communication (McCroskey, Valencic, & Richmond, 2004) offers a framework to examine the associations among teacher traits, teacher communication behaviors, student perceptions, and student learning outcomes. In forwarding the General Model, McCroskey and colleagues (2004) found support for the hypothesized relationships among these variables using canonical correlations; however, Katt, McCroskey, Sivo, Richmond, and Valencic (2009) were unable to find support for the predictions of the structural model in further tests. Although the General Model offers an attempt to synthesize research in IC, its replicability and parsimony fall short.

Instructional Beliefs Model The central premise of the Instructional Beliefs Model (IBM; Weber, Martin & Myers, 2011) is that teacher behaviors, student characteristics, and course-specific

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structural issues combine to influence students’ instructional beliefs, which in turn affect learning outcomes. Specifically, first-order constructs (i.e., teacher behaviors, student characteristics, and course specific structural issues) are mediated by a second-order construct of students’ instructional beliefs in their impact on the students’ learning outcomes, which constitute the third-order constructs in the model. The three first-order constructs are considered equally influential in their effect on students’ instructional beliefs; instructors and students, as well as coursespecific structural issues, all serve to influence students’ cognitive and affective beliefs about the class. The IBM has been used successfully to examine student learning and communicative outcomes in the context of instructional dissent (LaBelle, Martin, & Weber, 2013), student-student connectedness (Johnson & LaBelle, 2015), and student academic entitlement (Vallade, Martin, & Weber, 2014). In addition to these original models of IC, researchers have designed models to explain the mechanism through which teacher immediacy affects student outcomes (Frymier, 1994; Rodriguez, Plax, & Kearney, 1996; Zhang, Oetzel, Gao, Wilcox, & Takai, 2007), the sources of influence in online education (Carr, Zube, Dickens, Hayter, & Barterian, 2013), and information technology continuance (Lin & Rivera-Sanchez, 2012). Other work has applied models of reciprocal causation to examine the associations among student traits, student-teacher communication, and student achievement (Charalampous & Kokkinos, 2014). There have also been a number of statistically based models developed to understand the teaching-learning process in more complex ways (e.g., Finn & Ledbetter, 2013; Mazer, 2013; Sidelinger, Bolen, Frisby, & McMullen, 2011). However, although these models test important mediating and moderating relationships, they are not always based in theoretical reasoning or used to build theory. Although the use of these theoretically based and statistical models further the understanding of IC in important ways, these models do not meet the requirements of true theory. Specifically, at this time, no theory of IC demonstrates the criteria of logical consistency, testability, and falsifiability (Chaffee & Berger, 1987). Further, many of the studies highlighted in this review apply theories as a framework for variable selection and study rationale, but do not make efforts to test or develop theory. In all, there continues to be a lack of original theory development in IC. As the review of theoretical approaches provided in this chapter indicates, the majority of theories applied and tested in IC continue to be adapted from other disciplines or areas of the communication field. However, before IC researchers can begin to use our empirical findings to build true theory, there are several methodological and measurement issues that the field must address.

Research Design and Measurement Issues A review of the instructional communication literature published since the last comprehensive “state of the discipline” chapter (Waldeck et al., 2010) reveals a

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diversity of methodological approaches. Although survey designs still predominate the literature, scholars in this area have embraced experimental designs and a range of qualitative methods, and provide compelling rationales for their designs. These practices, we believe, reflect the movement toward greater methodological diversity in the communication field at large and represent an effort to capture the nature of teaching and learning in a complex era. Additionally, ten original measures of instructional communication constructs have been published since 2010. One significant measurement problem that has received much attention over the past three decades lingers: the assessment of cognitive learning. Thus, in this section, we address each of these areas in turn as they relate to the state of IC research.

Methodological Issues Primary unit of analysis and setting for IC research Our understanding of instructional communication to date is based primarily on research designed to evaluate student perceptions of teacher behavior, the overall communication climate associated with the class, motivation, students’ own behaviors, and learning outcomes. For instance, Johnson and LaBelle (2015) assessed college students’ perceptions of classmates’ self-disclosure and classroom connectedness as predictors of their own enactment of instructional dissent. Elsewhere, Holmgren and Bolkan (2014) examined students’ reports of how instructors respond to their rhetorical dissent (i.e., students’ efforts to persuade the instructor to change something that they perceive as unfair), and how these responses influence a range of student outcomes. In a study of how instructors’ communication behaviors might influence students’ emotional experiences in the classroom, Titsworth, McKenna, Mazer, and Quinlan (2013) assessed student reports of their emotional valence, emotion work, and instructor emotional support associated with the class. In contrast, we identified very few studies based on instructor samples. One focused on instructor perceptions of student email politeness (Bolkan & Holmgren, 2012). Another investigated instructor self-reports of nonverbal immediacy, confirmation, and caring behaviors and their impact on perceptions of student nonverbal responsiveness (Malachowski & Martin, 2011). Finally, Frisby, Goodboy, and Buckner (2015) studied the effects of instructor-reported student dissent behavior on teacher burnout, commitment, satisfaction, and self-efficacy. Looking further back to the seminal IC work, there are few examples of research assessing instructor perceptions of students or of the teaching and learning experience. One notable exception is Gorham and Millette’s (1997) study of the congruency of teacher perceptions and student self-reports of student motivation (and its predictors). We view the overall scarcity of work based on instructor perspectives as a shortcoming and as an opportunity for development and expansion of the field.

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Because the important role of instructors on student outcomes is well established, we believe that the time has come to pay systematic attention to their experiences with, beliefs about, and perceptions of the instructional environment. The lack of communication research on instructors indicates that perhaps communication researchers have an implicit bias that teachers are, by nature, competent communicators whose experiences need not be studied outside of their impact on the student experience. By extension, there might be an assumption that if we determine what behaviors students like and learn from, and disseminate these findings, instructors will use them and become more effective. However, we cannot allow ourselves to continue to use this tunnel vision. Not all instructors value communication, are skilled communicators, and/or are motivated to communicate effectively with students – and many have biases and experiences preventing them from developing a positive attitude toward competent communication. For instance, Waldeck has given faculty development workshops to national interdisciplinary audiences from a communication perspective and been asked by bewildered participants, “Why should I care if my students like me or my teaching style?” Additionally, this attitude appears to be common among instructors from countries other than the United States, where there is often minimal cultural emphasis placed on instructional relationships or communication competence within teaching and learning activities. Instructors in our own and other disciplines have inadequacies, insecurities, and challenges related to communication and instruction that can negatively impact their experience and, by extension, the student experience. As Weimer (2010) has suggested, teachers’ motivation, skills, and weaknesses ebb and flow over the course of their careers – impacting “students [and] how well they learn” (p. 174). Thus, it is imperative that we extend the study of communication, teaching, and learning to address instructors’ own perceptions and reports of their experiences. We have two additional concerns related to the units of analysis chosen by instructional communication researchers. First, our review revealed that most research is based on fairly homogenous samples and that many authors mention this as a limitation of their work. Researchers should continue to strive for culturally diverse participant pools and continue to use qualitative methods where appropriate to tap the unique experiences of specific cultural groups. As Pettegrew (2016) argued, cultural phenomena impact the communication context and situation in critical, but sometimes subtle, ways. For instance, the cultural beliefs and practices of first-generation college students’ families of origin contribute to those students’ ongoing experiences in distinct ways (Wang, 2014b). Students’ and instructors’ ethnicity, native language, sexual orientation, gender identity, race, and religion may be other examples of cultural variables impacting IC in ways that could be explored more meaningfully than by t-tests. The second concern is related to the preoccupation with college students and the traditional, face-to-face college teaching and learning experience. In a chapter

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on the lifespan nature of learning, Waldeck (2014) “firmly established learning as a developmental process typically facilitated by … activities that occur within childhood and post-secondary institutionalized learning, and through adulthood workplace training and development” (p. 148), and noted that the learning experiences of older adults are understudied. We argue, too, that IC researchers have largely excluded the K-12 (kindergarten to twelfth grade) setting from their work. Notable exceptions include Boster, Meyer, Roberto, Inge, and Strom’s (2006) study of video streaming and Strom and Boster’s examination of family communication and high school matriculation (2011). Other developmental work has emerged from the health communication area on the impact on adolescents of educational messages regarding drug and alcohol abuse (cf., Pettigrew et al., 2012). However, the focus on K-12 education is small. Perhaps researchers simply are not interested in the instructional process as it relates to children; alternatively, the scant literature on children might be due to the difficulties associated with gaining access and IRB approval. However, convenience should not govern our research activities. Further, the college students whom we typically study are mostly reporting on traditional instructor-led courses that afford them opportunities to build relationships with instructors and peers through face-to-face communication. However, the National Center for Education Statistics reports that in 2012, 26 % of all postsecondary students in the United States were enrolled in at least some distance education courses. Thus, instructional communication scholars should take up Waldeck et al.’s (2010) call to take a greater leadership role in exploring the growing phenomenon of online teaching and learning. Our review indicates that although researchers have continued to study email, social media, and cell phone communication as they relate to learning in traditional classrooms (cf., Bolkan & Holmgren, 2012; Deverniero & Hosek, 2011; Finn & Ledbetter, 2014; Kuznekoff & Titsworth, 2013; Waldeck & Dougherty, 2012; Young et al., 2011), little has been done to study online learning specifically or other classroom structures including flipped instruction, team-based learning, and active learning. We note an important exception to the concern that instructional communication research is limited to college classrooms: a 2010 special issue of Communication Education that showcased education and health promotion. Similar to the intention of Kearney’s 2006 special issue of the same journal focused on training and development, these studies examined how instructional interventions are useful outside of traditional classrooms and “can be used to promote public health and enhance the quality of care for targeted populations” (Kreps, Sparks, & Villagran, 2010, p. 215) and to train healthcare providers and administrators. For instance, LeGreco, Hess, Lederman, Schuwerk, and LaValley (2010) reported on the use of instructional communication technology, such as personal response “clickers” to encourage learning related to health-related risk prevention. Avtgis, Pollack, Martin, and Rossi (2010) explored the impact of communication training modules created using established instructional design principles on healthcare provider

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efficiency during trauma interventions. Taken as a whole, this journal issue demonstrates how teaching and learning are lifespan processes not limited to college classrooms, often with life-altering or life-saving implications. In addressing these issues, we urge scholars to consider a useful framework offered by Pettegrew (2016) of context, sub-context, setting, and situation. He argues convincingly that social scientists tend to use these terms interchangeably and imprecisely, which negatively impacts the clarity and substance of our work. When we do so, he writes, we overlook subtle dynamics that enable and constrain effective communication. Within the larger instructional context, then, it is important to identify the sub-context in which we are working for a particular research project (e.g., higher education, K-12, public or private institution, research-oriented university or liberal arts focus) and to theorize about the effects of sub-context on our variables of interest. He goes on to define the setting as the actual place where communication takes place (in instructional contexts and sub-contexts, examples would include online, classrooms, and out-of-class communication venues). Setting has clear implications for the process and product of instructional communication, and within the setting for communication is the situation, which he defines as the exigency for communication. IC can be routine or novel, confirming or disconfirming, immediate or non-immediate based on situational factors; additionally, instructors are sometimes faced with situations in which they need to discipline students and have other kinds of difficult conversations. The reason for a particular interaction has unique effects on its outcome that cannot be overlooked. As we study instructional constructs in a growing variety of sub-contexts and settings (e.g., health, corporate training, higher education, and K-12), and as we learn more about the range of communicative situations learners and instructors face (and the cultural phenomena that operate as they do), it becomes increasingly important to be mindful of Pettegrew’s admonition as we systematically theorize and design our research protocols. IC researchers, in the quest for generalizable research findings, may not be attentive enough to these fundamental distinctions to draw the kinds of groundbreaking conclusions that should be hallmarks of our work.

Research designs and procedures Surveys remain the most commonly used research design (exemplars include Goodboy and Myers’s 2015 update of the teacher misbehaviors literature and Thompson, Mazer, and Flood Grady’s 2015 study of parent-teacher communication). However, authors have used other unique strategies for studying the teaching and learning process. Because they have allowed researchers to uncover rich, deep, and valid perspectives on various instructional constructs and to study the unique experiences of specific understudied groups, these methods have enhanced

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the literature in substantive, interesting ways. For example, in a line of research that relies on interviews with first-generation college students (FGC), Wang (2012, 2014a, 2014b) explored the memorable messages they receive from parents, oncampus mentors, and teachers who socialize, prepare, and aid them through the transition to college. Wang argued that the interpretive paradigm framing her research produced “an in-depth understanding” (2014a, p. 68) of how FGC students make sense of communication with various groups about making the transition to college. Through qualitative techniques, she elicited rich, detailed accounts of how interactions with others aided FGC students in navigating the college experience. Using established protocol for thematically analyzing her data, she validated her results using member checking and interactive data conferencing. Wang’s work is a solid example of selecting an appropriate paradigm based on the focus of her research and using data collection and analytic techniques consistent with her qualitative design. Her methods allowed her to uncover nuances of her sample’s experience that would be difficult to collect through a survey design and quantitative measurement techniques. In another study, Simmons et al. (2013) employed interviews and focus groups to investigate African-American students’ experiences in predominantly white universities. This methodology was appropriate because it allowed the researchers to create “a climate in which African-American students would openly and honestly discuss issues related to their experiences as minority students in higher education” (Simmons et al., 2013, p. 380). Participant narratives were analyzed using content analytic procedures, and the emergent constructs were validated using the constant comparative method. The results allowed the researchers to identify the “discourse and meaning-making of participants” (Simmons et al., 2013, p. 388) related to their efforts to participate in a predominantly white learning environment. The deeply personal and complex struggles that participants expressed in this study were enabled by the methodology the researchers selected. Another method would have constrained the researchers’ ability to gain insight into the unique internal and external conflicts African-American students often encounter. Additionally, our review revealed a number of innovative experimental designs. Appropriate use of experimental manipulations can afford researchers heightened confidence that their findings will be uncompromised by the biases associated with indirect (participant) reports. For example, in their study of feedback, mentoring, face threat mitigation, and teacher nonverbal immediacy (TNI), Kerssen-Griep and Witt (2015) responded to previous critiques of existing TNI measures that rely on student perceptions and recollections of instructor behaviors. Specifically, they manipulated TNI through the use of two video scenarios (greater and lesser immediacy conditions) rather than use the checklist procedure typically employed in TNI research. By exerting experimental control over the teachers’ immediacy, the authors were able to conclude that their design contributed “further behavioral … evidence to complement the mainly perceptual data otherwise avail-

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able about these variables’ roles in educational outcomes” (Kerssen-Griep & Witt, 2015, p. 17). In another example of the use of experimental methods, Edwards and Edwards (2013) investigated the impact of computer-mediated word of mouth (WOM) student reviews of professors (e.g., ratemyprofessor.com) on students’ evaluations of instructor credibility and attraction, and student motivation and affective learning. They created three sets of Rate My Professor ratings for a hypothetical instructor, manipulated for instructor quality (positive, negative, mixed). They asked student participants to read the ratings, then watch a videotaped lecture by the rated professor (the same video was used in each condition) and finally, complete an evaluation of instructor credibility and attractiveness. Although the authors note limitations of ecological validity, their choice was an appropriate exploratory step for investigating online ratings of instructors and their impact on student expectancies, perceptions, and outcomes. The design held the instructor’s lecture performance constant, and the experimental rating conditions parsed out other influences on student experiences with professors (e.g., real-time discussion with friends, prior history with the instructor). As a result, Edwards and Edwards were able to establish a valid connection between mediated WOM about professors and student experiences with those professors and their courses, concluding “… student computer-mediated WOM … explained 10 % of the variance in student ratings … this study shows that peer-to-peer opinions are consequential in educational encounters” (Edwards & Edwards, 2013, p. 422). The next logical step in this research should be to examine mediated student ratings in natural conditions. Other representative experimental work includes studies by Ball and Goodboy (2014), who manipulated instructor clarity and use of forceful language as antecedents of students’ psychological reactance and communication; Bromme, Brummernhenrich, Becker, and Jucks (2012), who created scenarios depicting varying levels of tutor politeness in an investigation of clarity in expert-layperson tutorial interactions; and Li, Mazer, and Ju (2011), who designed conditions involving international teaching assistants with differing degrees of language proficiency and self-disclosure about their language inadequacy to determine their effects on student perceptions of teacher clarity and credibility.

Original Instructional Communication Measures In reviewing the instructional communication literature published since 2010 (see Kearney & Beatty, 1994; Rubin, 2009; and Waldeck et al. 2010 for previous reviews), we identified ten original measurements designed to assess classroom emotions (Titsworth et al., 2010), student intellectual stimulation (Bolkan & Goodboy, 2010) student perceptions of student understanding (Schrodt & Finn, 2011), instructional dissent (Goodboy, 2011), student engagement and student interest (Mazer, 2012),

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parental academic support (Thompson & Mazer, 2012), teacher technology policies (Finn & Ledbetter, 2014), cognitive learning (revision; Frisby, Mansson, & Kaufmann, 2014) and revised teacher misbehaviors (Goodboy & Myers, 2015). Additionally, our review reveals the sophistication of instructional scholars’ efforts to create psychometrically sound scales and further demonstrate their validity. In particular, Schrodt and Finn’s (2011) student perceptions of instructor understanding measure serves as an exemplary model for scale development. We have selected it as an ideal representative of the measures reported in the contemporary literature for analysis. Working from the relational theoretical perspective (Mottet & Beebe, 2006), Schrodt and Finn (2011) first reasoned that students evaluate their efforts to communicate with instructors based on teachers’ behavioral indicators of understanding. Thus, the study met a foundational criterion for measurement: a solid theoretical base (Barker, 1989). Next, concerned with content validity, they generated a large number of items following well-established and widely-accepted social scientific protocols. The scope of their item pool and the systematic procedure they used for creating it allowed them to adequately operationalize their variable of interest’s complex conceptual underpinnings. Their inventory was informed by published instrumentation, the previously mentioned theoretical foundation, and the authors’ deductive reasoning. Because the scale was designed to reference students’ perceptions of specific teacher behaviors, it requires a minimal degree of inference on the student participant’s part and, therefore, meets the criterion of high measurability (Barker, 1989). The authors paid careful attention to the clarity and formatting of the scale’s statements: They used a rigorous pilot test procedure with 35 student focus group participants to determine the extent to which items represented the construct under study, and to collect any additional verbal and nonverbal behaviors not included in the initial item pool and delete those which did not appear to be representative. As a final step in developing items, two instructional communication experts reviewed their 54 items. Next, Schrodt and Finn used the well-established prior class data collection technique (Plax, Kearney, McCroskey, & Richmond, 1986). Exploratory factor analysis yielded a two-factor, 35-item scale that measured students’ perceptions of instructor understanding and misunderstanding with excellent reliability for both factors (Cronbach’s α = .96). Their analyses further yielded only moderate correlations between the new scale and the existing scale they sought to improve, indicating that theirs is “empirically consistent, but not redundant” (Schrodt & Finn, 2011, p. 238) with the previous one. Thus, their scale improved upon earlier measures related to student feelings of being understood/misunderstood that relied on students’ affective evaluations of instructors, rather than their observations and reports of actual teacher behaviors. With a subsequent sample, using CFA procedures, the authors verified their scale’s structure. Finally, they offered ample evidence of the scale’s concurrent and

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discriminant validity. Schrodt and Finn acknowledged the limitations of their work, including homogenous samples and a cross-sectional design, and made recommendations for overcoming them in future work. Importantly, their work is heuristic and programmatic. Finn and Schrodt (2012) used the measure to test a structural equation model of the mediating effects of student perceptions of instructor understanding on the relationship between teacher clarity/nonverbal immediacy and learner empowerment. Because of their careful attention to detail, systematic approach, appropriate development steps and analyses, and the resulting sound psychometric properties of their measure, we urge instructional communication scholars and students to model Schrodt and Finn’s excellent work in the area of scale development.

Measurement of Cognitive Learning According to the paradigm of learning advanced by Bloom (1956) and Krathwohl, Bloom, and Masia (1964), cognitive learning (CL) involves acquiring, understanding, synthesizing, evaluating, and using information or knowledge. It is one of three domains of learning typically studied by communication researchers, the totality of which is long considered to be the standard by which learning outcomes are assessed. The remaining two include affective learning (the development of positive attitudes, beliefs, and values relative to the knowledge and behaviors being learned), and psychomotor (behavioral) learning (which is concerned with one’s ability to perform specific physical behaviors as a result of the learning process). All three domains of learning have been employed as dependent variables in communication research, and the latter two, affective and psychomotor learning, with little debate about measurement validity. However, cognitive learning has proven to be a challenging construct to assess. In early learning research, cognitive learning indicators included student test scores, recall measures, and course grades. However, these presented reliability and validity problems in making knowledge claims regarding the role of communication in instruction across disciplines. Richmond, McCroskey, Kearney, and Plax (1987) were concerned with the “lack of comparability across cognitive learning measures … across disparate fields” and the “crude estimates” (p. 6) of learning provided by grades. They also wrote about an even bigger validity problem posed by student-estimated grades (another technique that researchers had previously employed). Consequently, they developed the often-used Learning Loss (LL) assessment. This two-item student self-report scale assesses student perceptions of their CL as a function of instruction in a particular class. Although numerous findings are based on this measure, there are compelling problems with its continued use as a solitary measure of CL. The authors cautioned in their original publication of the measure that scores “do not represent perfectly valid measures of cognitive learning” (Richmond et al., 1987, p. 6) and advised a

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conservative approach in interpreting findings based on this measure. The LL measure was never offered as a panacea. Thirteen years later, noting its continued use, Waldeck et al. (2010) characterized it as an “important initial contribution” but called for “better models” (p. 173). Specifically, they noted the inability to calculate reliability estimates on a two-item measure, as well as validity concerns. The outcry for an improved measure has been loud and strong from many corners of the field. Hess, Smythe, and Communication 451 (2001) were among the first to document the shortcomings of CL research. In particular, they pointed to the lack of theoretical foundation for the LL tool, and its reliance on students’ perceptions of their own learning. Although Chesebro and McCroskey (2000) had provided evidence of a moderate correlation between LL scores and performance on a recall quiz, Hess et al. dismissed their work as suffering from “eroded” (2001, p. 203) ecological validity due to its experimental design. Hess et al.’s study yielded no meaningful relationship between student perceptions of learning (as recorded by the learning loss measure) and exam performance over time in naturally occurring classes with nine instructors and standardized structure and materials. Speculating that students inflate self-reports of CL when they have positive affect toward the teacher, they called the practice of using the LL instrumentation “into question … and underscore[d] the need for more evidence of validity” (Hess et al., 2001, p. 214). Subsequently, Witt, Wheeless, and Allen’s (2004) meta-analysis offered even more evidence of the weaknesses of the LL procedure. Across 81 studies, the overall correlation between immediacy and CL measured by the LL instrument was significantly higher (r = .63) than the relationship between immediacy and CL measured through grades and recall performance (r = .12). As King and Witt (2009) note, because nonsignificant findings are rarely published (Levine & Asada, 2007) and therefore are not included in meta-analytic calculations, even the very small .12 correlation may be inflated. In an attempt to avoid asking students to report high-inference perceptions of their learning and create a low-inference rating scale of behavioral indicators of learning, researchers developed the Learning Indicators (Frymier, Shulman, & Houser, 1996) and Revised Learning Indicators (Frymier & Houser, 1999) scales. Based on the assumption that time spent engaged with learning leads to learning, in the first study, Frymier and colleagues generated an inventory of behaviors that students engage in when they are learning (e.g., “I actively participate in class discussion,” “I think about the course content outside of class,” “I explain course content to other students”) and produced evidence of “modest validity” and reliability for the instrument (Frymier et al., 1996, p. 3). The follow-up study, which resulted in the revised scale, was concerned with the high proportion of items focused on communication behaviors. Reasoning that the 9-item Original Learning Indicators Scale (OLIS) might be confounded by students’ predispositions to communicate or be apprehensive, Frymier and Houser (1999) attempted to balance the scale by adding four items unrelated to communication. The resulting two-factor

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solution indicated a dimension reflective of learning activities and one consistent with oral class participation behavior. Thus, the items loading on the oral class participation factor were discarded, and the Revised Learning Indicators Scale (RLIS) was determined to consist of the seven items loading on the remaining factor. Interestingly, two items that involved communication, albeit low-risk forms of communication about the course outside of class (versus in-class participation), loaded on the retained factor, along with other non-communication behavioral indicators of learning. Frymier and Houser (1999) provided evidence of the validity of the RLIS, determined it to be more reliable and valid than the OLIS, and suggested it could “be used alone or in conjunction with other measures of learning” (p. 11). One obvious problem remaining with the RLIS is its reliance on student reports of their behavior; further, it is a measure of learning indicators rather than actual learning. Thus, it is not an isomorphic measure of CL. As a result of the problems associated with all extant methods of measuring CL, two additional lines of research have pursued a more useful measure – but with minimal success. In 2009, King and Witt adapted a procedure from the fields of psychology and education known as confidence testing, which requires students to answer a test question and then provide an estimate of their confidence in the answer they gave. They found a modest positive association between confidence testing, learning loss (r = .37), and course grades (r = .33), ultimately concluding that the measure be “regarded with a degree of skepticism” (King & Witt, 2009, p. 118). Later, based on Chesebro and McCroskey’s (2000) evidence that there is some validity to student assessments of their learning, Frisby and Martin (2010) created a cognitive learning measure (CLM) to assess four dimensions of CL extracted from Ellis’s (2004) interpretation of Bloom’s original taxonomy: recall, knowledge, understanding, and development of skills – arguing that developing items based on the definition of learning would strengthen the link between the conceptualization and operationalization. Further, the 10-item scale would overcome the reliability estimation problems attached to the LL measure. Exploratory factor analysis indicated a unidimensional structure accounting for 50 % of the variance and high internal reliability. Seeing promise in the new instrument, but recognizing the need to further validate it, Frisby et al. (2014) reported results of confirmatory factor analysis and a number of correlation tests (with out-of-class communication, prosocial communication motives, affective learning, learning loss, participation, interest, and antisocial communication motives). Their study indicated a three-factor model comprised of acquisition, retention, and application, and evidence of the scale’s concurrent, divergent, and construct validity.1 However, Mansson’s (2014) investigation re1 We note a lack of conceptual clarity between the Frisby and Martin (2010) and the Frisby et al. (2014) reports. The Frisby and Martin 10-item measure was based on a conceptual definition of learning advanced by Ellis (2004) that has four dimensions: recall, knowledge, understanding, and

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vealed a poor factor structure for the CLM, reducing it to three items loading on one reliable factor (knowledge acquisition). Mansson recommended that the wording of CLM items be reevaluated and that the scale be subjected to further validity testing. We concur that, like the measures developed before it, there are both conceptual and operational problems inherent in the Frisby and Martin (2010) and Frisby et al. (2014) instrumentation. Most striking are the constitutive definitions of learning used in these two studies. As we noted, the second set of authors altered the conceptual definition articulated by the first. Additionally, by addressing only select cognitive skills that contribute to knowledge (and in some cases, labeling them differently), neither study relies on Bloom’s comprehensive, hierarchical taxonomy: knowledge, comprehension, application, analysis, synthesis, and evaluation (1956) or Anderson et al.’s (2001) revised taxonomy: remembering, understanding, applying, analyzing, and evaluating, creating. While none of the instruments created to measure cognitive learning by instructional communication researchers does so, the authors claim to base their work on that of Bloom. In this way, none of these instruments is isomorphic, and all of them have considerable “slippage” between their theoretical roots, conceptual definitions, and measurement items. Thus, the measurement of cognitive learning remains a vexing issue. Wanzer et al. (2010) speculated that CL may simply be too complex to measure with a single instrument; we agree that to truly capture the hierarchical series of cognitive tasks necessary for true knowledge acquisition, multiple measures are most likely in order. Overall, CL is a high-inference variable difficult to operationalize and measure, and to date, the “best” attempts rely on the controversial (and for some, unacceptable) practice of collecting students’ perceptual judgments about their learning. Mazer and Graham (2015) even argue that the validity issues inherent in this technique call much of our collective knowledge about CL into question. Our review of the state of the art in instructional communication research suggests that far fewer studies are employing CL as an outcome than has been historically typical, and we believe that the measurement problems summarized here may account for the shift in focus. It is plausible that communication research is simply better suited for investigating the affective domain; we have long asserted that

the development of skills. In an apparent inaccuracy, Frisby et al. stated that “the conceptualization used to develop the CLM includes three distinct dimensions of learning (i.e., acquisition, retention, application; Clark, 2002)” (p. 165). Using the same 10 items created by Frisby and Martin, Frisby et al. tested a three-factor model based on the Clark conceptualization. Personal communication with the first author of these studies helped illuminate the researchers’ process, but we are concerned about the lack of clarity in the reporting. Essentially, the second group of authors changed the conceptual definition of the construct but retained the measurement instrument. Further, the rationale for this is not reported in the second study. We encourage researchers working on the development and improvement of measures to be detailed, disciplined, and clear in their explication of the variables under study, as well as their research procedures (cf., Chaffee, 1991).

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affect should be a primary outcome of both teacher communication variables and student interaction patterns (with numerous studies substantiating that claim). For example, Rodriguez et al. (1996) produced evidence of the central role of affect in the instructional process, clarifying it as a critical means to an end. Although that statement is accurate in view of their research (which identified affective learning as a central causal mediator between instructor immediacy and cognitive learning), we would qualify it. Affective learning is a learning outcome. If communication is the primary predictor of student affect, perhaps affective learning is the dependent variable, the “end,” in which we should be most interested. In fact, McCroskey et al. (2006) convincingly offered that almost all of our long-term goals for education are based on affective learning, and that “cognitive learning … [is] vitally important … but not enough to come close to meeting the long-term objectives of educational systems” (p. 56). A compelling need exists to widely disseminate evidence of why affect is so critical in education – many teachers simply do not accept its importance, and their practices reflect that disregard. If instructional communication is to have true interdisciplinary implications and impact, the time has come for IC researchers to move beyond the fear that the affective domain is the “soft” side of education, be confident in the large body of research suggesting its importance, and embrace our role as experts in this crucial, communication-based aspect of instruction. However, we should not shirk from investigating cognitive learning simply because it is difficult to do so. We are not suggesting that communication researchers ignore the variable, but only use it with continued, focused attention to improving its measurement. Blalock (1974) noted a cyclical pattern in the social sciences in which researchers “tend to place too much faith in the potential of some specific technique and then become disillusioned by the quality of available data” (p. 1) – a pattern that seems to describe cognitive learning research in communication. Thus, we are encouraged by the continued efforts by communication researchers to refine the operationalization and measurement of cognitive learning (so as to improve the quality of the data obtained) and to employ complex, advanced analyses to account for problems associated with (what will most likely always be) data representing an imperfectly measured construct. This work should not be abandoned.

Conclusion In this chapter, we have reviewed a number of theories that have been used to frame and drive research in instructional communication. Further, we have described several models that have been advanced as preliminary efforts toward a theory of IC. In so doing, we have offered some analysis and made recommendations for future work that could strengthen and develop the IC literature, and pro-

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mote the reflexive relationship between empirical research and theory. Additionally, we have discussed the methodology – sampling practices, measurement design, data collection procedures, and data analyses – characteristic of instructional communication work, highlighting exemplary studies. We noted the need for more diverse samples, attention to a wider variety of settings for instructional communication, and the need for vigilance in adhering to the principles of sound measurement design. In particular, we noted the lingering deficiencies of cognitive learning measurements employed in communication research. Generally, we conclude that the area has continued to develop, and although instructional researchers are closer to being ready to develop a theory of IC, we are not there yet. We noted the need for more research on the instructor perspective, correction of the aforementioned methodological weaknesses, and continued work to clarify the measurement of learning before a true theory can be developed and tested. Without attention to these key areas, theoretical development will be inhibited. Williams and Vogt (2011) argued that “the landscape of [social] research is probably more conducive to innovation than it has been for the past quarter century … the output of research and arguably the methodological quality of that output, is greater than it has ever been” (pp. 3–4) due to diminished “lines in the sand” between epistemological paradigms (and the resulting use of mixed methods approaches), advanced computing technologies for data analysis, general developments in science and statistics, and a broader set of opportunities to publish (and much more quickly) than the 20th century afforded. Their observation reflects the state of instructional communication but also illuminates some of the opportunities for improvement we have discussed in this chapter. Learning is a complex activity that most IC researchers still approach with relatively simple designs and examine in a fairly superficial way by keeping the focus on homogenous groups of college students and using some outmoded instrumentation. A “normal science” paradigm (Kuhn, 2012) is insufficient for studying a human activity that is subject to an evolving set of social, cultural, and technological forces. The time is now to embrace Williams and Vogt’s “landscape of innovation” and realize its potential for all aspects of our work – including theorizing, design, and both statistical and practical interpretations of our findings. As well, IC researchers should seek to publish their work more broadly in open source, interdisciplinary, and popular press outlets (almost all of the work reviewed in this chapter was published in a single journal) in order to reach broader audiences that would benefit from its implications. Attending to these recommendations relative to theory, research methods, and dissemination will further strengthen instructional communication as a legitimate, influential social science discipline.

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Keller, J. M. (1987). Development and use of the ARCS model of instructional design. In C. M. Reigeluth (Ed.), Instructional design theories: An overview of their current status (pp. 383– 434). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Kelman, H. C. (1961). Processes of opinion change. Public Opinion Quarterly, 25, 57–78. doi:10.1086/266996 Kelman, H. C. (1974). Attitudes are alive and well and gainfully employed in the sphere of action. American Psychologist, 29, 310–324. doi:10.1037/h0037623 Kelsey, D. M., Kearney, P., Plax, T. G., Allen, T. H., & Ritter, K. J. (2004). College students’ attributions of teacher misbehaviors. Communication Education, 53, 40–55. doi:10.1080/0363452032000135760 Kerssen-Griep, J., & Witt, P. L. (2012). Instructional feedback II: How do instructor immediacy cues and facework tactics interact to predict student motivation and fairness perceptions?. Communication Studies, 63, 498–517. doi:10.1080/10510974.2011.632660 Kerssen-Griep, J., & Witt, P. L. (2015). Instructional feedback III: How do instructor facework tactics and immediacy cues interact to predict student perceptions of being mentored? Communication Education, 64, 1–24. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.978797 King, P., & Witt, P. L. (2009). Teacher immediacy, confidence testing, and the measurement of cognitive learning. Communication Education, 58, 110–123. doi:10.1080/03634520802511233 Krathwohl, D. R., Bloom, B. S., & Masia, B. B. (1964). Taxonomy of education objectives: Handbook II. Affective domain. New York, NY: McKay. Kreps, G. L., Sparks, L., & Villagran, M. M. (2010). Editors’ introduction: Communication education and health promotion. Communication Education, 59, 215–219. doi:10.1080/03634521003657734 Krone, K. J., Kramer, M. W., & Sias, P. M. (2010). Theoretical developments in organizational communication research. In C. R. Berger, M. E. Roloff, & D. R. Roskos-Ewoldsen (Eds.), The handbook of communication science (2 nd ed., pp. 165–180). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Kuhn, T. (2012). The structure of scientific revolutions (4 th ed.). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Kuznekoff, J. H., & Titsworth, S. (2013). The impact of mobile phone usage on student learning. Communication Education, 62, 233–252. doi:10.1080/03634523.2013.767917 LaBelle, S., & Martin, M. M. (2014). Attribution theory in the college classroom: Examining the relationship of student attributions and instructional dissent. Communication Research Reports, 31, 110–116. doi:10.1080/08824096.2013.846257 LaBelle, S., Martin, M. M., & Weber, K. (2013). Instructional dissent in the college classroom: Using the instructional beliefs model as a framework. Communication Education, 62, 169– 190. doi:10.1080/03634523.2012.759243 LeGreco, M., Hess, A., Lederman, L. C., Schuwerk, T., & LaValley, A. G. (2010). An innovative dialogue about college drinking: Developing an immediate response technology model for health promotion. Communication Education, 59, 389–404. doi:10.1080/03634521003649764 Levine, T. R., & Asada, K. J. K. (2007, May). Sample sizes and effect sizes are negatively correlated in meta-analyses: Evidence and implications of a publication bias against nonsignificant findings. Paper presented at the meeting of the International Communication Association, San Francisco, CA. Li, L., Mazer, J. P., & Ju, R. (2011). Resolving international teaching assistant language proficiency through dialogue: Challenges and opportunities for clarity and credibility. Communication Education, 60, 461–478. doi:10.1080/03634523.2011.565352 Lin, J., & Rivera-Sánchez, M. (2012). Testing the information technology continuance model on a mandatory SMS-based student response system. Communication Education, 61, 89–110. doi:10.1080/03634523.2011.654231

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Malachowski, C. C., & Martin, M. M. (2011). Instructors’ perceptions of teaching behaviors, communication apprehension, and student nonverbal responsiveness in the classroom. Communication Research Reports, 28, 141–150. doi:10.1080/08824096.2011.565275 Mansson, D. H. (2014). Students’ expressed academic concern, learning outcomes, and communication motives. Western Journal of Communication, 78, 247–286. doi:10.1080/10570314.2014.904521 Mansson, D. H., & Myers, A. (2012). Using mentoring enactment theory to explore the doctoral student–advisor mentoring relationship. Communication Education, 61, 309–334. doi:10.1080/03634523.2012.708424 Mazer, J. P. (2012). Development and validation of the student interest and engagement scales. Communication Methods and Measures, 6, 99–125. doi:10.1080/19312458.2012.679244 Mazer, J. P. (2013). Student emotional and cognitive interest as mediators of teacher communication behaviors and student engagement: An examination of direct and interaction effects. Communication Education, 62, 253–277. doi:10.1080/03634523.2013.777752 Mazer, J. P., & Graham, E. E. (2015). Measurement in instructional communication research: A decade in review. Communication Education, 64, 208–240. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.1002509 McCroskey, J. C., & Richmond, V. P. (1987). Willingness to communicate. In J. C. McCroskey & J. A. Daly (Eds.), Personality and interpersonal communication (pp. 129–156). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. McCroskey, J. C., Richmond, V. P., & McCroskey, L. L. (2006). An introduction to communication in the classroom: The role of communication in teaching and learning. Boston, MA: Pearson. McCroskey, J. C., Valencic, K. M., & Richmond, V. P. (2004). Toward a general model of instructional communication. Communication Quarterly, 52, 197–210. doi:10.1080/01463370409370192 McPherson, M. B., & Young, L. (2004). What students think when instructors get upset: Fundamental attribution error and student-generated reasons for instructor anger. Communication Quarterly, 52, 357–369. doi:10.1080/01463370409370206 Mehrabian, A. (1971). Silent messages. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. Merton, R. K. (1957). Social theory and social structure: Revised and enlarged edition. Glencoe, IL: The Free Press of Glencoe. Mottet, T. P., & Beebe, A. (2006). Foundations of instructional communication. In T. P. Mottet, V. P., Richmond, & J. C. McCroskey (Eds.), Handbook of instructional communication (pp. 3–32). Boston, MA: Allyn & Bacon. Mottet, T. P., Frymier, A. B., & Beebe, A. (2006). Theorizing about instructional communication. In T. P. Mottet, V. P. Richmond, & J. C. McCroskey (Eds.), Handbook of instructional communication (pp. 255–285). Boston, MA: Allyn & Bacon. National Center for Education Statistics. (2012). Fast facts: Distance learning. Retrieved from https://nces.ed.gov/fastfacts/display.asp?id=80. Neer, M. R. (1990). Reducing situational anxiety and avoidance behavior associated with classroom apprehension. Southern Communication Journal, 56, 49–61. doi:10.1080/10417949009372815 Neuliep, J. W. (1995). A comparison of teacher immediacy in African-American and Euro-American college classrooms. Communication Education, 44, 267–277. doi:10.1080/03634529509379016 O’Boyle, N. (2014). Front row friendships: Relational dialectics and identity negotiations by mature students at university. Communication Education, 63, 169–191. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.903333 Pettegrew, L. S. (2016). The importance of context, situation, and setting in consulting. In J. H. Waldeck & D. R. Seibold (Eds.), Consulting that matters: A handbook for scholars and practitioners (pp. 49–62). New York, NY: Peter Lang.

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Pettigrew, J. Miller-Day, M., Shin, Y., Hecht, M. L., Krieger, J. R., & Graham, J. W. (2012). Describing teacher-student interactions: A qualitative assessment of teacher implementation of the 7th grade keepin’ it REAL substance abuse intervention. American Journal of Community Psychology, 51, 43–56. doi:10.1007/s10464-012-9539-1 Plax, T. G., Kearney, P., McCroskey, J. C., & Richmond, V. P. (1986). Power in the classroom VI: Verbal control strategies, nonverbal immediacy, and affective learning. Communication Education, 35, 43–55. doi:10.1080/03634528609388318 Richmond, V. P., McCroskey, J. C., Kearney, P., & Plax, T. G. (1987). Power in the classroom VII: Linking behavior alteration techniques to cognitive learning. Communication Education, 36, 1–12. doi:10.1080/03634528709378636 Rodriguez, J. I., Plax, T. G., & Kearney, P. (1996). Clarifying the relationship between teacher nonverbal immediacy and student cognitive learning: Affective learning as the central causal mediator. Communication Education, 45, 293–305. doi:10.1080/03634529609379059 Rubin, R. B. (2009). Measurement in instructional communication. In R. B. Rubin, A. M. Rubin, E. E. Graham, E. M. Perse, & D. R. Seibold (Eds.), Communication research measures II: A sourcebook (pp. 43–56). New York, NY: Routledge. Rudick, C. K., & Golsan, K. B. (2014). Revisiting the relational communication perspective: Drawing upon relational dialectics theory to map an expanded research agenda for communication and instruction scholarship. Western Journal of Communication, 78, 255–273. doi:10.1080/10570314.2014.905796 Sabee, C. M., & Wilson, R. (2005). Students’ primary goals, attributions, and facework during conversations about disappointing grades. Communication Education, 54, 185–204. doi:10.1080/03634520500356154 Sanders, J. A., & Wiseman, R. L. (1990). The effects of verbal and nonverbal teacher immediacy on perceived affective, cognitive, and behavioral learning in the multicultural classroom. Communication Education, 39, 341–353. doi:10.1080/03634529009378814 Schrodt, P., & Finn, A. N. (2011). Students’ perceived understanding: An alternative measure and its associations with perceived teacher confirmation, verbal aggressiveness, and credibility. Communication Education, 60, 231–254. doi:10.1080/03634523.2010.535007 Schrodt, P., Witt, P. L., Myers, A., Turman, P. D., Barton, M. H., & Jernberg, K. A. (2008). Learner empowerment and teacher evaluations as functions of teacher power use in the college classroom. Communication Education, 57, 180–200. doi:10.1080/03634520701840303 Sidelinger, R. J., Bolen, D. M., Frisby, B. N., & McMullen, A. L. (2011). When instructors misbehave: An examination of student-to-student connectedness as a mediator in the college classroom. Communication Education, 60, 340–361. doi:10.1080/03634523.2011.554991 Simmons, J. Lowery-Hart, R., Wahl, T., & McBride, M. C. (2013). Understanding the AfricanAmerican student experience in higher education through a relational dialectics perspective. Communication Education, 62, 376–394. Sollitto, M., Johnson, Z. D., & Myers, A. (2013). Students’ perceptions of college classroom connectedness, assimilation, and peer relationships. Communication Education, 62, 318–331. doi:10.1080/03634523.2013.813631 Strom, R. E., & Boster, F. J. (2011). Dropping out of high school: Assessing the relationship between supportive messages from family and educational attainment. Communication Reports, 24, 25–37. doi:10.1080/08934215.2011.554623 Sunnafrank, M. (1986). Predicted outcome value during initial interactions: A reformulation of uncertainty reduction theory. Human Communication Research, 13, 3–33. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2958.1986.tb00092.x Sutherland, K. S., & Singh, N. N. (2004). Learned helplessness and students with emotional or behavioral disorders: Deprivation in the classroom. Behavioral Disorders, 29, 169–181. doi:10.1177/10634266070150020101

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Thompson, B., & Mazer, J. P. (2012). Development of the parental academic support scale: Frequency, importance, and modes of communication. Communication Education, 61, 131–160. doi:10.1080/03634523.2012.657207 Thompson, B. C., Mazer, J. P., & Flood Grady, E. (2015). The changing era of parent-teacher communication: Mode selection in the smartphone era. Communication Education, 64, 187–207. doi:10.1080/03634523.2015.1014382 Titsworth, S., McKenna, T. P., Mazer, J. P., & Quinlan, M. M. (2013). The bright side of emotion in the classroom: Do teachers’ behaviors predict students’ enjoyment, hope, and pride? Communication Education, 62, 191–209. doi:10.1080/03634523.2013.763997 Trad, L., Katt, J., & Miller, A. N. (2014). The effect of face threat mitigation on instructor credibility and student motivation in the absence of instructor nonverbal immediacy. Communication Education, 63, 136–148. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.889319 Turner, P., Turner, S., & Van de Walle, G. (2007). How older people account for their experiences with interactive technology. Behaviour and Information Technology, 26, 287–296. doi:10.1080/01449290601173499 Vallade, J. I., Martin, M. M., & Weber, K. (2014). Academic entitlement, grade orientation, and classroom justice as predictors of instructional beliefs and learning outcomes. Communication Quarterly, 62, 497–517. doi:10.1080/01463373.2014.949386 Vallade, J. I., & Myers, A. (2014). Student forgiveness in the college classroom: Perceived instructor misbehaviors as relational transgressions. Communication Quarterly, 62, 342–356. doi:10.1080/01463373.2014.911767 Waldeck, J. H. (2014). Communication and learning. In J. F. Nussbaum (Ed.), The handbook of lifespan communication. New York, NY: Peter Lang. Waldeck, J. H., & Dougherty, K. (2012). Collaborative communication technologies and learning in college courses: Which are used, for what purposes, and to what ends? Learning, Media, and Technology, 36, 1–24. doi:10.1080/17439884.2011.592497 Waldeck, J. H., Kearney, P., & Plax, T. G. (2001a). Instructional and developmental communication theory and research in the 1990s: Extending the agenda for the 21st century. In W. B. Gudykunst (Ed.), Communication Yearbook 24 (pp. 207–229). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Waldeck, J. H., Kearney, P., & Plax, T. G. (2001b). Instructor email message strategies and student willingness to communicate online. Journal of Applied Communication Research, 29, 54–70. doi:10.1080/00909880128099 Waldeck, J. H., Plax, T. G., & Kearney, P. (2010). Theoretical and methodological foundations of instructional communication research. In D. Fassett & J. Warren (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of instructional communication (pp. 161–179). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Wang, T. R. (2012). Understanding the memorable messages first-generation college students receive from on-campus mentors. Communication Education, 61, 335–357. doi:10.1080/03634523.2012.691978 Wang, T. R. (2014a). Formational turning points in the transition to college: Understanding how communication events shape first-generation students’ pedagogical and interpersonal relationships with their students. Communication Education, 63, 63–82. doi:10.1080/03634523.2013.841970 Wang, T. R. (2014b). “I’m the only person from where I’m from to go to college”: Understanding the memorable messages first-generation college students receive from parents. Journal of Family Communication, 14, 270–290. doi:10.1080/15267431.2014.908195 Wanzer, M. B., Frymier, A. B., & Irwin, J. (2010). An explanation of the relationship between instructor humor and student learning: Instructional humor processing theory. Communication Education, 59, 1–18. doi:10.1080/03634520903367238 Weber, K., Martin, M. M., & Myers, A. (2011). The development and testing of the instructional beliefs model. Communication Education, 60, 51–74. doi:10.1080/03634523.2010.491122

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Instructor Characteristics and Actions

Scott Titsworth and Joseph P. Mazer

5 Teacher Clarity: An Analysis of Current Research and Future Directions Abstract: In the 1960s and 1970s, researchers in Education and related fields conducted a series of studies exploring how teachers’ behaviors had effects on students. Of the variables explored in those studies, teacher clarity was identified as the one with the most promise for further exploration. Based partly on that optimistic conclusion, teacher clarity emerged as a significant program of research in both the Education and Communication fields. A recent meta-analysis summarizing such research revealed that teacher clarity has moderate-to-strong correlations with both affective and cognitive learning. Despite such attention, the construct has been plagued by a lack of precision in defining exactly what constitutes teacher clarity. The current chapter presents a framework for understanding teacher clarity by exploring its theoretical foundations and presenting a conceptual framework for defining the construct. Specifically, we suggest that teacher clarity can be thought of as students’ perceptions of teachers’ communication-related behaviors that assist in selecting, understanding, and remembering information. Those behaviors can be categorized into five general areas: pre-instructional clarity, instructional message clarity, explanatory clarity, presentation clarity, and adaptive clarity. This framework is used to identify potential areas for future research on the topic. Keywords: affective learning, cognitive learning, information processing, organization, structure, teacher clarity, instructor clarity During the 1960s and 1970s, researchers in Education and allied fields conducted a series of studies that were generally called process-product research. Central to this program of research was the objective of identifying teachers’ behaviors that had some effect on students’ learning across cognitive, affective, and behavioral domains. Despite criticisms of such research (for a discussion see Gage & Needels, 1989), the process-product studies highlighted several behaviors, many of which were focused on communication, that had potential effects on learning. A synthesis of such research by Rosenshine and Furst (1971) identified 11 categories of behaviors that showed some connection to learning. Of those, teacher clarity emerged as the strongest. Subsequent to Rosenshine and Furst’s claim that teacher clarity was the most promising of the teacher-effects variables, researchers in both Communication and Education have attempted to further define the construct and to also further identify connections between teacher clarity and students’ learning. Nearly a half-century after Rosenshine and Furst highlighted the teacher clarity construct, conclusions are scant on how to best give meaning to the term. As noted

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by Civikly (1992), “Explanations of the concept of teacher clarity have been more opaque than transparent. At best, definitions of teacher clarity have been translucent, providing some diffusion of enlightenment about the role of teacher clarity in teaching effectiveness and student learning” (p. 139). Similarly, Titsworth, Mazer, Goodboy, Bolkan, and Myers (2015) observed a “lack of agreement on exactly what clarity is and how clarity behaviors are enacted in the classroom” (p. 23). Thus, researchers interested in teacher clarity are faced with a dilemma. Although teacher clarity is perhaps one of the most promising links between teacher behaviors and student learning, the lack of precision in defining the construct makes programmatic research challenging and actionable results elusive. Despite conceptual confusion on how to define teacher clarity, studies exploring the construct have consistently documented positive effects of teacher clarity for students’ learning. A dissertation completed by Fendick (1990) summarized results of 92 separate studies/effects and observed an average correlation of .33 between the teachers’ use of clarity and students’ learning. Subsequent meta-analyses were separately completed by both Titsworth and Mazer, and Goodboy, Bolkan, and Myers (both are reported in Titsworth et al., 2015). The first of those analyses, performed by Titsworth and Mazer, observed an average correlation of .52 between teacher clarity and students’ affective learning, and an average correlation of .34 between teacher clarity and students’ cognitive learning. The Goodboy, Bolkan, and Myers meta-analysis revealed generally similar results, with an average correlation of .53 for the clarity-affective learning relationship, and an average correlation of .46 for the clarity-cognitive learning relationship. Collectively, these metaanalyses show that, despite imprecise definitions, there are generally moderate-tostrong relationships between teachers’ clarity and students’ learning. Because of the strength of this relationship, and its generally consistent observation across studies spanning several decades, continued exploration of the construct is warranted. This chapter provides readers with an overview of research exploring teacher clarity with the hope of spurring new lines of research on the topic. We begin with a discussion of information processing theory and negotiated meaning, which are the primary theoretical links between teacher clarity behaviors and student learning. Next, we analyze various attempts to operationalize teacher clarity, including exploratory studies, experimental manipulations, and scales developed to assess the construct. We then present key conclusions drawn from research exploring teacher clarity before concluding with suggestions for future research. Findings from literature on the topic are summarized throughout so that readers will develop some understanding of observed connections between teacher clarity and student learning.

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Theoretical Foundations for Teacher Clarity Although much of the teacher effects research, which provided the impetus for teacher clarity studies, has been criticized for being somewhat atheoretical (Gage & Needels, 1989), teacher clarity studies have been guided by two distinct theoretical perspectives. The first perspective, information processing, attempts to explain theoretical links between teacher clarity behaviors and student learning. The second, negotiated meaning, attempts to explain how clarity is enacted as a communicative behavior. Both perspectives are important to an overall understanding of teacher clarity and its potential effects. Typical classroom situations involve teachers, using a variety of modalities, presenting students with opportunities to select, process, retain, and use information. Contemporary theories describing this process rely on principles of cognitive psychology and are generally referred to as information processing theories. Information processing theory, in the main, assumes that various factors influence the abilities and efficiency with which learners are able to select, understand, retain, and use information. The various ways with which teachers present information, including the clarity of presentation, represent a category of those factors. The application of information processing theory is most apparent in studies by Chesebro and McCroskey (2001), as well as Titsworth (2001), though it is arguably an implicit theoretical perspective guiding all teacher clarity research. The top half of Figure 1 provides a visual representation of a basic information processing model. In any given learning situation, learners are exposed to stimuli. For instance, when a teacher lectures, learners are exposed to a variety of aural, phonetic cues – what we might more generally refer to as language. These phonetic cues, along with other types of cues relevant to any particular learning situation (e.g., accompanying slides or other visual references), presents a “complex task” for learners (Kleinschmidt & Jaeger, 2015, p. 148). First, the learner must have sufficient background knowledge in order to identify and select various stimuli. If a learner does not share the same language as the presenter, the ability to identify phonetic patterns constituting the language being used would be severely hampered, if not completely absent. Second, the learner typically has no control over the pace of the stimuli. As rate of presentation increases, so too does the probability that learners will simply miss cues. Third, the mapping of cues to meaning is non-deterministic. In the Communication field, this principle is often expressed as follows: there are a variety of meanings that can derive from specific symbols, and there are a variety of symbols that can infer the same meanings. The varied nature of these stimuli can potentially result in “contradictions, conflicts, anomalies, erroneous information, and other discrepant events in the learning materials, and can result in a state of cognitive disequilibrium” (Park, Plass, & Brünken, 2014, p. 126). Thus, the stimuli encountered by a learner are diverse, complex, and must be actively interpreted for learning to occur.

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The first step in interpreting meaning for stimuli is attention, or the sustained and focused effort given to selecting and interpreting stimuli (see Rosegard & Wilson, 2013). Attention resources vary for most adults (see Tummeltshammer, Marechal, & Kirkham, 2014). Exogenous attention, also called automatic attention, is driven by reflexive focus on salience, novelty, and factors that could trigger instinctual responses such as fight or flight. For example, exogenous attention might be automatically focused on the source of a loud noise in a classroom. Endogenous attention, also called selective attention, is voluntary and willful. Endogenous attention is devoted to stimuli that are perceived as important for achieving certain objectives, goals, and outcomes in a particular situation (e.g., information necessary for a quiz or project). As noted by Tummeltshammer and colleagues (2014), “Efficient control of attention requires arbitration between these subtypes, through disengagement, attention shifting, and inhibition of automatic responses” (p. 1981). Once information is attended to, learners must process that information in two interrelated memory resources called short-term and working memory. Working memory involves the resources through which learners actively analyze and make use of new and pre-existing information (Cowan, 2008). That is, when learners experience new stimuli, they must interpret those stimuli, assign meaning, and determine how to best use the information, including how to store that information in notes and/or long-term memory. That process of actively working with the information uses working memory resources. Individuals’ abilities to use working memory expand developmentally as background knowledge can be used to more efficiently to analyze new information (Cowan, Ricker, Clark, Hinrichs, & Glass, 2015). Coupled with working memory is short-term memory. The short-term memory resource is a temporary storage place for new information being used by working memory. Most scholars agree that short-term memory is limited in both capacity (i.e., approximately 5 to 9 pieces of information) and in duration (i.e., about 20 seconds), which means that learners will tend to forget if they do not record the information in notes (or some other method of recording) or actively work to encode the information into long-term memory. Thus, the function of working memory is impacted by substantive limits on short-term memory when learning new information. Having access to background information, including the ability to efficiently organize new information into chunks, can potentially expand the typical limits of short-term memory (Cowan et al., 2015). As information is processed through short-term and working memory, learners must encode that information into long-term memory. Whereas notetaking can provide an external storage place for information (van der Meer, 2012), learners are typically only able to recall and actively use information when it is stored in longterm memory (see Schweppe & Rummer, 2014). Unlike short-term memory, longterm memory does not appear to have natural limits to how much or how long information can be stored. Long-term memory is thought to be organized into a hierarchical and interrelated system of schema. The ability to access information

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in this organized structure of schema relies on connections among them. For example, if a teacher says, “What are the tropes identified by Kenneth Burke in A Grammar of Motives?” the student will have certain connections triggered in order to identify the tropes. Forgetfulness happens when connections are too weak to be accessed (e.g., a student cannot remember the definition of a term because the connection from the word to the sematic definition is too weak), or when physical or other anomalies prevent the brain from activating connections. Cowan (1999) suggests that the basic information processing model should be altered to assume that both attention and working memory are simply activated portions of long-term memory – those memory resources are used by the learner to assess and integrate new information by filling in existing schema (assimilation) or by creating entirely new schema (accommodation). Last, information processing is governed by a controlling system called metacognition. Metacognition is the “ability to control and monitor cognitive processes” (Mayer, 1998, p. 50). As learners actively select and analyze new information using attention, working memory, and long-term memory, metacognition is the controlling process that enables each of the discrete steps involved. Thus, students who are high in metacognitive skills are able to quickly identify information (attention), analyze the information in relation to previously learned information (working memory), and then encode that information into long-term memory, either by adapting a previously created schema or by creating new schema. With this brief explanation of information processing in mind, we now examine ways in which teacher clarity potentially influences learners as they process new material. Because research on teacher clarity will be reviewed later, the present analysis provides only an overview of these potential effects to highlight the possible theoretical connections between clarity and learning. The following narrative explanation is represented in the bottom half of Figure 1. The previous discussion of information processing made no assumptions about the nature of how a stimulus, or information, is presented to the learner. One could imagine, however, that the relative organization of information could drastically impact the potential for students to select, analyze, and store new information. First, well organized information will likely allow students to select details more easily because endogenous/selective attention is more focused. Because well-organized information will be logically grouped, it could also be easier for students to process the information in short-term and working memory. In essence, well-organized information is more efficient, which can potentially expand bits of information into larger chunks, thereby allowing more total information to be processed within the typical limits of short term memory (5 to 9 bits or chunks). Third, wellorganized information can potentially be easier to assess alongside previously learned information, thereby making assimilation or accommodation easier when encoding new information into long-term memory. Finally, teacher clarity might be thought of as the teacher’s attempt at programming metacognition for students. By

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Figure 1: Connections Between Teacher Clarity and Information Processing

organizing information clearly and influencing each of the information processing resources, teachers are effectively helping students build metacognitive awareness surrounding a lesson or content. We will return to these potential effects of teacher clarity later in the chapter as we review several findings related to teacher clarity research. Whereas information processing theory provides a plausible explanation for how teacher clarity behaviors potentially improve student learning, that strand of theoretical narrative heavily emphasizes cognitive psychology rather than the communicative dimensions of teacher clarity as it is enacted in classroom situations. Communication scholars have developed additional theoretical positions, namely the negotiated meaning perspective, that complement the cognitively-based information processing model. A communication-based orientation toward learning is apparent in Bruner’s (1960/1970) process-oriented view of teaching. Bruner argues that effective instruction occurs when teachers carefully adapt instruction to help students learn principles (or objectives). This adaptation approach is reflected in Civikly (1992) and Simonds’ (1997) articles, which argue that clarity occurs through the process of teachers and students negotiating meaning surrounding lessons and other content. Thus, as teachers plan and present information, they are clearer when they monitor students’ grasp of the material and adapt instruction to help students better understand important information. Students contribute to this process by asking questions for clarification, answering questions posed by the teachers, and performing on formal and informal assessments of learning. Clear teachers use such interaction to determine whether the presentation of material should be adapted.

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The negotiated meaning perspective is complementary to the information processing model. Although not explicitly highlighted in the standard information processing model, students are able to use metacognitive awareness to provide feedback to the teacher. Through the natural dialogue present in most instructional settings, students are able to influence the presentation of stimuli, including metacommunicative clarity cues, to aid in calibrating selective attention and the processing of information in various memory structures. Thus, the combination of information processing and negotiated meaning provides a robust narrative explaining both communicative and cognitive processes in learning situation.

Defining and Measuring Teacher Clarity After Rosenshine and Furst’s (1971) observation that clarity was a promising process-product variable, several scholars undertook the task of conceptually and operationally defining the construct. This was no easy undertaking, as teacher clarity had no uniform definition from which to begin. As explained by Bush, Kennedy, and Cruickshank (1977), “Considering the most commonly used definition of teacher clarity, ‘being clear and easy to understand,’ the difficulties can be readily appreciated. Not only is the common definition circular but, as stated, clarity cannot be directly observed or easily measured” (p. 53). Before we review attempts at defining the construct, we begin with an analysis of three potential sources of ongoing imprecision surrounding the term. The first source of potential confusion is the multidimensional nature of teacher clarity. Clarity can be understood at various levels, ranging from an overall impression to a highly specific behavior. For instance, high-inference clarity behaviors (e.g., being clear) are often vaguely defined and open to subjectivity because they rely on a general impression of whether the teacher is being clear, confusing, or something between. Intermediate-inference behaviors are less vague and can include clarity dimensions such as “organization” and “explanation.” The intermediate-inference dimension of “organization” can be observed and understood through low-inference teacher behaviors (e.g., clearly previewing the main points of a lecture), which can be objectively quantified. These multidimensional characteristics of teacher clarity necessarily imply that any particular definition, or way of operationalizing the construct, could lack consideration of these various levels. Second, clarity is both a behavior and an impression. Teachers might intend to enact many different behaviors to make a lesson clearer for students. However, the end result of those behaviors is dependent upon how students perceive the behaviors. A well-intended presentation slide-deck could overwhelm students with too many details; a series of examples intended to illustrate a concept could obscure rather than crystalize; or a carefully planned series of signposts to signify the structure of a presentation could fail to provide necessary details. Put simply,

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clarity is like immediacy where the ultimate arbiter is the listener, rather than the sender, with respect to how behaviors are perceived. This distinction between behaviors and perceptions is important, but rarely made explicit in definitions. Third, clarity is likely not an invariant behavior or perception. Although little research has been done on this point, it is likely that what constitutes clear teaching will vary depending on contextual circumstances. For instance, are there differences in clear teaching when comparing math and science disciplines against the humanities? Do novice learners require a different set of behaviors from the teacher for a lesson to be clear, as compared to highly advance learners? Are behaviors that constitute clear teaching culture-bound? Definitions attempting to provide universal characteristics of teacher clarity are likely fraught with difficulties because these situational factors are not considered. In summary, it should be unsurprising that no single definition of clarity has emerged as best. What constitutes clear teaching could vary depending on a number of potential situational factors. That said, we offer the following conceptual definition to summarize our general understanding of teacher clarity from the literature: Teacher clarity is the perception that various low- and intermediate-inference behaviors, enacted by a teacher, assist students in selecting, understanding, and remembering the structure and details of information. With this definition in mind, the remainder of this section analyzes several attempts by researchers to define and operationalize teacher clarity according to various behaviors enacted by teachers.

The Ohio State Studies To address imprecision surrounding the meaning of teacher clarity, a research team from Ohio State University completed a large-scale effort to empirically develop a precise operational definition of teacher clarity. The Ohio State research team initially asked over 1,000 students in the Columbus Public School system to highlight the five behaviors performed by their clearest teacher (see Bush et al., 1977). Students’ open-ended survey responses were used to create items and scales, which were administered to over 1,500 junior high students in Cleveland to ascertain whether factor structures were present. After examining separate factor analyses for various versions of the scales, two factors were uncovered. The first factor contained items that were relatively general in wording and involved explaining concepts and directions in an “understandable manner and appropriate pace” (Bush et al., 1977, p. 57). Low-inference items associated with the first factor included “Takes time when explaining” and “Gives explanations that the student understands.” The second factor contained items that specifically addressed how teachers use examples and illustrations when presenting information. Low-inference items for the second factor included “Gives an example on the board of how to do something” and “Gives students an example and then lets them try to do it.”

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Kennedy, Cruickshank, Bush, and Myers (1978) attempted to cross-validate the 1977 findings by using a more diverse sample of students from Ohio (N = 425), Tennessee (N = 307), and Australia (N = 531). The study revealed 29 prime discriminators (i.e., items) classified into four dimensions: assesses student learning (e.g., “Tries to find out if we don’t understand and then repeats things”), provides time to think (e.g., “Gives us a chance to think about what’s being taught”), uses examples (e.g., “Works examples and explains them”), and reviews and organizes (e.g., “Prepares us for what we will be doing next”). Although these instruments did not result in a legacy of use by clarity scholars, this program of research initiated important steps in operationalizing and defining a previously opaque construct by identifying low- and intermediate-inference dimensions of clarity. The Ohio State studies also provided preliminary evidence of a relationship between teacher clarity and student achievement and satisfaction. For instance, Hines, Cruickshank, and Kennedy (1985) studied preservice teachers (N = 202) in The Ohio State University College of Education who were engaging in reflexive teaching activities. Results of that study, coupled with canonical correlations reported in the 1977 study, showed that teacher clarity was positively related to both students’ achievement and satisfaction. These findings served as a rationale for continued exploration of the construct.

Experimental Manipulations of Teacher Clarity In a six-year period (1979 to 1985), Land and Smith published over 15 studies exploring specific linguistic characteristics of teacher clarity. Whereas the Ohio State studies attempted to operationalize clarity as a multidimensional variable, Land and Smith isolated specific, low-inference dimensions of clarity to serve as independent variables in a series of experiments. In addition to using a different research design from the Ohio State group, Land and Smith also took a different conceptual approach. While the Ohio State studies generally attempted to discover what constitutes clear teaching, Land and Smith attempted to understand potential negative outcomes of unclear teaching. Land and Smith’s research program extensively explored five variables including vagueness terms, mazes, utterances, bluffing, and uncertainty. Teachers often use vagueness terms when they do not have a sufficient understanding of the material required for effective communication. Vagueness terms include unclear sets of words that mark a recovery point in a lecture (bluffing) or reveal a teacher’s lack of assurance (uncertainty). Mazes include false starts and the use of redundant words, while utterances are vocalized pauses (e.g., “uh,” “ah,” “um”) that detract from a teacher’s verbal fluency. Land and Smith designed a series of investigations that took various approaches to manipulating these variables. In one approach, they isolated individual variables (e.g., word mazes or vagueness terms) and treated them as separate factors in experiments. The “by variable” approach, of which

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there were seven studies, produced noteworthy outcomes. Land and Smith (1979) observed an effect size of r = .31 in a study that manipulated the use of vagueness terms. In a second approach, which was used in five of the studies, Land clustered variables together into “clear” and “unclear” conditions. For example, Land (1981) combined vagueness terms and mazes and found an effect size similar to the one observed in the study that only examined vagueness terms (r = .29). Land and Smith’s program of research complemented the Ohio State studies in two important ways. First, their use of experimental designs permitted a direct test of causal relationships between low-inference clarity variables and student achievement using videotaped lectures. Second, their research highlighted a cluster of low-inference variables (i.e., clear and unclear language) not prominently revealed in the Ohio State studies. While impressive, their research was not without limitations. Many of the variables identified by Land and Smith appear to conflate with each other. For instance, vagueness terms, mazes, utterances, and uncertainty terms appear to be essentially the same variable. That is, the statement, “This lesson might get you to understand a little more about some things we, ah, usually call number patterns,” could be coded to contain all of the imprecise variables highlighted in their studies. Perhaps this observation is what led Land to cluster these variables in several of the experiments. Subsequent to the Land and Smith studies, researchers in communication also explored various ways in which teacher clarity can be manipulated in experimental designs. In a series of studies, Titsworth and colleagues (Titsworth, 2001, 2004; Titsworth & Kiewra, 2004) used videotaped lectures about communication theory to test the effects of organizational clarity on students’ notetaking and learning. Organizational clarity involved the use of preview and review statements as well as very explicit signposts as the lecture progressed. For example, in addition to providing an explicit preview of communication theories and topics to be covered in the lecture, the condition with high clarity also included statements like, “The third theory that I will discuss is coordinated management of meaning.” In that example, the numeric signpost, “the third theory,” provided students with explicit indicators of each main point in the lecture so that they could easily follow along while listening. In addition to signposting the main points, the high clarity lecture also provided explicit transitions to highlight the description, terminology, and application example for each of the theories. Conversely, the low clarity lectures in these studies did not include preview and review statements, nor did they include explicit signposts or transition statements. When comparing learning between the high- and low-clarity lectures, Titsworth (2004) observed that students who viewed lectures with organizational cues (M = 12.33) recorded more details in their notes than students who viewed lectures without the cues (M = 10.14). Additionally, students’ scores on a 16-point freeresponse detail test were higher both immediately after a lecture (M = 5.18) and one week later (M = 2.19) when the lecture contained organizational cues; students

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viewing lectures without cues recalled only 3.27 details immediately after the lecture, and 1.46 details one week later (Titsworth, 2001). These results imply that organizational cues not only improve the recall of details, but also help students retain more information over time. Taking a different approach, Chesebro (2003) created a profile of clear teaching that included multiple dimensions. For his experiment, structural clarity included behaviors such as previewing and reviewing main points, explaining learning objectives, explicitly identifying links among concepts, visually displaying information, providing skeletal outlines, avoiding extraneous topics, avoiding vagueness terms, using appropriate pacing, and providing examples. Stimulus lectures were created where one version enacted all elements of the clear teacher profile, whereas another version did the opposite of those clear teaching behaviors. After watching the lectures, Chesebro observed that students in the low-clarity lectures recalled an average of 1.3 items on a 7-point fill-in-the-blank quiz, whereas students in the high-clarity lecture recalled an average of 4.7 (a 113.3 % difference). As a final example of how clarity has been manipulated in experimental designs, Rodger, Murray, and Cummings (2007) followed a similar approach of using videotaped lectures, one with high clarity and the other with low clarity. The highclarity version of the lecture included an on-screen outline of information, multiple examples, repetition of difficult material, practical applications, the highlighting of important points, signaled transitions, summaries, and highlights of similarities and differences in definitions and concepts. The low-clarity lecture differed by including filler material (e.g., historical facts), superfluous details, and more technical explanations and definitions. Results of their study showed significant positive effects of teacher clarity on both student learning and motivation, and, as will be discussed later, a significant interaction with anxiety on the motivation dependent variable. The manipulation of clarity in Rodger et al.’s study was generally similar to the multiple behavior approach used by Chesebro as well as Smith and Land. However, the Rodger study potentially conflated clarity with actual differences in content presented to the students. For instance, the use of superfluous details and filler material could have potentially changed the actual content to such a degree that something more than clarity was being manipulated. Viewed collectively, the various studies integrating clarity into experimental designs illustrate the larger quandary facing all researchers exploring teacher clarity – namely, how to operationalize the construct. In these studies, some researchers operationalized very specific dimensions of clarity, whereas others manipulated multiple aspects simultaneously. Conceptually, neither approach is right or wrong. The more focused approach may provide more discrete explanatory power, but have less external validity because we know from the Ohio State studies that clarity is likely not reduced to a single behavior in real classroom settings. While the manipulation of multiple behaviors simultaneously may be more realistic, findings may be difficult to explain at the behavioral level. Of course, these strengths and

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weaknesses are not unique to teacher clarity studies – these advantages/criticisms are likely relevant to many studies in Communication and other social sciences. Nevertheless, researchers attempting to design experiments testing the effects of teacher clarity should carefully weigh these issues against the objectives of their studies and make decisions to operationalize the construct, whether as a single behavior or as a set of behaviors, accordingly.

Scale Development in the Communication Discipline Similar to the Ohio State team, various communication scholars attempted to develop scales tapping students’ perceptions of teacher clarity. For instance, Powell and Harville (1990) developed a 15-item Teacher Clarity Scale (TCS) based on categories of clarity behaviors found in an unpublished manuscript by Book and McCaleb; no example items were provided in their manuscript. Their 15-item scale was factor analyzed, and it was concluded that a one-factor solution was most appropriate. Using the TCS as a foundation, Sidelinger and McCroskey (1997) revised the instrument and created an expanded 22-item scale that included 10 items from the Powell and Harville (1990) scale and 12 new items; the intent was to include both an oral and written dimension. Although factor analyses showed that the expanded TCS was still one-dimensional, Sidelinger and McCroskey chose to interpret the scale as two-dimensional (written and oral clarity) “for exploratory purposes” (1997, p. 4). Later, in a 1998 study, Chesebro and McCroskey again revised the TCS into a shortened version to be more commensurate in length with other measures. The Teacher Clarity Short Inventory (TCSI) contained 10-items that were found to load on a single factor. Example items included, “My teacher is straightforward in her or his lecture,” and “In general, I understand my teacher.” The TCSI became the de-facto option for much of the correlational research on clarity conducted in the Communication field. For instance, in using the TCSI, Avtgis (2001) found clarity to be positively associated with students’ attributional confidence, and Chesebro and McCroskey (2001) observed that clarity had significant positive relationships with teacher immediacy, student motivation, affect for the instructor and affect for the course, as well as significant negative correlations with state receiver apprehension and perceived learning loss. Faylor, Beebe, Houser, and Mottet (2008) surveyed adult learners in a training context and found that trainer clarity, operationalized through an adapted version of the TCSI, was the only significant predictor of affective learning in a training environment. Finally, Mottet and colleagues (2008) found in a survey of 497 ninth-grade students that perceived teacher clarity was significantly related to perceived teacher immediacy, perceived relevance of information, perceived disconfirmation by the instructor (a negative relationship), use of study strategies, and students’ affect toward learning.

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The TCS and TCSI appear to flow from the same general tradition as the Ohio State studies in education. However, whereas the Ohio State scales identified intermediate-inference dimensions of clarity, the TCS/TCSI are one-dimensional. Thus, developing explanatory statements for effects poses some challenge for researchers because clarity is defined at its broadest possible level. For instance, Chesebro and McCroskey (2001) observed a significant relationship between clarity and perceived learning; however, because of the broad nature of how clarity was operationalized, their explanation for why this relationship was observed did not go beyond stating that teacher clarity increases “understanding” and results in a “solid grasp of course content” (p. 67). Based on these explanations, the TCI/TCSI might offer no psychometric or conceptual advantage over the Ohio State instrument. Guided by Civikly’s (1992) treatment of clarity, Simonds (1997) argued for an additional expansion of the construct to incorporate content and process clarity. Content clarity refers to how a teacher explains course material, while process clarity includes all teacher clarity behaviors that do not specifically address content. Advancing a measure of “classroom understanding,” Simonds (1997) argued that a clarity measure should contain items related to content and items of process that address, for example, issues of evaluation, standards for performance, and feedback. Her work resulted in a 20-item, two-dimensional instrument assessing content clarity (e.g., “My instructor is clear when presenting content”) and process clarity (e.g., “Asks if we know what to do and how to do it”). A factor analysis of the scale observed only a single dimension of clarity. Consequently, although the low-inference items on Simonds’ scale are different from those found on the TCI/ TCSI, overall interpretation is clouded because of the single, omnibus dimension. Finally, Titsworth, Novak, Hunt, and Myer (2004) created the Clarity Behaviors Inventory (CBI) to assess the extent to which teachers used written or oral cues to signify either the structure of a lesson/lecture or to stress the importance of particular details. For example, an item assessing a written structural cue was, “Written explanations of how the ideas in the lecture fit together are presented on the chalkboard, overhead, PowerPoint, or in handouts.” An example of an oral importance cue was, “The teacher explains when she/he is presenting something that is important for us to know.” The 12-item scale asked respondents to agree or disagree with the statements using a standard 5-point Likert-type scale. A confirmatory factor analysis of the scale showed that a two-factor measurement model (oral and written clarity cues) fit the data well, but that a second-order, four factor scale (oral structural cues, written structural cues, oral importance cues, and written importance cues) did not. The unique contribution of the CBI was the delineation between oral and written cues. Subsequent studies by Titsworth and colleagues observed that when teachers are rated higher in use of both oral and written clarity cues, students tend to report greater levels of emotional support from teachers, less emotion work required in the class, and an overall positive emotional valence for the class (Titsworth, Quinlan, & Mazer, 2010). Subsequent studies by the same researchers collapsed the oral and written factors into a one-dimensional measurement model and

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observed negative relationships between teacher clarity and negative emotions from students like anger, anxiety, shame, hopelessness, and boredom (Mazer, McKenna-Buchanan, Quinlan, & Titsworth, 2014); positive relationships were observed between teacher clarity and positive emotions like enjoyment, hope, and pride (Titsworth, McKenna, Mazer, & Quinlan, 2013). Like the TCI and TCSI, the CBI offers an option for assessing students’ perceptions of how teachers use certain behaviors that could be perceived as clear teaching. The CBI offers a slightly different set of options for researchers wishing to understand differences between modes of communicating (i.e., oral or written cues), but does not meaningfully add dimensionality to the way in which clarity is defined or understood.

Recommendations for Conceptualizing Teacher Clarity Previous sections support two general conclusions surrounding the state of teacher clarity research. First, there exists a lack of precision surrounding the construct. As is apparent in the various approaches to operationalizing teacher clarity, a single term – teacher clarity – is used to represent many different types of behaviors. While this observation could be applied to many high-inference variables, the issue is perhaps more acute for this construct. Teacher clarity, as a term, is useful as a broad, conceptual framework, but may lack utility for discrete predictions and explanations of effects. Second, the apparent positive effects of behaviors constituting aspects of teacher clarity justify continued development of theory and research surrounding the topic. With observed average effect sizes as high as .46 (see Titsworth et al., 2015), aspects of teacher clarity are potentially very important to the teaching and learning process. Further attempts at understanding and taking action on these effects would profit from a language system that promotes clearer differentiation among the various behaviors that potentially constitute clarity. The intent of this section is to offer such a system. Whereas the term teacher clarity can broadly be understood as students’ perceptions of teachers’ behaviors that assist in selecting, understanding, and remembering information, there are better, and more descriptive terms that should be used to guide researchers as they isolate and operationalize behaviors. We propose the following terms as potentially better options for bringing precision to our understanding of the construct: preinstructional clarity, organizational clarity, explanatory clarity, presentation clarity, and adaptive clarity.

Pre-Instructional Clarity All aspects of teacher clarity assume an element of planning and preparation on the part of the teacher. For instance, a lecture cannot have clear signposts or expla-

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nations without the teacher first organizing material into key points and selecting appropriate details to give definition to those points. This process of selecting and organizing information could occur through the creation of lesson plans that establish concrete learning objectives for each class period, methods of instruction for achieving those objectives, and the assessment that will be used to measure learning. Blumberg (2009) argues that there must be an alignment among these decisions, such that the learning objective informs how information is presented and how learning is assessed. We refer to pre-instructional clarity as the process through which instructors select and align learning objectives, instructional methods, and assessment. These decisions are important to the overall clarity of teachers. As noted by Blumberg (2009), “Well stated objectives can improve communication between instructors and students. They [objectives] can make student learning more efficient and reduce student anxiety because they know what the instructor expects of them and what their learning priorities should be” (p. 96). After teachers plan objectives, methods, and assessment, they plan for communicating that information to students through an advance organizer (see Gurlitt, Dummel, Schuster, & Nückles, 2012). Although several aspects of pre-instructional clarity have been explored by researchers in education and psychology, communication scholars have generally not addressed this aspect of clarity, with the possible exception of Chesebro (2003) and Titsworth (2001, 2004) who both included preview statements, a form of advance organizer, in their manipulations of clarity.

Organizational Clarity Once objectives are set and teachers have planned their message, they must move to execution. Organizational clarity involves the methods with which teachers use verbal, nonverbal, and visual resources to organize information for students. Both Sidelinger and McCroskey (1997) and Titsworth et al. (2004) assumed that clarity can be enacted through both written and oral modalities. Likewise, Chesebro’s (2003) profile of the clear teacher manipulated oral and written (i.e., presentation slides) aspects of clarity. The form, either written or oral, used to convey these messages is less important than the function of what needs to be conveyed. Chesebro’s (2003) clear teacher profile included, among other elements, a preview and review slide that would help students understand the structure of information during the lecture. In addition to those elements, Titsworth (2001) and Titsworth and Kiewra (2004) highlighted spoken organizational cues (i.e., signposts and transitions) as elements of clarity. Collectively, these structuring messages, either oral or written, help students develop organizing frameworks for details and other information. Thus, in the language of information processing, organizational cues create and activate schema to which information can be assimilated (Mayer, 1977).

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Explanatory Clarity Whereas organizational clarity is focused on the structure and interrelationships of information, explanatory clarity refers to the ways in which instructors expand upon details that give substance to the structure. When teachers present information, they have a general objective of helping students acquire and use knowledge. Alexander, Schallert, and Hare (1991) observed that knowledge acquisition generally targets three forms: declarative, procedural, and contextual. Declarative knowledge is the factual information associated with information. For example, terminology, definitions, historical development, and key research would all constitute declarative knowledge surrounding a particular communication theory. Procedural knowledge involves how to use knowledge to perform certain tasks, routines, or processes. For instance, a lecture on Kenneth Burke’s Pentad may present definitions of the pentadic elements (declarative knowledge) so that students can use the framework to perform rhetorical criticisms of discursive texts (procedural knowledge). Finally, conditional knowledge helps students understand the situations under which the information would be applicable. For a lecture on Burke’s Pentad, the teacher may specify that dramatism is particularly appropriate for discourse employing a narrative frame to make a point, persuade others, or inspire. If declarative, procedural, and conditional knowledge form the substance of a lecture, explanatory clarity involves the ways in which teachers make such knowledge available to students. Clear lectures employ definitions, examples, illustrations, and other information to assist students in schema development. Whereas clear lecturers would systematically select and present such details, unclear lecturers might omit important details, or present details in a confusing manner. For example, Wong, Chu, and Yap (2014) noted that simple definitions can present confusion when they are incomplete, lack precision, are circular, or are not contextualized within a larger knowledge framework. When presenting examples, instructors should adopt a scaffolding approach where examples are first presented to the class and then students apply knowledge to one or more subsequent examples (see Yan & Lavigne, 2014). Moreover, procedural and conditional knowledge are best developed when a sufficient variety of examples are employed so that students have ample opportunities for applying knowledge under different circumstances. Unclear lectures may only present examples, with no opportunity for application, or may present insufficient examples to fully illustrate the concept.

Language Clarity Language clarity refers to the syntax, semantics, and fluency used by the instructor to convey information. Land and Smith identified multiple ways in which teachers can use unclear language that diminishes the potential that students will learn information. As discussed previously, such unclear language could include vague-

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ness terms, mazes, utterances, bluffing, and uncertainty (see Land, 1979). In addition, research suggests that a lack of fluency, such as with some international teachers, can contribute to a perception of diminished clarity on the part of students (Fitch & Morgan, 2003). Although imprecise language can contribute to a lack of clarity, instructors also use language to improve the clarity of a lecture. A significant body of literature has explored the use of text signals, or “discourse markers” that aid readers in understanding expository text (see Sánchez & García, 2009). As an example, a text might use the phrase, “for that reason” to signal to the reader that a conclusion is being presented. Such signals are not directly adaptable to oral discourse. As speculated by Titsworth and Kiewra (2004), similar types of semantic cues are used by teachers during lectures. Although oral discourse is fleeting and does not generally allow the listener to back up and repeat information, such as with reading, similar cues can be used to signal connections, conclusions, structure, and the relative importance of information. For instance, a lecturer might signal importance by stating, “This will be on the quiz.” Such language devices improve clarity and form the building blocks of other clarity behaviors, such as organizational clarity and explanatory clarity.

Adaptive Clarity The final dimension of teacher clarity, adaptive clarity, includes the actions of the teacher to assess and respond to students’ needs relative to the precision and fidelity of information exchange. Adaptive clarity assumes that such precision and fidelity occurs through dialogue where potential sources of ambiguity are reduced. As explained by Eisenberg (1984): Clarity … is a relational variable which arises through a combination of source, message, and receiver factors … In trying to be clear, individuals take into account the possible interpretive contexts which may be brought to bear one the message by the receiver and attempt to narrow the possible interpretations. Clarity, then, is a continuum which reflects the degree to which a source has narrowed the possible interpretations of a message and succeeded in achieving a correspondence between his or her intentions and the interpretation of the receiver. (pp. 229– 230)

Thus, as teachers and students interact, they are able to diminish potential sources of ambiguity that could otherwise hamper students’ opportunities for attending to, processing, and storing accurate information. During typical classroom situations, various avenues exist for such interactivity where possible misinterpretations or lack of understanding could be potentially diminished. In fact, several studies have documented various clarifying tactics that students use, during class, to enhance their understanding of material (Darling, 1989; Kendrick & Darling, 1990; Pearson & West, 1991; West & Pearson, 1994). Dar-

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ling, for instance, observed that students check their understanding with teachers and also clarify with teachers on how to proceed with a task when they are unsure. Similarly, Kendrick and Darling observed that students probe teachers for elaboration on concepts as well as for additional examples. West and Pearson analyzed the types of questions students asked across 30 different classes and observed that most questions sought to clarify classroom procedures or points made during a lesson. West and Pearson also observed that such tactics by students tended to elicit clarifying statements from teachers, thus moving toward Eisenberg’s (1984) description of the clarity process. The adaptive dimension of clarity is consistent with that of both Bruner (1960/1977) and Civikly (1992), who argue that clear teaching occurs as teachers and students negotiate meaning through communication. This dimension of teacher clarity also embraces Simond’s (1997) perspective that clarity has both content (i.e., making factual information more precise) and process (i.e., how to negotiate shared meaning about what is to be accomplished in a learning situation) elements. Adaptive clarity is also consistent with the dialogic perspective adopted by Li, Mazer, and Ju (2011), who explored the use of self-disclosure as a clarity tactic for international teaching assistants. In total, the adaptive clarity dimension explains how teacher clarity potentially functions in relation to students’ working memory as they actively process and draw meaning from information.

Future Directions for Clarity Research Previous sections identified lingering conceptual imprecision surrounding teacher clarity and also presented a possible language system for resolving that confusion. Through that analysis, several key research findings were also highlighted. While there have been meaningful findings related to the importance of teacher clarity, much work remains to be done in understanding the construct and how it contributes to teaching and learning. This final section identifies four general avenues for future scholars to explore. First, we see a need for scholars to directly address the conceptual confusion surrounding teacher clarity. Most notably, such confusion has clouded the potential insights that theorists, researchers, and practitioners can draw from the corpus of literature available on the topic. The two meta-analyses reported in the Titsworth et al. (2015) article failed to find any subset of homogeneous effects. Stated differently, no matter how various clarity articles were grouped together, there remained a great deal of inconsistency with respect to observed results. Such lack of homogeneity of findings presents at least two problems for those interested in the topic. First, there is little certainty in how to precisely describe the magnitude of how teacher clarity affects learning. Though it may be reasonable to conclude that there is some positive effect, the size of that effect is not apparent,

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which limits our ability to discuss the potential importance of clarity alongside other variables like immediacy, for instance. Second, the lack of homogeneity among subsets of studies diminishes our ability to isolate particular clarity behaviors that have the greatest impact on learning. Because we cannot confidently isolate particular behaviors, drawing practical suggestions for teachers is challenging. For example, the synthesis of clarity studies does not permit a prioritization of particular clarity behaviors that generally have the greatest effect. Subsequent research should address this problem by utilizing a coherent category of clarity behaviors – the one presented in this manuscript or another defendable system – to isolate and test discrete clarity behaviors. Until such programmatic research is conducted, the likelihood of determining consistent effects will remain small, and the potential utility of teacher clarity research will remain hampered. We view this line of research as the most important to advancing the overall program of research on teacher clarity. A second avenue for research lies in the generally consistent – though not homogeneous – finding that teacher clarity is positively related to affective learning (i.e., the general attitude or feelings, positive or negative, that students have toward a subject, class, and/or teacher). Researchers exploring teacher clarity have generally observed stronger effects on student affect than on cognitive learning (e.g., Mottet et al., 2008). Information processing theory provides a reasonably robust explanation for the effects of teacher clarity on cognitive learning; however, the explanation for why clarity has such an effect on affective learning is less well developed. While literature does point to a connection between teacher clarity and state receiver apprehension (Chesebro & McCroskey, 2001), connections between teacher clarity and several interrelated constructs such as affect, emotions, and interest needs further development. There are several communication-related questions that could be probed to better understand the clarity-affect relationship. Using quantitative findings as a documented basis for the relationship, interpretive research designs could potentially illuminate the processes through which this relationship stems. For instance, do students experience the clarity-affect relationship as a linear progression where gradual increases in clarity correspond to gradual increases in positive affect, or is there an “ah-ha” moment where things become clear and positive affect spikes? When clarity and affect are at higher levels, as presumed in the consistently observed positive correlations among the variables, do they remain at that state, or are there peaks and valleys? Does clarity interact with personality characteristics to moderate the relationship? Understanding this question through interviews or diaries could provide valuable information for researchers who wish to define this relationship more precisely. Although these questions could certainly be tested quantitatively, introducing rich descriptions derived from interpretive studies could potentially aid quantitative researchers in refining theory surrounding the relationship.

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The third issue requiring further attention is the general topic of context. By context, we assume that various levels of context could potentially influence how clarity is enacted and how it functions in relation to learning. One such level of context involves the cultural norms that surround clarity. Zhang and colleagues (Zhang & Huang, 2008; Zhang & Zhang, 2005) have undertaken cross-cultural research projects exploring the effects of teacher clarity behaviors in varying cultural settings. In a 2008 study, Zhang and Huang tested a structural equation model exploring the connections between teacher clarity, student affect, student motivation, and cognitive learning. Results of their testing revealed no connection between clarity and learning once the other variables were included in the model, suggesting a fully mediated model. This finding runs contrary to other studies as well as accumulated theory. As a result, Zhang and Huang argued that validity testing must be conducted to ascertain whether instruments like the TCSI have cross-cultural applicability. More generally, in-depth research must explore whether the process of learning suggested by information processing theory, and as enacted by teachers’ clarity behaviors, has relevance in other cultures. In addition to the cultural context, pedagogy within specific fields of study may require differing approaches to being clear. For instance, a study exploring teacher clarity in an undergraduate microbiology course for non-majors found that teachers attempted to be clear by making extensive use of simple illustrations and also making connections between course content and students’ everyday lives (Marbach-Ad et al., 2010). In another field, political science, Cunningham (2010) suggests that appropriate use of multimedia tools might assist teachers in making contemporary political science theories clear for students. These examples show that teacher-scholars in various fields are attempting to better understand the unique needs of students as they learn field-specific information. As our precision in understanding teacher clarity continues to develop, scholars should continue to explore field-specific applications of clarity and synthesize such information into an inventory of effective clarity approaches among disciplines. A final example of how context could be further explored is in relation to interactions between the learner and the classroom context itself, and how those interactions potentially influence the clarity-learning relationship. Returning to the Rodger et al. (2007) study, those scholars explored potential interactions between teacher clarity and test anxiety on students’ performance on a 26-item test of learning and motivation from a 22-minute lecture. Results of their study showed that, after controlling for students’ scores on a pre-assessment of intelligence, teacher clarity resulted in stronger gains in motivation for students with high test anxiety, as compared to students with low test anxiety. Only the main effects of clarity emerged as significant for cognitive learning – students in the high-clarity condition scored better on the exam than did students in the low-clarity condition. The observed interaction on student motivation suggests that clarity has potentially differing effects depending on the student and the class. These student-class inter-

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action effects deserve additional exploration. Although this strand of research may not diminish the overall conclusion that clarity has positive effects on learning, additional investigation could potentially help educators understand how to counsel students with differing orientations on how to interact with teachers to increase clarity. In conclusion, the multi-disciplinary body of literature exploring teacher clarity has developed into a robust body of research. Taken collectively, the intuitive conclusion that clarity is important remains unchanged from the initial studies through the present. Stated simply, students benefit when teachers are clear. As with many research programs, the potential importance of theory and research lies much deeper than the intuitive or obvious. With respect to teacher clarity, much remains to be understood, starting with how to bring precision to defining and operationalizing the construct. As efforts to address this and other remaining questions progress, our ability to blend theory and practice, namely teaching and learning, will be greatly enhanced.

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Mazer, J. P., McKenna-Buchanan, T. P., Quinlan, M. M., & Titsworth, S. (2014). The dark side of emotion in the classroom: Emotional processes as mediators of teacher communication behaviors and student negative emotions. Communication Education, 63, 149–168. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.904047 Mottet, T. P., Garza, R., Beebe, S. A., Houser, M. L., Jurrells, S., & Furler, L. (2008). Instructional communication predictors of ninth-grade students’ affective learning in math and science. Communication Education, 57, 333–355. doi:10.1080/03634520801989950 Park, B., Plass, J. L., & Brünken, R. (2014). Cognitive and affective processes in multimedia learning. Learning and Instruction, 29, 125–127. doi:10.1016/j.learninstruc.2013.05.005 Pearson, J. C., & West, R. (1991). An initial investigation of the effects of gender on student questions in the classroom: Developing a descriptive base. Communication Education, 41, 167–180. doi:10.1080/03634529109378823 Powell, R. G., & Harville, B. (1990). The effects of teacher immediacy and clarity on instructional outcomes: An intercultural assessment. Communication Education, 39, 369–379. doi:10.1080/03634529009378816 Rodger, S., Murray, H. G., & Cummings, A. L. (2007). Effects of teacher clarity and student anxiety on student outcomes. Teaching in Higher Education, 12, 91–104. doi:10.1080/13562510601102255 Roseguard, E., & Wilson, J. (2013). Capturing students’ attention: An empirical study. Journal of the Scholarship of Teaching and Learning, 13, 1–20. Rosenshine, B. V., & Furst, N. F. (1971). Research on teacher performance criteria. In B. O. Smith (Ed.), Research in teacher education (pp. 37–72). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Sánchez, E., & García, J. R. (2009). The relation of knowledge of textual integration devices to expository text comprehension under different assessment conditions. Reading and Writing: An Interdisciplinary Journal, 22, 1081–1108. doi:10.1007/s11145-008-9145-7 Schweppe, J., & Rummer, R. (2014). Attention, working memory, and long-term memory in multimedia learning: An integrated perspective based on process models of working memory. Educational Psychology Review, 26, 285–306. doi:10.1007/s10648-013-9242-2 Sidelinger, R. J., & McCroskey, J. C. (1997). Communication correlates of teacher clarity in the college classroom. Communication Research Reports, 14, 1–10. doi:10.1080/08824099709388640 Simonds, C. J. (1997). Classroom understanding: An expanded notion of teacher clarity. Communication Research Reports, 14, 279–290. doi:10.1080/08824099709388671 Titsworth, B. S. (2001). The effects of teacher immediacy, use of organizational lecture cues, and students’ notetaking on cognitive learning. Communication Education, 50, 283. doi:10.1080/03634520109379256 Titsworth, B. S., (2004). Students’ notetaking: The effects of teacher immediacy and clarity. Communication Education, 53, 305–320. doi:10.10/0363452032000305922 Titsworth, B. S., & Kiewra, K. A. (2004). Spoken organizational lecture cues and student notetaking as facilitators of student learning. Contemporary Educational Psychology, 29, 447–461. doi:10.1016/j.cedpsych.2003.12.001 Titsworth, S., Mazer, J. P., Goodboy, A. K., Bolkan, S., & Myers, S. (2015). Two meta-analyses exploring the relationship between teacher clarity and student learning. Communication Education [online]. doi:10.1080/03634523.2015.1041998 Titsworth, S., McKenna, T. P., Mazer, J. P., & Quinlan, M. M. (2013). The bright side of emotion in the classroom: Do teachers’ behaviors predict students’ enjoyment, hope, and pride?. Communication Education, 62, 191–209. doi:10.1080/03634523.2013.763997 Titsworth, S., Novak, D. R., Hunt, S. K., & Meyer, K. R. (2004, May). The effects of teacher clarity on affective and cognitive learning: A causal model of clear teaching behaviors. Paper presented at the meeting of the International Communication Association, New Orleans, LA.

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Titsworth, S., Quinlan, M. M., & Mazer, J. P. (2010). Emotion in teaching and learning: Development and validation of the classroom emotions scale. Communication Education, 59, 431–452. doi:10.1080/03634521003746156 Tummeltshammer, K. S., Mareschal, D., & Kirkham, N. Z. (2014). Infants’ selective attention to reliable visual cues in the presence of salient distractors. Child Development, 85, 1981–1994. doi:10.1111/cdev.12239 van der Meer, J. (2012). Students’ note-taking challenges in the twenty-first century: Considerations for teachers and academic staff developers. Teaching In Higher Education, 17, 13–23. doi:10.1080/13562517.2011.590974 West, R., & Pearson, J. C. (1994). Antecedent and consequent conditions of student questioning: An analysis of classroom discourse across the university. Communication Education, 43, 299–311. doi:10.1080/03634529409378988 Wong, C. L., Chu, H., & Yap, K. C. (2014). Developing a framework for analyzing definitions: A study of “The Feynman Lectures”. International Journal of Science Education, 36, 2481–2513. doi:10.1080/09500693.2014.893594 Yan, J., & Lavigne, N. C. (2014). Promoting college students’ problem understanding using schema-emphasizing worked examples. Journal of Experimental Education, 82, 74–102. doi:10.1080/00220973.2012.745466 Zhang, Q., & Huang, B. (2008). How does teacher clarity affect student learning? A multi-cultural test for the mediated effect. Texas Speech Communication Journal, 33, 10–19. Zhang, Q., & Zhang, J. (2005). Teacher clarity: Effects on classroom communication apprehension, student motivation, and learning in Chinese college classrooms. Journal of Intercultural Communication Research, 34, 255–266.

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6 Teacher Power and Compliance-Gaining Abstract: From the earliest onsets of children’s formal education to advanced forms of adult learning, grade-school teachers and college instructors use power in their classrooms to influence their students, manage their behavior, encourage their academic efforts, and keep them focused on learning tasks. It is ultimately the manner in which educators acquire and use their power that determines the effectiveness and appropriateness of their influence over their students. Teachers and instructors may choose from many bases of power and strategies to influence their students; these choices have important effects on and implications for students and their learning environments. In this chapter, a comprehensive and historical account of power is reviewed, tracing research from the 1980s to the present. Focusing primarily on the field of instructional communication, this chapter examines key findings from the teacher power literature, reviews the measurement and methodology choices used to inform this scholarship, summarizes past and current critiques facing this body of research, and concludes with recommendations for future scholars to embrace a more critical approach to studying power in the classroom. Keywords: teacher power, power bases, student compliance-gaining, behavior alteration techniques, behavior alteration messages, prosocial BATs, antisocial BATs, French and Raven, Power in the Classroom, teaching assistants From kindergarten to college classrooms, the ways in which teachers use power to gain students’ compliance and influence their behavior is essential to both instruction and education. Without power, or the ability to effectively influence others, teachers would be unable to perform their most basic responsibilities (Kearney, 1987). The absence or misuse of power makes it difficult, if not impossible, to capture students’ attention and maintain the necessary respect needed to lead a classroom (Plax & Kearney, 1992). Put simply, power is critical to a teacher’s ability to influence the conduciveness of a learning environment, and ultimately, student growth. Of course, power is a term that is used in a variety of ways across many academic disciplines. Tracing the exhaustive history of power research is beyond the scope of any individual review as the definitions, methodologies, and findings from such investigations vary significantly from one discipline to another. Therefore, this chapter focuses specifically on power and compliance-gaining scholarship conducted within the field of instructional communication. For over 30 years, scholars have examined the ways in which teachers communicate power to gain students’ compliance and influence their learning in the classroom. To summarize the research on teacher power within the instructional communication literature,

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this chapter will (a) provide definitions that are needed to understand the importance of power in the classroom; (b) trace the history of power and communication research over the last several decades beginning with the seminal “Power in the Classroom” series; (c) examine the ways in which power has been measured within and outside of the communication discipline; (d) review the criticisms and controversies that have been raised against power and compliance-gaining research; and (e) offer conclusions and recommendations to advance this line of research in the future.

Definitions and the Importance of Power Research on power in the communication discipline originated from the work of social psychologists John French and Bertram Raven. French and Raven (1959) originally defined power as an individual’s ability to influence or change another’s “behavior, opinions, attitudes, goals, needs, values, and all other aspects of the … psychological field” (p. 151). This definition was later specified by noting that power may also entail the potential for such change, but must be the direct result of an influence exerted by another person, rather than an inadvertent combination of personal, social, or environmental factors (French & Raven, 1968). In other words, French and Raven viewed power as the perceived influence that an individual directly has over another person. The manner in which change is induced in others was thought to be rooted in the perception of the targeted individual, and thus, was subject to variability (French, 1956). Therefore, French and Raven (1959, 1968) introduced the concept of power bases, which refer to sources of power that exist to explain why individuals perceive others as having the ability to influence their behavior and/or attitudes. Although there are potentially numerous sources of power from which individuals may choose to influence others, French and Raven (1968) identified and defined five power bases they believed to be especially common and most important in social science research: legitimate, expert, referent, reward, and coercive. Legitimate power is specific to a position or role; it stems from the internalized values and obligations of accepting the prescribed behavior of another person because of the title or status that is held by the requesting individual (French & Raven, 1959). Expert power originates from the perception that one individual has expertise or knowledge that is coveted by receivers, thus making them susceptible to influence (French & Raven, 1968). Referent power is based on the extent to which one person identifies with another individual and is maintained through perceptions of social attraction, affinity, and similarity (French & Raven, 1959). Coercive power stems from one’s ability to administer punishments or inflict undesirable outcomes on another person as a result of non-compliance (French, 1956). Conversely, reward power is rooted in the extent to which one person can incentivize

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compliance by providing positive valences or removing negative valences for another individual (French & Raven, 1959). Noting that a “certain degree of power is always present” within the classroom setting (p. 125), Hurt, Scott, and McCroskey (1978) originally suggested that French and Raven’s power bases may be applied to the educational context as a framework to explain teachers’ influence over students. Hurt et al. offered one of the first conceptualizations of teacher power, which they defined as the “ability to affect in some way the student’s well-being beyond the student’s own control” (1978, p. 124). This conceptualization was later referred to by McCroskey and Richmond (1983) as the “lay definition” because it was highly consistent with the perception of actual K-12 and college educators at the time; however, they also observed that an obvious flaw existed with Hurt and colleagues’ seminal definition of teacher power because it suggested “an absence of intellectual assent to influence on the part of the student” (p. 176). As a result, Richmond and McCroskey (1984) revised the definition of teacher power by adding that it exists “only insofar as students perceive it to exist and accept it” (p. 125). Using these definitions, scholars began a line of research on teacher power and compliance-gaining during the early 1980s that has continued to develop over the last several decades.

Historical Review of Power in the Classroom: Trends Throughout the Decades Seminal Studies and Power Research in the 1980s In the instructional communication literature, the exploration of teacher power and influence originated with seven consecutive investigations that would eventually be known as the “Power in the Classroom” series (McCroskey & Richmond, 1983; Richmond & McCroskey, 1984). According to McCroskey and Richmond, the initial purpose of these investigations was to adopt French and Raven’s (1959, 1968) five power bases into the classroom context in order to “determine how teacher power affects student learning and how teachers may modify their communication behavior and use of power to enhance learning” (McCroskey & Richmond, 1983, p. 178). The findings from “Power in the Classroom I” indicated that teachers and students believed the expert, reward, and referent power bases were used most frequently in the classroom; however, the associations between instructor and student perceptions were relatively weak. The lack of correspondence between teacher and student perceptions of power prompted McCroskey and Richmond (1983) to suggest that students respond to their own interpretation of power use, regardless of instructors’ intent; thus, they concluded that subsequent research should primarily focus on receiver (i.e., student) perceptions of power, as these viewpoints were

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likely better predictors of instructional outcomes and learning than teachers’ own reported power use. “Power in the Classroom II” (Richmond & McCroskey, 1984) tested the assumption that students’ perceptions of power were more important than teachers’ reported use of power by examining the influence of each perception on students’ affective and cognitive learning (i.e., the anticipated grade at the end of the course). Evidence from both teachers and students revealed that expert and referent power were related positively to students’ learning, whereas coercive and legitimate power were related negatively with learning. The perceived use of reward power was generally unrelated to both affective and cognitive learning. As expected, students’ perceptions of power were more strongly associated with learning than teachers’ own reports, validating the notion that power in the classroom is best defined and understood from the student/receiver perspective (Richmond & McCroskey, 1984). “Power in the Classroom III” (Kearney, Plax, Richmond, & McCroskey, 1985) and “Power in the Classroom IV” (Kearney, Plax, Richmond, & McCroskey, 1984) introduced significant changes to the series as these investigations focused on the specific behavior alteration techniques (BATs) and behavior alteration messages (BAMs) that teachers use to communicate power and gain students’ compliance in the classroom. Originally, Kearney et al. (1985) proposed a typology of 18 BATs, derived by asking college students to identify the ways in which they would elicit compliance from others. Example BAMs were then created to accompany each of the identified BATs, and the typology was given to elementary and secondary teachers in a checklist format to determine which of the techniques teachers report using most often. Kearney et al. (1984) also determined that it was important to inductively derive BATs from teachers themselves, in case the original typology did not fully capture the wide array of techniques and messages that teachers use to gain student compliance. This decision resulted in four additional BATs bringing the total to 22 distinct teacher compliance-gaining strategies. All of the BATs are provided in Table 1, along with definitions from Kearney et al. (1984, 1985). We also provide accompanying examples of BAMs that a teacher might use to communicate a desired BAT to a student who does not want to comply with giving a speech. “Power in the Classroom V” (McCroskey, Richmond, Plax, & Kearney, 1985) advanced the research program by exploring the antecedents and consequences of using teacher BATs in the classroom. They discovered that the use of BATs varied as a function of instructional training and student quality, as teachers were more likely to use prosocial BATs (i.e., techniques that contained a positive valence) when they had received previous communication training and when students were perceived to be of high quality. Unsurprisingly, prosocial BATs were related positively to students’ affective learning, whereas antisocial BATs (i.e., techniques that contained a negative valence) were correlated negatively with learning in the classroom.

12. Punishment from Behaviorc

11. Personal (Student) Responsibility c

10. Peer Modelinga

 9. Normative Rulesa

 8. Legitimate: Teacher Authorityb

 7. Legitimate: Higher Authorityb

 6. Immediate Reward from Behaviora

 5. Guiltb

 4. Expert Teacher a

 3. Deferred Reward from Behaviora

 2. Debt b

 1. Altruism

a

Behavior Alteration Technique

Blaming potential negative outcomes on students’ lack of compliance Suggesting that compliance will elicit desirable outcomes Appealing to an outside source with greater power to gain compliance Using the established classroom hierarchy to enforce compliance Encouraging students to comply with social expectations Praising the previous compliance of respected others in the classroom Suggesting that students should comply as a result of their responsibilities in college and/or society in general Stating that negative consequences will occur if students are non-compliant

Using the welfare of others to elicit compliance Suggesting that students should comply because of a previous obligation Referencing long-term benefits from compliance Using expertise to gain credibility as a prerequisite for compliance

Definition

Table 1: Behavioral Alteration Techniques − Definitions and Examples

By not doing the speech, I think that you will end up being disappointed in yourself

If you deliver the speech, you will be helping the entire class by serving as a good example I helped you by writing you a letter of recommendation, you owe it to me to complete the speech The more you practice and deliver the speech, the more it will help you prepare for a future career From all of my years in education and the previous students I have taught, I can tell you that completing the speech will be a great experience for you If you are unable to deliver the speech, each of your group members will lose ten points If you deliver the speech, I think that you will benefit from the experience I need you to complete the speech because the dean has made it a requirement for you to graduate You are the student and I am the teacher, so you are going to complete the speech All of the other students are completing the speech, so you need to do it as well All of the classmates that you look up to have already completed the speech and did well, so you should be like them You need to complete the speech because it is your obligation as a student and everyone has to pull their own weight

Example Message

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Mentioning that social consequences will occur from peers and family if students are non-compliant Enforcing class-related penalties for a lack of compliance Stating that students have a responsibility to comply in order to meet the needs of their fellow classmates Describing benefits that can be expected from others as a result of compliance Offering class-related benefits for compliance Appealing to students’ sense of self-worth to encourage compliance Gaining compliance by drawing attention to the teacher’s evaluative role Describing previous experiences in which the teacher was compliant Using social costs to punish non-compliance Offering social benefits to reward compliance

Definition

Your friends will be proud of the time that you have spent working on the speech If you do well on the speech, it is possible that I could offer extra credit You should complete the speech because you have a natural talent for it I need you to complete the speech so that I can assess how you are doing in this class I had to complete the exact same speech when I was an undergraduate student and I managed to do a good job As your teacher, I will be disappointed if you do a poor job on the speech As your teacher, I will be proud if you do a good job on the speech

If you do not complete the speech, I will give you an “F” for the assignment The rest of the class is depending on you to do a good job with the speech.

I am sure that your family and friends will be upset if you are unable to complete the speech

Example Message

Note. a Prosocial BATs. b Antisocial BATs. c Neutral BATs. Classifications derived from Kearney, Plax, Sorensen, and Smith’s (1988) exploratory factor analysis.

22. Teacher/Student Relationship: Positivec

21. Teacher/Student Relationship: Negativeb

20. Teacher Modelinga

19. Teacher Feedbacka

18. Self-Esteema

17. Reward from Teacherc

16. Reward from Othersa

15. Responsibility to Classa

14. Punishment from Teacherb

13. Punishment from Others

b

Behavior Alteration Technique

Table 1: (continued)

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Similar to findings from the first two power studies (McCroskey & Richmond, 1983; Richmond & McCroskey, 1984), the degree to which students and teachers shared perceptions of teacher BAT usage was minimal. Moreover, from this investigation, McCroskey et al. concluded that learning is actually a secondary outcome of BATs, as most teachers do not intentionally use compliance-gaining strategies to improve students’ understanding or their attitude about the course. Rather, the primary goal of BATs is to alter behavior by gaining compliance; thus, McCroskey et al. argued that future investigations should focus on students’ compliance and resistance as the direct instructional outcomes of BATs. “Power in the Classroom VI” (Plax, Kearney, McCroskey, & Richmond, 1986) added context to the exploration of BATs by examining the role of nonverbal immediacy in the selection and subsequent interpretation of teachers’ verbal compliance-gaining strategies. Using a sample of high school and college students, results of the investigation reaffirmed that a positive relationship exists between prosocial BATs and affective learning. Moreover, nonverbal immediacy was found to play a mediating role in the relationship between BATs and learning, indicating that the “use of pro-social … messages to alter student behavior tends to increase student perceptions of the teacher’s immediacy which in turn leads to greater affective learning on the part of the student” (Plax et al., 1986, p. 54). That being said, Plax et al. reiterated the argument that learning is a byproduct of BATs, as teachers primarily employ compliance-gaining strategies to alter behavior and reduce resistance to compliance; as such, the authors recommended that future researchers should explore how teachers select BATs based on specific problems with students. “Power in the Classroom VII” (Richmond, McCroskey, Kearney, & Plax, 1987) concluded the original series by reexamining the relationship between BATs and students’ cognitive learning. Specifically, Richmond et al. revisited the measurement of cognitive learning due to criticisms that had been raised against standardized tests and assigned semester grades (c.f., Richmond & McCroskey, 1984). The authors developed the learning loss measure that assessed how much students perceived they learned in a course, as well as how much they think they could have learned with the ideal instructor. The latter value was then subtracted from the first to create students’ perceived learning loss (i.e., a proxy for cognitive learning). Using this new measure, college students were asked to report on their “best” or “worst” instructor of the semester who taught a course outside of their own major. Results of the study revealed that students perceived good and bad instructors as using different BATs; for example, good instructors were more likely to use reward-based and responsibility BATs, whereas bad instructors were more likely to use punishment BATs. Similar to Richmond and McCroskey’s (1984) previous findings, prosocial BATs were found to be related positively to students’ cognitive learning (i.e., as measured by the learning loss scale), whereas antisocial BATs were found to share a negative association with learning in the classroom. Research from the original “Power in the Classroom” series also spawned numerous other investigations on power and BATs during the 1980s. In general, these

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studies advanced the seminal program of research by helping scholars understand the antecedents and consequences of using compliance-gaining strategies in both high school and college classrooms. Specifically, research on BATs during the 1980s furthered the original series by (a) continuing the exploration of individual differences while also introducing situational determinants as explanations for teachers’ use of BATs (Kearney & Plax, 1987; Kearney, Plax, Sorensen, & Smith, 1988; Wheeless, Stewart, Kearney, & Plax, 1987); (b) examining outcomes other than learning that occur as a result of using BATs in the classroom (Kearney, Plax, Smith, & Sorensen, 1988; Plax, Kearney, & Downs, 1986; Plax, Kearney, Downs, & Stewart, 1986); and (c) comparing the selection, usage, and interpretation of BATs between prospective and experienced teachers (Kearney & Plax, 1987; Kearney, Plax, Sorensen, et al., 1988; Plax, Kearney, & Tucker, 1986). Kearney and Plax (1987) observed that although teachers do not use BATs with global outcomes in mind, the original power series “focused on teachers’ decisions to employ behavior alteration techniques across all student misbehaviors generally” (p. 146). To address this limitation, investigations in the latter portion of the 1980s began to explore situational determinants of BATs by examining the techniques teachers use to gain compliance when reacting to specific student misbehaviors. Using scenario-based experiments, Kearney, Plax, and colleagues discovered that teachers vary in their selection of BATs depending upon the intentionality, severity, and frequency of students’ misbehavior in the classroom (Kearney & Plax, 1987; Kearney, Plax, Smith, et al., 1988; Plax et al., 1986). Moreover, during this time period, teachers’ gender was studied as an individual difference that affected the use of BATs; specifically, male and female teachers were found to vary in their selection of prosocial and antisocial BATs (e.g., males were more likely to use punishments and females more likely to use rewards), which prompted researchers to conclude that stereotypes associated with gender play a significant role in determining the compliance-gaining strategies that teachers employ in the classroom (Kearney & Plax, 1987). That being said, the gender of students has no significant role in the use and/or interpretation of BATs (Kearney, Plax, Sorensen, et al., 1988), but the degree to which students have adopted an internal locus of control was a significant individual difference that affected the perception and compliance that students had toward teachers’ BATs in the classroom (Wheeless et al., 1987). Research from the late 1980s also examined additional instructional outcomes, primarily student resistance and teacher satisfaction in relation to BAT use. As originally observed by McCroskey et al. (1985), teachers select and use BATs primarily to gain compliance; although student learning is affected as a secondary outcome, the extent to which students resist compliance-gaining attempts is considered the primary consequence of teacher power use and BATs (Kearney, 1987). Noting this, Kearney et al. (1988) conducted an experiment to assess the combined effects of teachers’ nonverbal immediacy and BATs on students’ resistance to com-

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pliance. Their findings revealed a significant interaction between the two teaching behaviors in that students were least likely to resist immediate teachers who used prosocial BATs and most likely to resist non-immediate teachers who used antisocial BATs (Kearney et al., 1988). These results complemented Plax et al. (1986) who utilized psychological reactance theory to discover that students are most resistant to BATs that reflect peer pressure, modeling of behavior, or coercive intent. At the same time, students were not the only ones who were affected by BATs in the classroom. Plax, Kearney and Downs (1986) found that teachers themselves were more satisfied when they used prosocial BATs and less satisfied when they used antisocial BATs. Taken together, then, these results suggest that the selection and use of BATs not only affect students’ primary and secondary outcomes (i.e., resistance and learning), but also instructors’ attitudes toward students and teaching in general. Of course, teachers are likely to change their attitudes and behaviors in the classroom over time as a result of their previous encounters with students. As such, researchers in the late 1980s began to explore the importance of experience as an explanation for teachers’ use of BATs based on the assumption that “inexperienced teachers view classroom control differently from experienced teachers” (Plax et al., 1986, p. 32). Results from these investigations revealed that experienced teachers use compliance-gaining techniques more frequently and use a more diverse array of BATs in general than inexperienced teachers (see Kearney, 1987). Such findings prompted Kearney and Plax (1987) to speculate that “experienced teachers’ cognitive schemes for classroom management are more well-integrated, sophisticated structures that consider relevant situational determinants in their selection of compliance-gaining techniques” (p. 162). Both prospective teachers and experienced teachers relied most frequently on the same two BATs (i.e., self-esteem and teacher feedback) to deal with students’ misbehaviors, suggesting that some BATs may be more effective regardless of expertise (Kearney et al., 1988).

Power Research in the 1990s Teacher power and compliance-gaining research in the 1990s was characterized by two important additions to the literature. The first addition was studying teacher power in other cultures. In the first study to examine BATs outside of the United States, Lu (1997) discovered that similar to American classrooms, teachers in China used 21 of the BATs to secure compliance from their students. Interestingly, Chinese teachers did not report using the self-esteem BAT, but used an additional BAT that was labeled self-consciousness (i.e., students should comply because they have the opportunity to). Lu found that Chinese teachers preferred to use the following BATs: punishment from behavior, deferred reward from behavior, guilt, legitimatehigher authority, personal (student) responsibility, and expert teacher. Conversely,

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Chinese teachers rarely reported using immediate reward from behavior, reward from others, punishment from others, legitimate-teacher authority, and debt. The second addition to the power literature was applying the power perspective to other instructional persons beyond the teacher (e.g., teaching assistants, principals, department chairs). Led by K. David Roach, this research revealed important differences in student perceptions of power. Several studies were conducted on teaching assistant (TA) power. Roach (1991a) found that TAs most frequently used the following BATs: teacher feedback, expert teacher, legitimate-higher authority, immediate reward from behavior, and teacher modeling. Of these BATs, TAs preferred teacher feedback and expert teacher the most. TAs least frequently used punishment from others, guilt, debt, peer modeling, and reward from others. Roach (1991a) discovered that most TA BATs were unrelated to affective learning and that TAs used legitimate-higher authority, legitimate-teacher authority, normative rules, and teacher modeling more frequently than professors. Further research suggested that students believe TA argumentativeness to be a display of power; TAs who were not argumentative relied on more legitimate, referent, and expert power than argumentative TAs (Roach, 1995a). Roach (1995b) found that TA argumentativeness correlated positively with referent and expert power. Roach also conducted studies on administrators’ use of power. The first study (Roach, 1991c) examined the compliance-gaining strategies that chairpersons use with their faculty and revealed three dimensions of strategies: (a) expectancies/ consequences, (b) relationships/identification, and (c) values/obligations. Faculty believed effective (vs ineffective) chairs gain compliance by (a) making faculty want to do the right thing, (b) avoiding faculty punishments, and (c) helping faculty feel better about themselves. Roach (1991b) also conducted a study on K-12 teachers’ perceptions of principals’ use of supervisory power. Teachers reported being satisfied when principals used referent, expert, and reward power, but were dissatisfied with coercive power use. Roach (1991b) also found when principals used prosocial BATs, teachers perceived them as having expert power. Beyond these two additions to the teacher power literature, several studies continued to traditionally examine instructors’ use of BATs and power bases. To extend the power research beyond student learning, Richmond (1990) found that student motivation was associated negatively with teacher coercive power, but associated positively with referent and expert power. Teachers’ use of authoritybased BATs and coercion-based BATs were related negatively to student motivation, but most of BATs (i.e., 14 of them) had no relationship to motivation. Roach (1994) conducted a longitudinal study of teacher BAT use across the semester and observed that instructors used moderate levels of prosocial BATs and low levels of antisocial BATs. Roach reported that more BATs were used during the middle of the semester than at the beginning, and that prosocial BATs were correlated positively, and antisocial BATs were correlated negatively, with cognitive and affective learning at the beginning, middle, and end of the semester.

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Power Research in the 2000s At the turn of the century, researchers began making a concerted effort to study more diverse populations in order to understand how teacher power affects a wider range of students. Specifically, teacher power and compliance-gaining scholars from 2000 to 2009 continued to examine power across cultures/countries (i.e., United States, France, Germany, China), and their investigations frequently revealed cultural differences among instructor power bases and student responses. Roach, Cornett-DeVito, and DeVito (2005) found that American instructors used significantly more reward and referent power than French instructors, while French instructors relied more on legitimate power to gain students’ compliance. Roach and Byrne (2001) found that American instructors report using more power altogether (all five bases) than German instructors, but the use of all five power bases were unrelated to students’ affective and cognitive learning in Germany. Although such findings indicate that power functions differently in Germany in comparison to the U.S., two later studies revealed no differences in teacher BAT use between Chinese and American instructors (Liu, Sellnow, & Venette 2006; Sellnow, Liu, & Venette, 2006). In another effort to study power using a diverse population, Worley and Cornett-DeVito (2007) found that students with learning disabilities (SWLD) described their teachers as using competent and incompetent forms of power. Competent forms of teacher power included referent power (SWLD described their instructors as supportive and accessible), expert power (described their instructors as having an academic background with SWLD, had a child with a LD, or had their own LD), and legitimate power (described the teacher as accommodating to the student even though it was difficult). Incompetent forms of power included coercive power (described as lack of respect and resisting accommodations) and legitimate power (said they could not help because of inexperience or only helped because it was the law, made the student pick up the test and take it to accommodative services in front of other students). An additional theme that emerged in the 2000s was the continued examination of learning outcomes beyond students’ perceived cognitive learning. Weber (2004) found that some of the prosocial BATs correlated positively with learner empowerment and some of the antisocial BATs were correlated negatively; however, selfesteem, deferred reward, reward from teacher, and teacher authority were the only BATs that uniquely predicted learner empowerment. Similarly, Schrodt et al. (2008) found that referent power was a strong predictor of learner empowerment and teacher evaluations were higher when instructors used referent and expert power; lower evaluations were correlated with coercive power. Moreover, in line with this theme, Weber, Martin, and Patterson (2001) found that in an 8th-grade sample, many prosocial teacher BATs were correlated positively with affect and interest, whereas antisocial BATs were correlated negatively with both attitudinal responses.

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The remaining research during this decade examined instructor characteristics and student outcomes related to teacher power use. This research showed that when instructors used antisocial BATs, students are more likely to resist compliance (Paulsel & Chory-Assad, 2004) and respond with indirect aggressiveness (Chory-Assad & Paulsel, 2004). Moreover, students perceived teachers who use prosocial power bases to be fair (Paulsel, Chory-Assad, & Dunleavy, 2005), credible (Teven & Herring, 2005), and confirming (Turman & Schrodt, 2006). Teven (2007) found that instructors were perceived as more Machiavellian when they relied on legitimate power, but less Machiavellian when they relied on expert power. This decade ended with a study by Horan and Myers (2009), who determined that instructors who are concerned with treating students fairly (i.e., procedural and interactional justice), preferred to use more referent and expert power and less antisocial BATs in their classrooms.

Power Research Since 2010 The most recent investigations (i.e., since 2010) on teachers’ influence in the classroom have moved away from examining individual teacher BATs and have reverted to studying the five original power bases (e.g., Chesebro & Martin, 2010; Goodboy, Bolkan, Myers, & Zhao, 2011; Horan, Martin, & Weber, 2012). Arguably, this trend could be attributed to the creation of new instruments designed to assess observable teacher behaviors that convey the five power bases in the educational context (c.f., Roach, 1995a; Schrodt, Witt, & Turman, 2007). Using these scales, particularly Schrodt et al.’s Teacher Power Use Scale (TPUS), researchers over the last five years have predominately sought to (a) examine the associations that exist between power use and related teacher behaviors and perceptions (e.g., Finn, 2012; Finn & Ledbetter, 2013; Pytlak & Houser, 2014); (b) diversify the types of student responses that are studied in reaction to teacher power (e.g., Goodboy & Bolkan, 2011; Horan, Houser, Goodboy, & Frymier, 2011; Rudick & Martin, 2011); and (c) introduce various theoretical explanations of teacher power and offer initial validation for these perspectives by using model-testing procedures (e.g., Finn & Ledbetter, 2013; Goodboy et al., 2011; Horan et al., 2012). Since 2010, researchers have shown a repeated interest in examining the relationships that exist between teacher power use, perceived credibility, and other teacher behaviors that foster learning in the classroom. This interest has uncovered a positive correlation between prosocial power (i.e., referent, reward, expert) and teacher credibility (i.e., competence, caring, trustworthiness) and a negative association between antisocial power and credibility (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013; Pytlak & Houser, 2014). Moreover, recent investigations have also revealed that teachers who use prosocial power also tend to employ other effective behaviors in their classes including teacher confirmation (Horan et al., 2011), understanding (Finn, 2012) and conversation skills (Horan et al., 2011). Combined, these findings suggest

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that effective teachers know how to use power in conjunction with other teaching behaviors to elicit students’ compliance and enhance student learning. Recent years have also brought about changes regarding how researchers study students’ attitudinal and behavioral responses to power. Rudick and Martin (2011) discovered that teachers’ power use influences students’ perceived face threats in the classroom; specifically, power that induces feelings of guilt and legitimacy was revealed to be most threatening to students’ positive and negative face. Using a scenario-based experiment in which the framing of power messages was manipulated via hypothetical syllabi, Chesebro and Martin (2010) found that students are more likely to experience anger when they are presented with minimal choices for their classroom experiences and perceive their instructor as using legitimate and coercive power. Likewise, Horan et al. (2011) uncovered a negative relationship between teachers’ use of antisocial power (i.e., coercive, legitimate) at the beginning of a semester and students’ predicted outcome value for the remainder of the course, indicating that even brief displays of power can alter students’ perceptions of their learning experiences. Recent findings from Goodboy and colleagues (Goodboy & Bolkan, 2011; Goodboy et al., 2011) have suggested that teachers’ power use not only influences students’ attitudes and perceptions, but also their classroom behaviors and the way in which they communicate with their instructor. For instance, Goodboy and Bolkan (2011) found that students are more likely to communicate with their instructor for excuse-making and sycophantic reasons when their instructor uses coercive power and lacks expert power in the classroom. These motives likely translate to actual communication behaviors, as Goodboy et al. (2011) observed that teachers’ use of power also influences students’ own compliance-gaining attempts, affinity-seeking strategies, and communication satisfaction. To explain the various associations that exist between teacher power use and student classroom responses, researchers have most recently started incorporating a broad range of theories into the instructional context. For instance, instructional scholars have adopted theories such as the social influence model (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013), predicted outcome value theory (Horan et al., 2011), and politeness theory (Rudick & Martin, 2011) into the communication literature in order to better understand the influence of power on student attitudes and behaviors. Scholars have also incorporated two theoretical perspectives developed originally by communication researchers (Mottet, Frymier, & Beebe, 2006) to explain the effects of teacher power on student outcomes: the theory of relational power and instructional influence (Finn, 2012; Goodboy et al., 2011; Pytlak & Houser, 2014) and emotional response theory (ERT; Horan et al., 2012). To evaluate the utility of such frameworks, many of these investigations have relied heavily on model-testing procedures such as structural equational modeling and path analysis. In general, a majority of these attempts have produced poor-fitting models or have required significant modifications that are not consistent with the theoretical test or proposed model (Finn &

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Ledbetter, 2013; Goodboy et al., 2011; Horan et al., 2012), suggesting that these theoretical perspectives do not adequately explain how power operates in the classroom.

Measurement of Teacher Power and ComplianceGaining Similar to the overall body of research, the measurement of teacher power has also developed significantly over the last several decades. Early work used the Perceived Power Measure (PPM; McCroskey & Richmond, 1983), which describes each power base and then asks respondents to indicate their agreement using bipolar scales. McCroskey and Richmond (1983) described this measure as capturing power “in an absolute rather than a relative form” (p. 179). The Relative Power Measure (RPM; McCroskey & Richmond, 1983), which was developed in conjunction with the PPM (i.e., they were designed to be used together), also describes each power base, but respondents estimate from 0 to 100 % how much power is used from each base (the total percentage must add up to 100 across all five bases). The Power Base Measure (Roach, 1995a) uses 20 statements (4 for each power base) that describe reasons for compliance using a 5-point Likert-type scale (e.g., “the student should comply to please the instructor”). Most recently, the Teacher Power Use scale (TPUS; Schrodt et al., 2007) uses 30 behavioral indicators and a Likerttype scale (e.g., “my teacher publicly recognizes students who exceed expectations in course performance”) to measure observable power bases in the classroom. BATs have been measured using the typology as a compliance-gaining checklist with accompanying BAMs (Kearney et al., 1984) which performs reliably (Roach, 1990). Outside of the Communication Studies discipline, Psychology and Education researchers interested in teacher power (e.g., Elias, 2007; Elias & Mace, 2005; Erchul, Raven, & Ray, 2001; Erchul, Raven, & Whichard, 2001) have relied on the Interpersonal Power Inventory (IPI; Raven, Schwarzwald, & Koslowsky, 1998) to measure the original French and Raven (1959) power bases, and they have extended differentiations of these bases (see Raven, 1993 for the origins, developments, and further differentiations and elaborations on the bases of the social power model). The IPI consists of 33 items (sometimes 44 items), uses a Likert-type format, and measures the following differentiated power bases: reward impersonal, coercive impersonal, expert, referent, informational, legitimacy-position, legitimacy-reciprocity, legitimacy-dependence, legitimacy-equity, personal reward, and personal coercion.

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Criticisms and Controversy in Compliance-Gaining Like all good science, which is riddled with criticism and controversy, research on power and compliance-gaining has spawned significant academic debate. Early scholars were particularly critical of the compliance-gaining literature because of the methodologies that were used; subsequently, these criticisms were later extended to the research on teacher power, sparking a considerable controversy within the field of communication. The origins of this controversy can be traced back to Burleson et al. (1988), who noted that research on compliance-gaining relies almost exclusively on one of two procedures: the selection(ist) procedure (i.e., giving participants a list of compliance-gaining messages they might use and asking them to report on the frequency in which they use them) and the construction(ist) procedure (i.e., asking participants to create their own compliance-gaining messages). From a methodological perspective, Burleson et al. argued that selection procedures, which rely on pre-formulated checklists of compliance-gaining strategies, suffer from an item desirability bias that yields (a) little variation in participant responses, (b) high social desirability, and (c) predictable responses based on the social appropriateness of individual items. Burleson et al. discovered some evidence of item desirability in compliance-gaining checklists through a series of seven studies. From these investigations they concluded that compliance-gaining studies that rely solely on the selection procedure “tell us only which strategies are perceived as more and less socially appropriate, and not which strategies people are more and less likely to use in particular situations” (Burleson et al., 1988, p. 478). They urged researchers to abandon selection procedures in future research because these findings have yielded “10 years of questionable effort in the compliance-gaining area” (Burlseon et al., 1988, p. 479). Not surprisingly, Burleson et al.’s (1988) bold claims generated controversy within the compliance-gaining literature and inspired numerous academic rebuttals; as such, a colloquy was started, and three direct responses to Burleson and his colleagues challenged their claims. First, Seibold (1988) responded to Burleson et al. and argued these scholars did not actually prove that selection procedures suffered from item desirability, nor did they provide evidence to support that construction procedures were more valid assessments of real-world behavior. Seibold also highlighted the empirical evidence that Burleson et al. would need to make their claims and concluded that researchers “should accept neither Burleson and colleagues’ conclusion about the invalidity of the selection procedure nor their claims for the construction methods’ concurrent validity” (1988, p. 159). Second, Hunter (1988) responded by claiming that Burleson et al. (1988) were incorrect because their social desirability argument did not adequately explain their findings. Specifically, Hunter questioned why a participant would rate a compliance-gaining message as undesirable, but then also report using the very same message to elicit compliance. Hunter statistically demonstrated that the aforemen-

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tioned case of a participant reporting the use of undesirably-rated compliancegaining strategies occurred in Burleson et al.’s data. As an alternative explanation, Hunter argued that social judgement theory better explained Burleson and colleagues’ findings. Hunter claimed that people are biased by their own positions and behaviors and that “the theory predicts only a bias in perception; a tendency to perceive the behavior as less negative than others see it,” prompting the conclusion that “Burleson et al. have misinterpreted their results … [as] there is no evidence to suggest that choice compliance-gaining message instruments are subject to ‘social desirability bias’” (Hunter, 1988, p. 168). Third, Boster (1988) responded to Burleson et al. (1988) by pointing out that people typically use compliance-gaining messages they deem to be socially appropriate, which “poses no threat to the validity of compliance-gaining message selection tasks” (p. 170). Boster argued that the correlations Burleson et al. reported cannot imply causality and that the messages themselves might be driving the ratings of social desirability. Boster invoked evidence from self-perception theory and cognitive dissonance theory to argue that the selection of compliance-gaining messages is an antecedent to social desirability; “once a message is endorsed or eschewed, the account of the choice must be that it was socially desirable, if chosen, or socially undesirable, if rejected, for the raters to construe and present their actions as favorable” (Boster, 1988, p. 172). After being criticized by Seibold (1988), Hunter, (1988), and Boster (1988), Burleson and Wilson (1988) further defended their position that selection procedures were flawed, and they responded to these criticisms at length by reiterating that “at a minimum … researchers should not assume that data yielded by the selection procedure tell us anything about compliance-gaining in the real world” (p. 189). The articles cited in this colloquy are lengthy, and we encourage readers to fully read each of the authors’ opinions and arguments. It is not our intention to support one particular argument over another, but we hope that by highlighting these discussions, readers can turn to this debate and decide for themselves as to whether or not compliance-gaining selection procedures are valid measurement choices in light of the arguments reviewed.

Compliance-Gaining Controversy with Teacher Power Criticisms raised from the Burleson et al. (1988) study also caused a direct response from teacher power researchers. Almost exclusively, instructional communication scholars have employed a selection procedure to study teacher BATs (e.g., Kearney & Plax, 1987; McCroskey et al., 1985; Plax et al., 1986), which is the same procedure that Burleson et al. (1988) ask researchers to “eschew” (p. 479). Unsur-

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prisingly, then, Burleson et al.’s recommendation to stop using a selection/checklist procedure resulted in numerous responses from instructional communication researchers at the time. Sorensen, Plax, and Kearney (1989) first responded as they asked 68 elementary school teachers to use the constructionist approach as recommended by Burleson and colleagues. They created a new coding scheme for teachers’ compliance-gaining strategies (based on 567 original responses) and noted that their results “suggest that the two methods, selectionist and constructionist, are functionally equivalent” and “support those [findings] reported in previous studies employing the BAT checklist” (Sorenson et al., 1989, p. 115). Their study provided no evidence to suggest that using selectionist procedures to study BATs produces any more valid data akin to what teachers use in the real world. Plax, Kearney, and Sorensen (1990) expanded on this claim of functional equivalence by again using constructionist procedures to examine prospective and experienced teachers’ use of compliance-gaining messages. Comparing selectionist and constructionist methodologies, Plax et al. found no differences in the frequency of reported prosocial and antisocial BATs. They concluded that “at best, our results suggest that the construction procedure will provide data ‘similar’ to those obtained with strategy checklists … at worse, the construction procedure fails the test of equivalence” (Plax et al., 1990, p. 139). Several years later, Waltman (1994) brought up the constructionist/selectionist debate again and questioned the use of the BATs checklist as a valid measure of teachers’ compliance-gaining techniques. Waltman argued that most teachers overreport their use of prosocial strategies in the checklist contradicting “50 years of observational studies of teachers’ naturally-occurring discipline behavior … [which] indicate that teachers use, almost exclusively, negative and antisocial discipline strategies to correct student misbehavior” (1994, p. 296). Waltman never cited these observational studies; however, he suggested that the BATs checklist is invalid and suffers from an item desirability bias in which teachers over-report prosocial BATs and underreport antisocial BATs. To support these claims, Waltman sampled teachers and observers in 32 classrooms and looked for an over-reporting bias from teachers. He did not find support for his hypothesis, but he did note that student and teacher reports of BAT use were frequently uncorrelated (c.f., McCroskey & Richmond, 1983). Thus, he noted that “while it may not be claimed that the BATs checklist has failed this test of convergent validity, it also may not be said it has passed this test of convergent validity” (Waltman, 1994, p. 304). After failing to find empirical support for his position against the BATs checklist, Waltman (1995) attacked the discriminant validity of the checklist using the same item desirability argument. He reasoned that if BATs suffered from an item desirability bias, they should be correlated with social appropriateness scores. He found that almost all of the BATs reported by teachers were correlated positively with social appropriateness (with very large correlations observed between mean BAT use and mean social appropriateness). Waltman (1995) concluded that his

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findings served as evidence that individuals “provide their perceptions of the social appropriateness of the items on the BATs checklist when providing likelihood-ofuse ratings rather than their perceptions of the likelihood they would use checklist items” (p. 209). He further purported that “50 years of research on teachers’ naturally occurring discipline strategies” (Waltman, 1995, p. 202) suggest that teachers prefer antisocial compliance messages, yet he once again failed to cite any of this research claiming that “a thorough review of this research is beyond the scope” of his investigation (p. 210). Two years later, the criticism of BATs took a different approach as Waltman and Burleson (1997a) argued that the BATs checklist suffered from heuristic processing issues. Similar to their previous claims, Waltman and Burleson noted that the early compliance research provided a prosocial response pattern to the BATs checklist, indicating an item desirability bias within the literature. This time, however, they argued that heuristic processing (i.e., a politeness heuristic) might be the culprit. “Heuristics refer to cognitive shortcuts or rules of thumb which individuals employ to reduce the cognitive burden of decision-making tasks” (Waltman & Burleson, 1997a, p. 80). Waltman and Burleson extrapolated the conditions that might lead participants to rely on heuristics including tasks that (a) require a high load for processing but are relatively unimportant and (b) tasks that possess a timepressure element. They argued that since the BATs checklist requires participants to read, interpret, and process 22 unique BATs and consider whether or not they use each BAT (across multiple scenarios in some studies; e.g., Kearney et al., 1988), they likely find this task as unimportant, highly redundant, burdensome, and timeconsuming. Thus, these scholars argued that participants use decision-making heuristics based on politeness to respond to all 22 BATs. To evaluate these claims, Waltman and Burleson conducted an experiment in which they manipulated the conditions for heuristic responding. Participants in a control group responded to all 22 BATs across four hypothetical scenarios used by Kearney and Plax (1987). Participants in the experimental group (i.e., decreased heuristic processing group) only responded to one of the four hypothetical conditions and only three or four BATs, instead of all 22 compliance-gaining techniques. Participants in the experimental group were also told to take as much time as they needed and to really think about each task as they were important (thus reducing cognitive load, decreasing time pressure, and increasing importance). A manipulation check revealed that participants in the experimental condition found the checklist to be less monotonous and complicated, and more thought-provoking. However, the manipulation check failed to identify a difference in perceptions of involvement and importance between the experimental and control group. Waltman and Burleson found significantly weaker correlations between BAT use and social appropriateness scores in the experimental condition, compared to the control condition. They also found that participants in the experimental condition were more likely to use certain antisocial BATs and were less likely to use certain prosocial BATs. Waltman

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and Burleson concluded that although researchers should not necessarily reject the selection procedure, they should make data collection procedures more cognitively engaging to avoid a politeness heuristic problem where teachers over-report prosocial and underreport antisocial BATs. Kearney and Plax (1997) replied to Waltman and Burleson (1997a) and called their claims “misinformed” because there is “no single study that demonstrates that teachers are mostly or even typically negative or antisocial in their compliancegaining attempts” (p. 96). Kearney and Plax argued that Waltman and Burleson were confusing the conceptual idea of BATs with teacher desist and reinforcement techniques. They also mentioned that every study on BATs conducted, despite whether the participants sampled were students, teachers, or colleagues, revealed that teachers use more prosocial than antisocial BATs. Kearney and Plax discussed how prosocial BATs are preferred because they are more effective in eliciting students’ compliance, and that prosocial BATs are considered more socially appropriate. Kearney and Plax also drew attention to the fact that Waltman and Burleson’s (1997a) manipulation was not successful for perceived involvement and importance of the task, while noting that the sample relied only on undergraduate education majors who did not have any actual experience managing a classroom. Kearney and Plax further criticized Waltman and Burleson’s statistical comparisons of summed BAT means that are standardized and restandardized for comparative purposes and concluded by asking “to what extent does the Waltman and Burleson study contribute to our understanding of what teachers actually do or say to manage their students in the classroom” (Kearney & Plax, 1997, p. 98). Their answer to this question was a resounding “nothing” (p. 99); and they “remain[ed] convinced of the utility and validity of researchers’ use of the BAT checklist” (p. 99). Waltman and Burleson (1997b) replied with the final commentary on this debate and defended their manipulation check, as three of the five conditions were successfully manipulated. They also defended their sample and experimental considerations. They concluded that “it may be possible to modify the BATs checklist, as well as other strategy selection instruments, so that they provide more valid assessments of the constructs they are intended to assess” (Waltman & Burleson, 1997b, p. 103). Beyond the back and forth colloquy presented in this chapter, there have been other criticisms of teacher power research that have relied on social science investigations. Advocating a critical autoethnography approach to studying power, Wood and Fassett (2003) pointed out that the research on BATs has predominately operated “from a social scientific model that privileges prediction and control, such work does not explore the phenomenon of power in situ”; moreover, Wood and Fassett claimed that by promoting “students and teachers as objectives for manipulation, this line of research casts these agents as disembodied and disconnected from one other” (p. 291). In an effort to expand the instructional communication agenda, Sprague (1992a) also criticized the power in the classroom series as being

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limited by social science; she noted, “a perusal of this series of studies yields a misleadingly simple picture of classroom life: teachers need to use power effectively in order to keep students on task so that learning can occur” (p. 14). Sprague argued that power is not just another tool for teachers to use and that power affects students beyond the confines of the classroom. She maintained that a more comprehensive understanding of power is needed and asked a series of important questions that still remain unanswered by instructional communication scholars over 20 years later: If power is not a harmless tool used by some people to manipulate others for the latter’s own good, but a subtle and pervasive social force, who deserves to be given power over students? Who decides to what ends that power should be used? How can we as communication scholars penetrate the complexity of power in classroom life and sensitize teachers and students to the alternatives they have in its use? (Sprague, 1992a, p. 17).

Sprague (1992b) advocated a critical perspective by pointing out that “within this view, teachers’ actions cannot be understood by analyzing decontextualized slices of their classroom behavior” (p. 182). She critically summarized the powerlessness that teachers have in their classrooms, including the low status and working conditions of teachers and the feminization, technologizing, deskilling, intensification, and privatization of teachers’ work. In this way, Sprague discussed teacher power from a different lens – as becoming empowered by rediscovering collegiality through collaboration, reorganizing schools to have shared leadership, reclaiming the teaching profession through a transformative vision, and ultimately, reforming teacher education. Rodríguez and Cai (1994) responded to Sprague’s (1992a) criticisms of the power in the classroom research and pointed out that these studies adopted a covering laws perspective. They also noted that applying a critical perspective to these works is inappropriate because they have different assumptions about how research is conducted. Rodríguez and Cai (1994) explained that “the covering law and critical approaches should be seen as two unique and important epistemologies … [and] we must refrain from allowing our epistemological differences to undermine the relative importance and usefulness of particular research findings” (p. 270). Sprague (1994) was invited to respond to Rodríguez and Cai’s (1994) assertions, and she provided a lengthy explanation for the limitations of using a covering laws perspective to study power. She argued that Rodríguez and Cai’s call for scholarly separatism between social science and critical perspectives is unwarranted. Despite paradigmatic differences, Sprague observed that scholarly dialogue from the critical perspective can challenge other research from a different paradigm; she explained, “the right to challenge someone else’ scholarship does not depend on who the challenger is” (Sprague, 1994, p. 282). Sprague rightly pointed out that almost all of the power in the classroom research has been guided by one (social science) perspective, which has limited offerings to other fields, and most importantly, lim-

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ited utility for teachers. She explained that “by becoming encapsulated in a single perspective, scholars limit the ways they see problems and therefore the ways they might come to understand them” (Sprague, 1994, p. 285). Collectively, these lengthy controversies and criticisms are important commentaries in the history of teacher compliance-gaining as they provide researchers with decisions to make when conducting future research on power in the classroom. Although the empirical examination of power has spawned programmatic research on how teachers use (and abuse) power in the classroom, we urge future researchers to apply multiple perspectives to investigate teacher power. We also hope that researchers in future decades will reexamine, reconceptualize, and replicate research on the important construct of teacher power.

Recommendations In this chapter we have reviewed a significant body of work detailing the exhaustive history of teacher power and its program of research within the instructional communication literature. We now provide three recommendations for future scholars who want to continue this line of research and offer suggestions to aid those who may desire to implement these ideas. Our first recommendation is to update the BATs/BAMs typology and the measurement of teachers’ compliancegaining strategies. Over 30 years have passed since this seminal research has been conducted, and the classroom has evolved substantially over that time (e.g., because of the reliance on technology and Internet, the culture of higher education, and the changing expectations of students; c.f., Goodboy & Myers, 2015). Thus, it is reasonable to conclude that the BATs and BAMs teachers use to gain student compliance have also changed since the seminal investigations that took place decades ago. However, it is also likely that teachers today rely on some of the identical BATs that were used in the 1980s (e.g., reward and punishment related BATs). Therefore, we specifically urge scholars to empirically replicate the Power III (Kearney et al., 1985) and Power IV (Kearney et al., 1984) investigations to determine how BATs are used in present-day classrooms. Moreover, we strongly encourage that researchers reexamine BATs across contexts and levels of education (e.g., preschool, K-12, vocational school, college, graduate school, online) as it is likely that teachers/instructors adapt their compliance-gaining strategies to fit the learning environment in which they work (Kearney et al., 1985). Our second recommendation is to expand the teacher power research by acknowledging interdisciplinary scholarship that is conducted outside the discipline of Communication Studies. For instance, instructional communication scholars have relied solely on measures developed within their discipline and have not consulted, or even acknowledged, theoretical advancements of social power bases. Moreover, instructional scholars have repeatedly cited French and Raven (1959) for

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their theoretical frameworks (see Waldeck, Kearney, & Plax, 2001), even though the bases of social power have been refined and expanded, and newer theoretical models have been developed (e.g., Koslowsky & Schwarzfield, 2001; Raven, 1992, 1993, 2001; Raven et al., 1998). Instructional communication scholars have simply failed to keep up with the literature on which the teacher power research was originally based, and they continue to cite work published only in Communication Studies, while ignoring important and relevant findings of teacher power from other disciplines (e.g., Elias, 2007). Confining teacher power and compliance-gaining to one field (i.e., Communication Studies) is inexcusable. Therefore, we encourage future scholars to engage in interdisciplinary collaboration in order to advance a more holistic understanding of power in the classroom. For instance, the field of instructional communication shares historical and conceptual similarities with various areas of development (e.g., lifespan development, college student development; see Nussbaum & Friedrich, 2005) that could be drawn upon to better comprehend how teachers gain compliance from students who operate from different levels of cognitive, ethical, and/or psychosocial maturity (Pascarella & Terenzini, 2005). We suggest that future instructional communication research use these disciplinary parallels, while referencing the advancements made in social psychology, to improve the conceptual, operational, and theoretical treatment of power and compliance-gaining. Our third recommendation is to expand teacher power research beyond a social science perspective. Power is not simply a tool that is limited to five bases and 22 BATs (Stewart, Wheeless, & Barraclough, 1984). In fact, “in attempting to reduce power to a tool or skill set, instructional communication researchers have, in effect, cast student … resistance as deviance, as decontextualized (mis)behaviors that, at first blush, may seem arbitrary or irrational”; moreover, by taking such an approach, instructional scholars have failed “to call out the ways in which student resistance might be (dis)organized against an authority that objectifies them for the purpose of order and compliance” (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 42). Clearly, power is pervasive and complex, which makes the critical perspective ideal for understanding it (Wood & Fassett, 2003). A critical perspective may also be best for examining power as an expression of one’s identity. For example, Rudoe (2010) examined lesbian teachers’ identity management and power in the heterosexualized context of school in Westernized cultures. Ultimately, we echo Sprague’s (1992, 1994) claims that power in the classroom may be a reflection of power in society – that it can be an oppressive force that engrains into students an unbalanced social hierarchy – and we wonder what we can do as teachers to use power more appropriately, and how to reclaim power that is unduly subjugated. Of course, we imagine that others also contemplate similar ideas and may have very different opinions on compliance-gaining and the current state of research that surrounds the subject. Therefore, we suggest that instructional communication scholars from diverse backgrounds, including both critical and post-positive paradigms, share their

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views on this research and their suggestions about how to improve it through a scholarly forum or colloquy, similar to those that initiated comparable conversations several decades ago (c.f., Boster, 1988; Hunter, 1988; Seibold, 1988; Sprague, 1994). Put simply, instructional communication research could benefit tremendously if future investigations were to embrace diverse perspectives on power, including a more critical examination of compliance-gaining in the classroom, as the field seeks to resolve some of Sprague’s (1992a) important, yet still unanswered questions.

Conclusion Thirty years of teacher power and compliance-gaining scholarship have yielded one of the few programmatic areas of research in instructional communication (Myers, 2010). This body of literature serves the everyday teacher by “helping her or him put communication toward effective classroom management … [and] clarifying the complexities of power, in part to help someone acquire skills s/he may not possess intuitively” (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 42). This impressive body of research has reminded teachers and scholars alike that power is perceptual, negotiated, and serves to enhance or detract from the learning environment. This program also reminds us to be effective educators who help students learn through the appropriate use of prosocial compliance-gaining strategies, as “the abuse of power by teachers is probably more resented by students than any other single thing a teacher can do” (Hurt et al., 1978, p. 126). In short, teacher power and compliance-gaining studies have yielded some of the most pedagogical and applicable findings in the instructional communication literature. Yet, like all research, it is crucial that this program continue to evolve around the demands of today’s students and teachers in order to advance our understanding of power and compliance-gaining in the 21st-century classroom. We are excited to see this research program unfold another 30 years from now.

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Plax, T. G., & Kearney, P. (1992). Teacher power in the classroom: Defining and advancing a program of research. In V. P. Richmond, & J. C. McCroskey (Eds.), Power in the classroom: Communication, control, and concern (pp. 67–84). New York, NY: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates. Plax, T. G., Kearney, P., & Downs, T. M. (1986). Communicating control in the classroom and satisfaction with teaching and students. Communication Education, 35, 379–388. doi:10.1080/03634528609388362 Plax, T. G., Kearney, P., Downs, T. M., & Stewart, R. A. (1986). College student resistance toward teachers’ use of selective control strategies. Communication Research Reports, 3, 20–27. Plax, T. G., Kearney, P., McCroskey, J. C., & Richmond, V. P. (1986). Power in the classroom VI: Verbal control strategies, nonverbal immediacy and affective learning. Communication Education, 35, 43–55. doi:10.1080/03634528609388318 Plax, T. G., Kearney, P., & Sorensen, G. (1990). The strategy selection-construction controversy II: Comparing pre- and experienced teachers’ compliance-gaining message constructions. Communication Education, 38, 128–141. doi:10.1080/03634529009378795 Plax, T. G., Kearney, P., & Tucker, L. K. (1986). Prospective teachers’ use of behavior alteration techniques on common student misbehaviors. Communication Education, 35, 32–42. doi:10.1080/03634528609388317 Pytlak, M. A., & Houser, M. L. (2014). Because I’m the teacher and I said so: GTA use of behavior alteration techniques to establish power and credibility in the college classroom. Western Journal of Communication, 78, 287–309. doi:10.1080/10570314.2014.893010 Raven, B. H. (1992). A power/interaction model of interpersonal influence: French and Raven thirty years later. Journal of Social Behavior and Personality, 7, 217–244. Raven, B. H. (1993). The bases of power: Origins and recent developments. Journal of Social Issues, 49, 227–251. doi:10.1111/j.1540-4560.1993.tb01191.x Raven, B. H. (2001). Power/interaction and interpersonal influence: Experimental investigations and case studies. In A. Y. Lee-Chair, & J. A. Bargh (Eds.), The use and abuse of power: Multiple perspectives on the causes of corruption (pp. 217–240). Philadelphia, PA: Psychology Press. Raven, B. H., Schwarzwald, J., & Koslowsky, M. (1998). Conceptualizing and measuring a power/ interaction model of interpersonal influence. Journal of Applied Social Psychology, 28, 307– 332. doi:10.1111/j.1559-1816.1998.tb01708.x Richmond, V. P. (1990). Communication in the classroom: Power and motivation. Communication Education, 39, 181–195. doi:10.1080/03634529009378801 Richmond, V. P., & McCroskey, J. C. (1984). Power in the classroom II: Power and learning. Communication Education, 33, 125–136. doi:10.1080/03634528409384729 Richmond, V. P., McCroskey, J. C., Kearney, P., & Plax, T. G. (1987). Power in the classroom VII: Linking behavior alteration techniques to cognitive learning. Communication Education, 36, 1–12. doi:10.1080/03634528709378636 Roach, K. D. (1990). A reliability assessment of the Kearney, Plax, Richmond, and McCroskey (1984) BATs and BAMs model. Communication Research Reports, 7, 67–74. doi:10.1080/08824099009359857 Roach, K. D. (1991a). Graduate teaching assistants’ use of behavior alteration techniques in the university classroom. Communication Quarterly, 39, 178–188. doi:10.1080/01463379109369795 Roach, K. D. (1991b). Principals’ use of power, behavior alteration strategies and affinity-seeking strategies: Effects on teacher job satisfaction. World Communication, 20, 23–37. Roach, K. D. (1991c). University department chairs’ use of compliance-gaining strategies. Communication Quarterly, 39, 75–90. doi:10.1080/01463379109369784 Roach, K. D. (1994). Temporal patterns and effects of perceived instructor compliance-gaining use. Communication Education, 43, 236–245. doi:10.1080/03634529409378980

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Roach, K. D. (1995a). Teaching assistant argumentativeness: Effects on affective learning and student perceptions of power use. Communication Education, 44, 15–29. doi:10.1080/03634529509378994 Roach, K. D. (1995b). Teaching assistant argumentativeness and perceptions of power use in the classroom. Communication Research Reports, 12, 94–103. doi:10.1080/08824099509362044 Roach, K. D., & Byrne, P. R. (2001). A cross-cultural comparison of instructor communication in American and German classrooms. Communication Education, 50, 1–14. doi:10.1080/03634520109379228 Roach, K. D., Cornett-DeVito, M. M., & DeVito, R. (2005). A cross-cultural comparison of instructor communication in American and French classrooms. Communication Quarterly, 53, 87–107. doi:10.1080/01463370500056127 Rodríguez, J. I., & Cai, D. A. (1994). When your epistemology gets in the way: A response to Sprague. Communication Education, 43, 263–272. doi:10.1080/03634529409378985 Rudick, C. K., & Martin, M. M. (2011). Students’ perceptions of face threat from instructors’ use of behavior alteration techniques. Texas Speech Communication Journal, 36, 13–23. Rudoe, N. (2010). Lesbian teachers’ identity, power and the public/private boundary. Sex Education, 10, 23–36. doi:10.1080/14681810903491347 Schrodt, P., Witt, P. L., Myers, S. A., Turman, P. D., Barton, M. H., & Jernberg, K. A. (2008). Learner empowerment and teacher evaluations as functions of teacher power use in the college classroom. Communication Education, 57, 180–200. doi:10.1080/03634520701840303 Schrodt, P., Witt, P. L., & Turman, P. D. (2007). Reconsidering the measurement of teacher power use in the college classroom. Communication Education, 56, 308–332. doi:10.1080/03634520701256062 Seibold, D. R. (1988). A response to “item desirability in compliance-gaining research”. Human Communication Research, 15, 152–161. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2958.1988.tb00177.x Sellnow, D., Liu, M., & Venette, S. (2006). When in Rome, do as the Romans do: A comparative analysis of Chinese and American new teachers’ compliance-gaining strategies. Communication Research Reports, 23, 259–264. doi:10.1080/08824090600962425 Sorensen, G., Plax, T. G., & Kearney, P. (1989). The strategy selection‐construction controversy: A coding scheme for analyzing teacher compliance‐gaining message constructions. Communication Education, 38, 102–118. doi:10.1080/03634528909378744 Sprague, J. (1992a). Expanding the research agenda for instructional communication: Raising some unasked questions. Communication Education, 41, 1–25. doi:10.1080/03634529209378867 Sprague, J. (1992b). Critical perspectives on teacher empowerment. Communication Education, 41, 181–203. doi:10.1080/03634529209378879 Sprague, J. (1994). Ontology, politics, and instructional communication research: Why we can’t just “agree to disagree” about power. Communication Education, 43, 273–290. doi:10.1080/03634529409378986 Stewart, R. A., Wheeless, L. R., & Barraclough, R. A. (1984). An alternative analysis of teachers’ use of power and instruction. Communication Research Reports, 1, 73–81. Teven, J. J. (2007). Teacher Machiavellianism and social influence in the college classroom: Implications for measurement. Communication Research Reports, 24, 341–352. doi:10.1080/08824090701624247 Teven, J. J., & Herring, J. E. (2005). Teacher influence in the classroom: A preliminary investigation of perceived instructor power, credibility, and student satisfaction. Communication Research Reports, 22, 235–246. doi:10.1080/00036810500230685 Turman, P. D., & Schrodt, P. (2006). Student perceptions of teacher power as a function of perceived teacher confirmation. Communication Education, 55, 265–279. doi:10.1080/03634520600702570

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Waldeck, J. H., Kearney, P., & Plax, T. G. (2001). Instructional and developmental communication theory and research in the 1990s: Extending the agenda for the 21st century. In W. B. Gudykunst (Ed.), Communication yearbook (Vol. 24, pp. 207–229). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Waltman, M. (1994). An assessment of the convergent validity of the checklist of behavior alteration techniques: The association between teachers’ likelihood-of-use ratings and informants’ frequency-of-use ratings. Journal of Applied Communication Research, 22, 295– 308. doi:10.1080/00909889409365405 Waltman, M. (1995). An assessment of the discriminant validity of the checklist of behavior alteration techniques: A test of the item desirability bias in prospective and experienced teachers’ likelihood-of-use ratings. Journal of Applied Communication Research, 23, 201–211. doi:10.1080/00909889509365425 Waltman, M. S., & Burleson, B. R. (1997a). Explaining bias in teacher ratings of behavior alteration techniques: An experimental test of the heuristic processing account. Communication Education, 46, 75–94. doi:10.1080/03634529709379077 Waltman, M. S., & Burleson, B. R. (1997b). The reality of item desirability and heuristic processing in BAT ratings: Respecting the data. Communication Education, 46, 100–103. doi:10.1080/03634529709379079 Weber, K. (2004). The relationship between student interest and teacher’s use of behavior alteration techniques. Communication Research Reports, 21, 428–436. doi:10.1080/08824090409360007 Weber, K., Martin, M., & Patterson, B. (2001). Teacher behavior, student interest and affective learning: Putting theory to practice. Journal of Applied Communication Research, 29, 71–90. doi:10.1080/00909880128101 Wheeless, L. R., Stewart, R. A., Kearney, P., & Plax, T. G. (1987). Locus of control and personal constructs in students’ reactions to teacher compliance attempts: A reassessment. Communication Education, 36, 250–258. doi:10.1080/03634528709378671 Wood, A. F., & Fassett, D. L. (2003). Remote control: Identity, power, and technology in the communication classroom. Communication Education, 52, 286–296. doi:10.1080/0363452032000156253 Worley, D. W., & Cornett-DeVito, M. M. (2007). College students with learning disabilities (SWLD) and their responses to teacher power. Communication Studies, 58, 17–33. doi:10.1080/10510970601168665

Qin Zhang and Paul L. Witt

7 Instructor Immediacy Abstract: One of the most closely examined constructs in the instructional communication research area, instructor immediacy consists of both verbal and nonverbal expressions that elicit perceptions of interpersonal closeness between communicators. When employed during instruction, immediacy cues enhance the teacher-student relationship by communicating affiliation, liking, and interpersonal connection, which in turn are associated with student learning, motivation, and satisfaction with the teacher and course. In this chapter we survey various theoretical explanations for how and why immediacy works, and we review the essential findings of immediacy research, with an emphasis on specific associations with student learning. We conclude by focusing on the importance of cultural variability in future research. Keywords: immediacy, nonverbal immediacy, verbal immediacy, teacher-student relationship, affective learning, student affect, cognitive learning, approach-avoidance theory, immediacy-exchange theories, motivation, Mehrabian As one of the most influential communication behaviors enacted by classroom teachers, instructor immediacy has received more scholarly attention than most other constructs in the field of instructional communication (Witt, Schrodt, & Turman, 2010; Zhang, Oetzel, Gao, Wilcox, & Takai, 2007a). Conceptualized by psychologist Albert Mehrabian (1966, 1967), immediacy is a cluster of verbal and nonverbal communication cues that enhance closeness and reduce physical and/or psychological distance between communicators. Mehrabian grounded his research in approach-avoidance theory, the notion that “people are drawn toward persons and things they like, evaluate highly, and prefer, and they avoid or move away from things they dislike, evaluate negatively, or do not prefer” (Mehrabian, 1972, p. 1). He identified immediacy cues as those verbal and nonverbal behaviors that evoke the perception of psychological closeness by expressing interpersonal liking and increasing sensory stimulation between communicators (Mehrabian, 1969, 1972), including teachers and students (Andersen, 1979). Mehrabian’s earliest research focused on verbal or linguistic immediacy (Richmond, McCroskey, & Johnson, 2003), which he defined as the “degree of directness and intensity of interaction between communicator and referent in a communicator’s linguistic message” (Mehrabian, 1966, p. 28). Thus, verbal immediacy refers to the use of linguistic codes to reduce psychological distance between communicators. His taxonomy of verbal immediacy cues includes distance (e.g., here vs. there), duration (e.g., longer contact vs. shorter contact), and participation (e.g., you should vs. some should), among others. In addition to verbal expressions of immediacy, Mehrabian (1971) acknowledged the impact of nonverbal behaviors

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such as proximity, touch, and eye gaze. His pioneering research on nonverbal immediacy blazed a promising path for instructional communication scholars, as they examined these specific communication behaviors used by teachers while delivering classroom instruction. Andersen (1979) was the first to examine the construct of nonverbal immediacy in classroom communication. She operationalized instructor nonverbal immediacy cues as smiles, eye contact, forward body leans, gestures, relaxed body position, appropriate touch, and moving around the classroom while teaching. Andersen’s findings indicated a significant relationship between instructor nonverbal immediacy and student affective learning. Her research ignited the immediacy research engine in instructional communication, and more than 250 immediacy studies were conducted in subsequent decades, documenting positive correlations between nonverbal immediacy and affective and cognitive learning (e.g., Christophel, 1990; Witt & Wheeless, 2001), motivation to learn (e.g., Christophel, 1990; Frymier, 1994), perceived instructor credibility (e.g., Santilli, Miller, & Katt, 2011; Zhang, 2009), and students’ evaluation of instructors (e.g., McCroskey, Richmond, Sallinen, Fayer, & Barraclough, 1995). Gorham (1988) provided a milestone in the development of this research by introducing verbal component in the operationalization of instructor immediacy. She found that the use of personal examples, self-disclosure, humor, and praise particularly enhanced perceived closeness between instructors and students. Though these items did not fully represent Mehrabian’s (1969) original conceptualization of verbal immediacy, Gorham’s innovative work was followed by an avalanche of instructor immediacy studies that combined verbal and nonverbal measures. Despite persistent criticism of the verbal immediacy measure, this body of work identified instructor immediacy as a core component of effective instructor communication behaviors, playing a crucial role in enhancing student learning and a host of other positive outcomes (Christophel, 1990; Witt, Wheeless, & Allen, 2004; Zhang & Oetzel, 2006b). In this chapter we examine the construct of instructor immediacy in four sections. First, we address relevant theories and theoretical models that help explain how immediacy functions in the classroom. Second, we review essential research findings that demonstrate a wide range of associations between instructor immediacy and other important classroom variables. Third, we discuss some significant challenges with instructor immediacy research methodology and measurement. Finally, we explore directions for future research programs that will expand our understanding of instructor immediacy and student outcomes.

Theoretical Explanations for Instructor Immediacy In early conceptualizations of interpersonal immediacy, Mehrabian (1969) explained the construct using the tenets of approach-avoidance theory; i.e., in the

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presence of cues that enhance closeness to and nonverbal interactions with others, individuals express or achieve an interpersonal connection that engenders affinity, approval, and co-identification (see also Berscheid & Walster, 1978). These explanatory mechanisms help explain why instructors who wish to express appropriate classroom relationships with their students frequently use verbal and nonverbal immediacy cues that add affective or relational components to the instructional content of their teaching messages. In addition to these early theoretical foundations, scholars have applied other interpersonal communication theories to explain instructor immediacy. In this section we briefly examine three immediacy-exchange theories and four explanatory models of immediacy and learning.

Immediacy-Exchange Theories Immediacy-exchange theories began five decades ago with Argyle and Dean’s (1965) affiliative conflict theory, often referred to as equilibrium theory, which posited that communicators establish and maintain a comfortable intimacy equilibrium point in communication. When the equilibrium level is either not met or exceeded, interaction partners experience anxiety, which generates a compensatory response. As a primogenitor for immediacy-exchange research, affiliative conflict theory, despite its problems in accurately predicting compensation, prompted subsequent theoretical endeavors to explore the patterns of communicating immediacy in human relationships (Andersen, Guerrero, Buller, & Jorgensen 1998).

Expectancy violations theory Burgoon (1978) originally designed expectancy violations theory (EVT) to account for nonverbal proxemic violations but later expanded the theory to include violations in other types of nonverbal behaviors (Burgoon & Hale, 1988; Le Poire & Burgoon, 1994). The theoretical framework began with the central assumption that communicators develop expectancies and preferences about the nonverbal behaviors of others during interpersonal interaction (Burgoon & Hale, 1988). Expectancies include “cognitive, affective, and conative components and are primarily a function of (1) social norms and (2) known idiosyncracies [sic] of the other … They include judgments of what behaviors are possible, feasible, appropriate, and typical for a particular setting, purpose, and set of participants” (Burgoon & Hale, 1988, p. 60). Culturally-bound, norm-based, and individually specific expectancies operate within a range rather than representing specific behaviors because social norms and personal idiosyncrasies themselves usually imply some degree of variability rather than preciseness. The range implies a threshold. If communicators conform to expectancies, or if violations of expectancies fall within the socially tolerated

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range of variability, arousal will not occur. However, if violations fall outside the range of expectancies, arousal may be evoked. Applied to immediacy cues and perceptions, EVT suggests that unexpectedly high levels of immediacy from low-reward communicators may lead to counterproductive results: the greater the deviation from the expectation, the greater the negative consequences. However, for rewarding violators, EVT proposes that moderate levels of immediacy-induced arousal change may produce moderate levels of reciprocity, whereas higher levels of immediacy-induced arousal change may lead to higher levels of reciprocity. Thus, a rewarding violator may gain a more favorable image through violation, whereas a non-rewarding violator may end up with an even more negative image through violation (Burgoon, Buller, & Woodall, 1989). EVT has been incorporated into instructor immediacy research. A substantial body of literature indicates that instructor immediacy cues are generally positively evaluated and associated with positive learning outcomes (Andersen, 1979; Christophel, 1990; Gorham, 1988; Witt et al., 2004; Zhang & Oetzel, 2006b). Given that EVT addresses the central role of culture in interpreting and evaluating immediacy cues, it has been applied to cross-cultural studies of instructor immediacy. As McCroskey, Sallinen, Fayer, Richmond, and Barraclough (1996) observed: In highly immediate cultures the expectations for immediate instructor behavior are very high and violations of those expectations by being less immediate may be very detrimental to cognitive learning. On the other hand, in less immediate cultures where expectations for immediacy are low, the violation of these expectations by being more immediate may have strong effects on cognitive learning. (p. 210)

Similarly, Zhang and Oetzel (2006b) applied the EVT tenets to guide their exploration of instructor immediacy from a Chinese cultural perspective. They found that the Chinese conceptualization of instructor immediacy as integrating instructional, relational, and personal behavioral cues is different from the Western perspective focusing on instructional behavioral cues.

Discrepancy-arousal theory Like EVT, discrepancy-arousal theory (DAT) postulates that immediacy changes activate arousal (Cappella & Greene, 1982). DAT argues that discrepancies between a receiver’s cognitive expectations and the partner’s actual level of immediacy or involvement produce arousal (Cappella & Greene, 1982, 1984). Discrepancy is the extent to which the actual immediacy behaviors deviate from the standard level or the expectation level (Hale & Burgoon, 1984). DAT assumes that communicators have a latitude of acceptance for deviations. Communicators’ acceptance region or expectation level is primarily determined by social norms, cultural features, and individual preferences (Cappella, 1999; Cappella & Greene, 1982; Hale & Burgoon, 1984). Cappella and Greene (1982) argued:

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When the other’s behavior is sufficiently discrepant from expectation to be outside of the acceptance region, that behavior will be highly arousing, experienced as affectively negative, and avoidance will ensue. When the discrepancy is within the acceptance region, the behavior will be only mildly or moderately arousing, experienced as affectively positive, and approach will ensue. (p. 100)

DAT posits that moderate immediacy-induced arousal change leads to approach, reciprocity, positive affect, and positive behavioral responses, but high levels of immediacy-induced arousal change results in avoidance, compensation, negative affect, stress, fear, and negative behavioral responses. Cappella and Greene (1982) stated: “Little or no discrepancy is assumed to be nonarousing, moderate discrepancy to be moderately arousing and therefore pleasurable, and excessive discrepancy to be highly arousing and unpleasant” (pp. 96–97). Based on DAT, Kelly and Gorham (1988) posited the arousal model concerning the relationship between instructor nonverbal immediacy and cognitive learning. They carried out an experiment to test a four-step model linking nonverbal immediacy (operationalized as physical proximity and frequency of eye contact) to cognitive learning (operationalized as short-term recall): “Immediacy is related to arousal, which is related to attention, which is related to memory, which is related to cognitive learning. The presence or absence of affect is extraneous to this model” (Kelly & Gorham, 1988, p. 201). They found that high physical proximity with eye contact had the highest scores in short-term recall, and low physical proximity with no eye contact the lowest scores.

Cognitive valence theory Another theory that scholars have used to frame instructor immediacy research is cognitive valence theory (CVT). The central construct of CVT, formerly referred to as arousal valence theory (Andersen, 1985), is cognitive schema (Andersen, 1998). A schema is a knowledge structure about a particular domain. People develop “cognitive structures called schemata or expectancies that permit people to anticipate, interpret, explain, or act upon information about oneself and the social environment” (Andersen, 1998, p. 47). CVT argues that when an immediacy increase causes an arousal increase, cognitive schemata are activated. There are at least six types of cognitive schemata: cultural, self, interpersonal, relational, situational, and state. Cultural schemata or cultural norms and rules are the most basic force determining one’s reactions to increased immediacy and arousal, which also shape and mold other schemata. Self schemata deal with personal traits and communication predispositions, such as extroversion and communication shyness. Interpersonal schemata focus on the perceived qualities of the other individuals, and relational schemata focus on the dyad and the relationship called we-ness. Situational schemata are the structured intui-

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tive knowledge of the context, and state schemata focus on a person’s transitory psychological, physical, or emotional state (Andersen, 1998, 1999). CVT suggests that when an immediacy increase is perceived by a receiver, an arousal increase is evoked, which will activate cognitive schemata regarding the message’s cultural appropriateness, personal predispositions, interpersonal valence, relational appropriateness, situational appropriateness, and psychological state. According to CVT, If all relevant cognitive schemata are positively valenced, positive relational outcomes occur. However, if any of the six cognitive schemata described are negatively valenced, negative relational outcomes will occur. This model suggests that during an interaction, increased intimacy must be culturally, personally, relationally, and situationally appropriate while fitting the personal predispositions and transitory state of the other in order to produce a positive relational outcomes. (Andersen, 1998, p. 40)

CVT argues that large arousal increases circumvent cognitive processes because “at very high arousal levels cognitive processes are short-circuited” (Andersen, 1998, p. 47). Thus, large arousal increases are inherently aversive, unpleasant, and stressful, and they lead to negative reactions, compensation, immediacy reduction, and a decrease in relational closeness. By contrast, small arousal increases lead to little or no effect, and moderate or mild arousal increases stimulate cognitive processes, produce reciprocity, positive responses, interest, excitement, and activation (Andersen, 1998). Comstock, Rowell, and Bowers (1995) applied CVT and DAT in their experimental research and observed an inverse curvilinear relationship between instructor immediacy and cognitive, affective, and behavioral learning. For the participants in their study, moderately high instructor immediacy led to greater student learning than did excessively low or high immediacy, presumably because over-arousal is inherently aversive and actually attenuates student learning.

Theoretical Models of Immediacy and Learning In addition to applying immediacy-exchange theories to immediacy research, scholars have also constructed and tested four distinct theoretical models of immediacy and learning: the learning model (Andersen, 1979), the motivation model (Christophel, 1990; Frymier, 1994), the affective learning model (Rodríguez, Plax, & Kearney, 1996), and the integrating model (Zhang & Oetzel, 2006b; Zhang, Oetzel, Gao, Wilcox, & Takai, 2007b). Although researchers have found support for each of these theoretical models, none of the models has emerged as the primary or most accurate description of immediacy and learning. We present them here in chronological order of their development.

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The learning model Andersen (1979) posited a direct, linear, and causal relationship between instructor nonverbal immediacy and student learning. This model proposes that instructors’ nonverbal immediacy cues directly affect student learning without any mediating factors. The effects of instructor nonverbal immediacy have been shown to be more pronounced in relation to affective learning, but meta-analysis has documented a small but significant association with cognitive learning as well (Witt et al., 2004).

The motivation model Christophel was the first to posit an indirect linear relationship between instructor immediacy and student cognitive and affective learning, which is mediated by students’ state motivation to learn (Christophel, 1990; Christophel & Gorham, 1995; Frymier, 1994). This model argues that students’ state motivation to learn functions as the central causal mediator between instructor immediacy and student learning. That is, immediate teachers cause higher motivation in students, which in turn enhances students’ affective and cognitive learning.

The affective learning model Rodríguez et al. (1996) posited an indirect linear relationship between instructor nonverbal immediacy and student cognitive learning, which is mediated by student affective learning rather than student state motivation. This model argues that cognitive learning is the ultimate end and that affective learning is only a means to the end. Immediate teachers evoke positive relational feelings from their students (i.e., affect for the teacher) and/or positive feelings toward the subject matter, which in turn enhances greater cognitive learning. Support for the affective learning model was obtained through meta-analysis (Allen, Witt, & Wheeless, 2006).

The integrating model Based on the above three models generated from American college classrooms, Zhang and Oetzel (2006b) proposed the integrating model, which essentially incorporates the three earlier models. The integrating model posits that instructor immediacy has both a direct path and an indirect path mediated through affective learning and motivation to cognitive learning. Zhang and Oetzel argued that, theoretically and empirically, affective learning and state motivation are two different constructs, although they are highly correlated in the educational setting. They

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proposed that instructor immediacy first increases students’ affect for the course and the instructor, the positive affect then motivates students to take actions to learn, and the stimulation finally leads to increased cognitive learning. In this model, both affective learning and state motivation are causal mediators between immediacy and cognitive learning. Rodríguez et al. (1996) contended that the affective learning model is superior to the motivation model theoretically and statistically because it offers a more relevant and parsimonious theoretical explanation of immediacy-learning relationship, and it produces less statistical error. In their cross-cultural test of the three U.S.based immediacy-learning models in Chinese classrooms, Zhang and Oetzel (2006b) found that the affective learning model has the best fit among the three models. Zhang and colleagues (Zhang & Oetzel, 2006b; Zhang et al., 2007b) also found that the integrating model has a better fit than the affective learning model. Clearly, then, determining the exact functions and effects of instructors’ verbal and nonverbal immediacy cues is a complex process, and the immediacy research area is ripe for further model testing and theory development.

Essential Findings from Instructor Immediacy Research Instructor Nonverbal Immediacy Scholars have categorized nonverbal communication cues into proxemics (physical closeness), haptics (physical touch), vocalics (vocal variety and expressiveness), kinesics (posture and facial/body movement), oculesics (eye behavior), and chronemics (time-related behaviors). When employed in the classroom, each of these types of cues may contribute to perceptions of instructor immediacy, but to differing degrees (Andersen & Andersen, 1982). The most prominent nonverbal immediacy cues used by instructors in the classroom pertain to smiles, eye gaze, gestures, relaxed body position, forward body leans, proximity, as well as vocal variety and expressiveness regarding tone, volume, pitch, volume, and rate (Andersen, 1979; McCroskey, Fayer, Richmond, Sallinen, & Barraclough, 1996; Myers, Zhong, & Guan, 1998; Neuliep, 1997; Sanders & Wiseman, 1990; Witt et al., 2010). The affective content of an interpersonal message is often carried by the nonverbal cues that accompany a verbal message. Thus, when students observe their teachers incorporating such nonverbal cues during classroom instruction, they report a number of positive perceptions. For example, students’ perceptions of instructor nonverbal immediacy are positively associated with affective learning (Andersen, 1979; Christensen & Menzel, 1998; Christophel, 1990; Comstock et al., 1995; Martin & Mottet, 2011; McCroskey, Fayer, et al., 1996; Pogue & Ahyun, 2006; Sanders & Wiseman, 1990; Witt & Wheeless, 2001; Zhang & Oetzel, 2006b), cognitive

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learning (Allen et al., 2006; Christensen & Menzel, 1998; Christophel, 1990; Comstock et al., 1995; McCroskey, Sallinen, et al., 1996; Richmond, Gorham, & McCroskey, 1987; Witt & Wheeless, 2001), behavioral learning (Christensen & Menzel, 1998; Comstock et al., 1995; Sanders & Wiseman, 1990), and motivation to learn (Christophel, 1990; Christophel & Gorham, 1995; Frymier, 1994; Hsu, 2010; Pogue & Ahyun, 2006; Zhang & Sapp, 2008). The positive relationship between instructor nonverbal immediacy and learning outcomes was evaluated in a meta-analysis of 81 immediacy-learning studies (Witt et al., 2004). The average relationship between instructor nonverbal immediacy and overall affective learning (i.e., affect for teacher and course) was .49; the relationship with perceived learning (i.e., students’ selfassessments of learning) was .51; and the relationship with cognitive learning (i.e., test grades, course grades, cognitive performance) was .17. Given that nonverbal cues often carry the affective, emotional, or relational components of interpersonal messages, it stands to reason that the association of nonverbal immediacy cues would be highest in perceptual outcome variables such as affect for the teacher, as opposed to measurable cognitive tasks such as performance on an exam. In addition to the key outcome variables of learning and motivation, instructor nonverbal immediacy is positively associated with a wide range of instructor, student, and classroom variables, such as perceived instructor credibility (Santilli et al., 2011; Witt & Kerssen-Griep, 2011; Zhang, 2009), clarity (Chesebro & McCroskey, 2001; Powell & Harville, 1990; Zhang & Huang, 2008), and socio-communicative style (Thomas, Richmond, & McCroskey, 1994). Instructor nonverbal immediacy has a negative relationship with instructor misbehavior (Thweatt & McCroskey, 1996; Zhang, 2007). It is positively associated with instructor-student out-of-class communication (Fusani, 1994; Jaasma & Koper, 1999, 2002; Zhang, 2006), students’ perceived understanding (Finn & Schrodt, 2012), students’ evaluation of instructors (McCroskey et al., 1995), interactional fairness (Kerssen-Griep & Witt, 2012), and students’ perceptions of being mentored (Kerssen-Griep & Witt, 2015). In addition, instructor nonverbal immediacy is positively associated with student compliance (Burroughs, 2007), student intent to persist in college (Witt, Schrodt, Wheeless, & Bryand, 2014), arousal and sensory stimulation (Andersen & Andersen, 1982), but inversely correlated with student resistance (Burroughs, 2007), challenge behavior (Goodboy & Myers, 2009), classroom communication apprehension (Zhang, 2005; Zhang et al., 2007b), and incivility (Miller, Katt, Brown, & Sivo, 2014). Taken together, this body of research highlights the strategic role of instructor nonverbal immediacy in teaching-learning processes in the typical classroom. In their ongoing research programs investigating classroom immediacy, scholars have detected some moderating effects for instructor nonverbal immediacy. For example, the presence of instructor immediacy cues may moderate the effects of perceived instructor credibility, perceived caring, and instructor clarity as they influence student learning outcomes (Chesebro & McCroskey, 2001; Comadena, Hunt, & Simonds, 2007; Zhang, 2009). Comadena et al. (2007) found that instructor

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nonverbal immediacy and caring interact to influence student motivation. Immediacy also moderates the effects of different levels of instructional technology use on students’ perceptions of instructor credibility (Witt & Schrodt, 2006). Students’ perceptions of nonverbal immediacy were found to interact with the curvilinear effects of expected technology use to influence their perceptions of instructor credibility (Witt & Schrodt, 2006). The curvilinear effect of expected technology use had a greater impact on students’ perceptions of highly immediate teachers than on students’ perceptions of nonimmediate teachers. However, though instructor nonverbal immediacy clearly influences student motivation, there is no evidence that it moderates students’ text messaging during class, likely because texting has become an integral part of students’ daily media usage or a habitual behavior across classes (Wei & Wang, 2010).

Instructor Verbal Immediacy Early in the development of the immediacy construct, Mehrabian (1971; Wiener & Mehrabian, 1968) articulated a taxonomy of word choices and syntactic structures that could potentially result in perceptions of psychological closeness between communicators. Mehrabian identified such verbal structures as inclusivity (we vs. you), probability (will vs. might), and activity (active vs. passive voice), noting that these subtle verbal choices might communicate differing degrees of interpersonal identification, approval, and involvement. Some years later, Gorham (1988) brought this dimension of immediacy into classroom research by expanding the construct of instructor immediacy to include the verbal component. To operationalize verbal immediacy, she created the Verbal Immediacy Behaviors instrument, including such items as the use of personal examples, students’ first names, “we” and “our,” self-disclosure, praise and humor, as well as the willingness to initiate conversations with individual students. Arguing that both verbal and nonverbal communication cues contribute to students’ favorable perceptions of their teacher, she reported positive associations between verbal/nonverbal immediacy and students’ perceived affective and cognitive learning (Gorham, 1988). The study of combined verbal and nonverbal immediacy is theoretically sound, given that instructional messages typically involve both vocal and visual cues (Witt et al., 2010), so a number of scholars utilized Gorham’s (1988) Verbal Immediacy Behaviors instrument in the 1990s and early 2000s to examine the role of immediacy in classroom instruction (e.g., Christophel, 1990; Hess, & Smythe, 2001; Myers et al., 1998). Some of the studies reported separate results for verbal immediacy and nonverbal immediacy (e.g., Christensen & Menzel, 1998; Frymier, 1994), whereas others reported only combined immediacy associations (e.g., Neuliep, 1997; Sanders & Wiseman, 1990). The strength of the relationship between instructor verbal immediacy and students’ learning was assessed by Witt and his colleagues (2004), whose meta-analysis of 81 studies involving more than 24,000 par-

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ticipants reported an overall effect size of .49 with affective learning, .49 with perceived learning, and only .06 with cognitive learning. The comparatively small association with performed cognitive learning (e.g., exam grades, course grades, GPA, performance assessment), stood in contrast to the greater association between verbal immediacy and students’ perceptions (i.e., affect for the teacher and course, self-assessment of learning). These findings, along with similar effect sizes for nonverbal immediacy, led the researchers to conclude, “Even though students like more highly immediate teachers and think they learn more from their courses, actual cognitive learning is not affected as much as they think it is” (Witt et al., 2004, p. 201). In addition to its association with student learning, instructor verbal immediacy is also positively correlated with student state motivation to learn (Christensen & Menzel, 1998; Christophel, 1990), faculty-student out-of-class communication (Faranda, 2015; Jaasma & Koper, 1999), student self-efficacy and task value motivation (Velez & Cano, 2012), student creativity (Harrison, 2013), and online participation and satisfaction (Al Ghamdi, Samarji, & Watt, 2016). It should be noted, however, that findings based on data from Gorham’s (1988) Verbal Immediacy Behaviors instrument should be interpreted with caution, as the validity of the measure has been challenged (see Robinson & Richmond, 1995 and the Measurement section below).

Instructor Immediacy Across Cultures Multi-cultural Classrooms in the United States Initial research on instructor immediacy was largely restricted to American classrooms and based on primarily homogeneous samples of Caucasian students from middle-class families. Acknowledging that American classrooms are often culturally diverse, scholars later turned their attention to potential variations in perceptions and effects of instructor immediacy based on the ethnicity of students and instructors. For example, scholars have reported comparative studies involving African-American and Euro-American students (Gendrin & Rucker, 2007; Neuliep, 1995), White, Asian, and Hispanic students (Powell & Harville, 1990), and Caucasian, Asian, Hispanic, and African-American students (Sanders & Wiseman, 1990). Collectively, their findings suggest that the overall association between immediacy and learning is generally positive among the major ethnic groups in American classrooms (McCroskey, Fayer, et al., 1996), but that the magnitude of the relationship sometimes varies among these groups. For example, comparative analysis of one multi-cultural student population indicated that immediacy cues such as smiling, praise, eye contact, and humor had more robust pan-cultural effects, whereas using personal examples was significant only for Hispanic and Black students, and

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gesturing and addressing students by name were important to White and Asian students (Powell & Harville, 1990). Although this line of research documented some small differences among ethnic groups, it should be noted that the similarities among these groups appeared to be greater than their differences (Johnson & Miller, 2002; McCroskey, Fayer, et al., 1996; McCroskey, Sallinen, et al., 1996).

Instructor Immediacy in Classrooms Beyond the United States Following a call by McCroskey et al. (1995) for the examination of instructor immediacy in cultures outside the United States, scholars conducted investigations in college classrooms in Australia, Finland, and Puerto Rico (McCroskey et al., 1995; McCroskey, Fayer, et al., 1996; McCroskey, Sallinen, et al., 1996), Japan (Neuliep, 1997), China (Myers et al., 1998; Zhang & Oetzel, 2006a, 2006b; Zhang et al., 2007a), Germany (Roach & Byrne, 2001), Kenya (Johnson & Miller, 2002), Turkey (Ozmen, 2011), and Brazil (Santilli et al., 2011). Generally, the results indicated that American students perceived a greater degree of immediacy from their instructors than did their counterparts in Japan (Neuliep, 1997), China (Myers et al., 1998), Germany (Roach & Byrne, 2001), Kenya (Johnson & Miller, 2002), Australia and Finland (McCroskey et al., 1995), but approximately the same degree of immediacy as Puerto Rican students (McCroskey et al., 1995; McCroskey, Fayer, et al., 1996; McCroskey, Sallinen, et al., 1996). These findings confirm the acceptance and frequent use of instructor immediacy in the United States, but they also indicate that immediacy cues are enacted in many other cultures. Instructor immediacy is not a uniquely American phenomenon. As researchers examined immediacy in classrooms around the world, they observed some apparent differences in the relative appropriateness of immediacy cues during instruction. For example, engaging in small talk, self-disclosure, and addressing students by the first name – instructional practices common in American classrooms – may be considered inappropriate or even offensive in Chinese classrooms, where instructors generally address students by the full name (Myers et al., 1998; Zhang & Oetzel, 2006b). Another important finding of intercultural studies relates to students’ expectations for their teachers to be somewhat immediate during classroom instruction. In cultures like the United States and Puerto Rico where expectations for immediacy are high, non-immediate instruction may have a negative impact on learning (Witt & Schrodt, 2006). By contrast, in China (Myers et al., 1998) and Japan (Neuliep, 1997) students do not typically expect their teachers to be verbally affiliative and nonverbally relational. When instructors in these countries enact immediacy cues, if the expectancy violations are viewed positively by students, learning may be enhanced (McCroskey, Fayer, et al., 1996; McCroskey, Sallinen, et al., 1996; Neuliep, 1997). However, if these unexpectedly immediate instructors are viewed as committing negative violations of cultural norms, learning and other classroom

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outcomes could be negatively affected. Thus, instructors around the world should be sensitive to local cultural expectations and norms and enact immediacy cues in ways that promote a supportive classroom environment and a positive teacherstudent relationship in accordance with the norms of local culture.

The Measurement of Instructor Immediacy In this section we will consider the challenges faced by researchers as they seek to collect valid data for their immediacy investigations. Instructor verbal and nonverbal immediacy are most likely isomorphic constructs: “Although verbal and nonverbal immediacy are sometimes treated as one construct, they actually represent two distinct constructs with separate measures” (Robinson & Richmond, 1995, p. 80). Consequently, instructor verbal and nonverbal immediacy have been operationalized using two different scales that tap into distinctive types of behaviors (Robinson & Richmond, 1995), but the scales are largely behavior-oriented, and the items ask students to describe the frequency of these instructor immediacy cues (Frymier & Thompson, 1995).

Nonverbal Immediacy Measures For her initial study of classroom immediacy, Andersen (1979) created the Generalized Immediacy (GI) scale and the Behavioral Indicants of Immediacy (BII) scale to measure perceived instructor nonverbal immediacy. The high-inference GI comprises nine semantic differential items measuring overall instructor nonverbal immediacy, whereas the low-inference BII consists of fifteen 7-point Likert-type items measuring frequency of use of immediacy cues. The GI and BII were often used in conjunction, but the high-inference nature of the GI was presumed to be the cause for the low validity coefficients between instructors’ and students’ reports of the same immediacy cues (McCroskey, Fayer, et al., 1996; McCroskey, Sallinen, et al., 1996; Richmond et al., 2003). Richmond et al. (1987) modified the BII and renamed it the Nonverbal Immediacy Measure (NIM). The 14-item NIM was “a low-inference measure with a reference base consistent for all students, regardless of subject matter being studied or the culture of the student” (McCroskey et al., 1995, p. 284). Although the NIM has been found to demonstrate reliability and validity in many studies, some items relating to sitting, standing, or touching were found to be poor items, and the elimination of these items turned out to increase the reliability of the measure. This gave rise to the revised version of NIM (RNIM), which consists of ten 5-point Likert-type items, measuring the frequency of the use of gestures, eye contact, smiles, and vocal variety (McCroskey et al., 1995).

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Early measures limited the scope of immediacy research to classroom communication. To extend immediacy research into more varied contexts of instructional, interpersonal, and organizational communication, Richmond et al. (2003) developed a 26-item Nonverbal Immediacy Scale (NIS), which could be used as a selfreport (NIS-S) or other/observer-report (NIS-O). Although most items were drawn from previous instruments, additional items (e.g., I look over or away from others while talking to them) were added to balance positively and negatively worded items (Richmond et al., 2003). The NIS was found to demonstrate high reliability, strong content, and predictive validity (Richmond et al., 2003).

Verbal Immediacy Measures Gorham (1988) developed the Verbal Immediacy Behaviors (VIB) instrument by asking students “to think of the best instructors they had throughout all their years of school and list the specific behavior which characterized those instructors” (p. 43). The resulting 20 scale items included use of personal examples or experiences, use of humor, use of first names and praises, and asking questions. Following its introduction in 1988, the scale has been used widely both within and across cultures. Though the VIB is reported to have adequate reliabilities ranging from .76 to .94 (Christophel, 1990; Christophel & Gorham, 1995; Frymier, 1994; Gorham, 1988; Myers et al., 1998; Neuliep, 1997), the validity of the scale has been called into question. For example, Hess and Smythe’s (2001) critique inferred that items on the VIB bore little resemblance to Mehrabian’s original linguistic taxonomies (1969; Wiener & Mehrabian, 1968). In addition, Gorham’s methods of scale development encountered criticism because they appeared to generate items representing “verbally effective instructor behaviors, not necessarily verbally immediate behaviors. The face validity of the scale, therefore, is for a scale measuring instructor effectiveness, not a scale measuring instructor immediacy” (Robinson & Richmond, 1995, p. 81). Discontent with the VIB led Mottet and Richmond (1998) to undertake the development of a new verbal immediacy measure. In order to develop theoretically sound scale items, they returned to Mehrabian’s (1968) typologies of verbal approach-avoidance strategies that should comprise a measure of verbally immediate instruction. After developing items and testing a preliminary instrument, they concluded that instructor verbal immediacy is a more complex construct than scripted, text-based linguistic codes or messages teachers use to identify with course content and show interpersonal approach toward students. Moreover, Richmond and her colleagues (2003) argued that the portion of instructional messages containing proximity, duration, probability, and inclusivity might be too small to justify further investigations of verbal immediacy in classroom communication. Given the absence of a valid verbal immediacy measure, current thinking is that scholars are on more stable theoretical ground when they confine their studies to instructor

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nonverbal immediacy (Hess & Smythe, 2001; Mottet & Richmond, 1998; Richmond et al., 2003; Robinson & Richmond, 1995).

Challenges with Instructor Immediacy Research Instructor immediacy research, in spite of its remarkable progress, faces some challenges if it is to maintain a respected place among instructional communication scholars. These challenges frequently involve criticisms of research design, data collection procedures, and cultural limitations. In this section we briefly examine each of these concerns.

Research Design Although self-reports are not uncommon as a means of data collection, a very large number of immediacy research findings are based on students’ reports of instructor immediacy rather than actual, measured, or manipulated immediacy cues. Of course, researchers find survey research designs to be convenient ways to accumulate data from participants, as opposed to staging controlled experiments. Aware of the risk of halo effects (Feeley, 2002), some researchers have been careful to test for evidence that students’ individual differences may be potentially influencing their reporting of instructor immediacy (e.g., Frymier & Thompson, 1995). Inherent in survey designs is the possibility that students’ perceptions of instructor immediacy might be confounded with or biased by their judgments of the instructor based on other factors – like easy grading, pacing and style, even physical attractiveness – that might increase students’ affect and liking for the instructor. The concern is that these impressions may, in turn, influence students’ perceptions of instructor immediacy (Hess & Smythe, 2001). Given the perceptual nature of students’ reports of observed instructor immediacy cues and the current challenges to the validity of immediacy measurement, some scholars are now turning to experimental research and the controlled manipulation of levels or frequencies of immediacy cues. For example, Smythe and Hess (2005) videotaped instructors in the natural classroom environment. They asked students to report their perceptions of instructor nonverbal immediacy, and they had two trained assistants code the incidences of instructor immediacy in the videotapes. Surprisingly, researchers observed no significant correlation between the student reports and the instructor reports of instructor nonverbal immediacy. Thus, they concluded that student reports might not be a valid way to measure teacher immediacy behaviors. Other experimental researchers (e.g., Pogue & AhYun, 2006; Witt & Kerssen-Griep, 2011; Zhang & Sapp, 2008) have manipulated levels of instructor immediacy use to assess the effects of immediacy on classroom outcomes.

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Overall, the effect sizes observed in experimental research are smaller than in survey studies (Witt et al., 2004). The discrepancy between a teacher’s communicative actions and students’ perceptions of those actions gives rise to the question: Which dimension is more valid? In terms of teaching and learning, is it more critical that instructors actually perform certain communicative actions, or is it the students’ perceptual observations that have the greater impact on outcomes? This unresolved question will continue to be of concern in ongoing immediacy research.

Data Collection Instruments Research findings are deemed credible only if they are based on valid and reliable data. Since the earliest classroom immediacy studies, the validity of instructor verbal and nonverbal immediacy measures has been a constant concern (Witt et al., 2010). Over the years, scholars have adjusted the nonverbal immediacy measures by editing or removing some original, dated items such as touching students and sitting vs. standing while teaching; though these communication cues were part of Mehrabian’s (1969) original conceptualization of interpersonal immediacy and included in Andersen’s (1979) initial instructor immediacy study, they were found to be inappropriate or no longer relevant in most American college classrooms (Hess & Smythe, 2001; Richmond et al., 2003). For example, “sitting in a chair while teaching” or “having a tense body position” might be problematic for instructors who use a wheelchair, resulting in lower scores on perceived nonverbal immediacy (Hess & Smythe, 1996; Moore, Masterson, Christophel, & Shea, 1996). Problems with the validity of verbal immediacy measurement were noted earlier in this chapter, and questions persist concerning the face validity of Gorham’s (1988) Verbal Immediacy Behaviors instrument. Consequently, instructor verbal immediacy research has slowed considerably in recent years, as some leading scholars have called for cessation until a valid measure can be generated (Hess & Smythe, 2001; Witt et al., 2010).

Cultural Limitations As stated earlier, instructor immediacy is not a uniquely American concept, but a culturally sensitive enactment of affiliation that differs from culture to culture. Therefore, scholars should exercise caution in generalizing findings across cultures, especially when measures themselves probably contain inherent cultural bias. Like many other U.S.-based concepts, theories, and paradigms, instructor immediacy measures derived from U.S. classrooms are not void of Eurocentric bias, which becomes problematic when they are applied directly across cultures because immediacy is culturally loaded (Zhang & Oetzel, 2006a). Some immediacy cues in American college classrooms might be perceived as negative expectancy violations

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in other cultures due to different communication norms and expectations, instructor-student relationships, roles, and responsibilities (Myers et al., 1998; Neuliep, 1997). For example, moving around the classroom and gesturing frequently are deemed as immediate in U.S. classrooms, but they might be perceived as inappropriate or even nonimmediate in other cultures such as Japan, where dynamic, expressive communication styles are not encouraged (Neuliep, 1997). Zhang and Oetzel (2006a) identified three major Eurocentric biases in instructor immediacy scales, the first being that instructors could build immediacy through in-class communication behaviors only. These classroom-focus-only immediacy scales might not apply to Chinese educational contexts. Due to the accentuation of holistic teaching embracing instructors’ instructional and pastoral roles, Chinese instructors’ roles are expected to extend beyond classrooms to out-of-class domains (Biggs & Watkins, 2001; Ho, 2001). Thus, in China, an effective instructor immediacy scale should measure both instructors’ in-class communication behaviors and their out-of-class communication and involvement with students, which inseparably contribute to the measurement of instructor immediacy cues. The second Eurocentric bias concerns specific scale items that reflect dominant U.S. cultural values honoring small power distance and individualism. In the U.S. culture that values equality and egalitarianism, instructors usually address students by the first name or encourage students to address them by the first name to minimize their power distance and to enhance closeness. However, this immediate practice is inappropriate in the large power distance and collectivistic Chinese culture, which treats instructors as the authority in the classroom and expects obedience and conformity from students. Chinese instructors are expected to address students by their full name. Other American immediacy cues are considered inappropriate in China, such as small talk, using or eliciting personal information, and self-disclosure (Myers et al., 1998). The third Eurocentric bias concerns the (mis)conception that instructor immediacy should be oriented primarily toward in-class instructional messages. The instruction-based operationalization of instructor immediacy is reflective of the larger task-oriented or substantive-focused pragmatic mentality in the United States, but in China the triple role of the instructor as an instructor, parent, and moral model requires that instructor-student interactions go beyond instructional-level issues to relational-level issues. Instructors are expected to perform effective teaching, demonstrate good morality, and show genuine concern for students’ personal life and problems. Therefore, a Chinese perspective of instructor immediacy should integrate both instructional and relational behaviors (Zhang & Oetzel, 2006a). The inherent cultural limitations of instructor immediacy research pose a significant challenge to cross-cultural equivalence, and scholars should be careful to avoid applying an emically derived construct or measure to other cultures (Brislin, 2000; Gudykunst, 2000; Heine, Lehman, Peng, & Greenholtz, 2002). Cross-cultural equivalence includes conceptual, linguistic, sample, instrument, and metric equiv-

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alence. As of yet, scholars have produced scant research on the topic of etic and emic scales, and the cultural impact on meaning and scaling of constructs has not yet received adequate attention from instructional communication researchers (Plank, 1998). Instrument equivalence is a key methodological concern in crosscultural comparisons; however, due to the difficulty in developing truly etic measures that cut across cultures, some researchers have assumed that a scale from one culture applies equally well to other cultures. The imposed pseudoetics can create serious problems for research findings (Gudykunst, 2000; Yu, Keown, & Jacobs, 1993). Culture-bound emic scales cannot yield valid and reliable results if they are used inappropriately in cross-cultural research, because theoretically cross-cultural comparison requires etic scales, which are supposed to be culturally free or at least culturally fair (Plank, 1998).

Directions for Future Instructor Immediacy Research Given the extensive findings of more than three decades of immediacy research, and given the current challenges of measurement and cultural limitations, what should be the focus of future immediacy research? First, because most instructor immediacy research to date has been conducted in the United States, the possibilities are endless for examinations of cultural influences on instructor immediacy. Only then will we capture a fuller vision of the construct and understand the repertoire of indigenous immediacy cues. As one example, Zhang and Oetzel (2006a) found the Chinese perception of teacher immediacy to be more holistic, embracing instructional, relational, and personal dimensions, whereas the American perception is more instruction-oriented. Their study represents a step in the direction of advancing alternative and/or multiple perspectives in instructional communication. Future research should be strengthened in the emic conceptualization of culture-loaded instructional constructs and the development of corresponding emic instruments to capture the full domain of the constructs and to maximize crosscultural equivalence in cross-cultural studies. Second, given that online learning is becoming an increasingly important alternative to the traditional classroom learning, an emerging area of research is instructor immediacy in online learning environments, which certainly merits more scholarly attention (Arbaugh, 2001). Online learning offers undeniable advantages in flexibility, accessibility, and convenience, but existing studies still largely focus on instructor immediacy in conventional face-to-face settings. Thus, there is a need to extend the line of research to online learning environments (Baker, 2010). Instructors in online courses can still use verbal immediacy behaviors, such as humor, addressing students by name, encouraging discussions, or providing feedback, even if they are restricted to a text-only context (Arbaugh, 2001). There is every reason to believe that perceptions of instructor immediacy can be transmitted

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across distance delivery systems of all types. Researchers in the era of videotaped distance courses found that instructor nonverbal immediacy was associated with perceived instructor competence and likability (Guerrero and Miller, 1998), as well as student learning and satisfaction (Walker & Hackman, 1991). In fact, Walker and Hackman reported that video instructors’ nonverbal immediacy was the greatest predictor of students’ desire to take another video-based course from the same instructor. These early studies prompted Murphy and Farr (1993) to conclude, “It is particularly important for distance instructors to incorporate behaviors in their teaching that will reduce the learners’ sense of physical and psychological distance. One way to reduce this sense of distance is for the instructors to use immediacy behaviors” (p. 2). These preliminary studies can serve as a springboard from which to launch further investigations of the effects of instructor immediacy in the computer-mediated environment of web-based learning (Baker, 2010). Third, there is much to be learned concerning the complicated immediacylearning relationship, particularly the moderating and mediating effects of instructor immediacy. Additional work must be conducted to refine or redesign a more complete immediacy-learning theoretical model. Although Zhang and Oetzel (2006b) found that the integrating model has better fit than the learning model, the motivation model, and the affective learning model, the integrating model comprises only four variables (immediacy, affective learning, state motivation, and cognitive learning) identified in earlier models. Thoughtful researchers may uncover additional variables as of yet unidentified, and these variables may be found to moderate or mediate the effects of instructor immediacy on student learning. After all, the reason instructors teach is to enhance student learning, and a more complete understanding of instructor immediacy may very well contribute to more effective teaching and learning.

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Mottet, T. P., & Richmond, V. P. (1998). An inductive analysis of verbal immediacy: Alternative conceptualization of relational verbal approach/avoidance strategies. Communication Quarterly, 46, 25–40. doi:10.1080/01463379809370082 Murphy, K. L., & Farr, C. W. (1993, January). The critical role of the ID in interactive television: The value of immediacy. In Proceedings of Selected Research and Development Presentations from the convention of the Association for Educational Communications and Technology, New Orleans, LA. Myers, S. A., Zhong, M., & Guan. S. (1998). Instructor immediacy in the Chinese college classroom. Communication Studies, 49, 240–254. doi:10.1080/10510979809368534 Neuliep, J. W. (1997). A cross-cultural comparison of instructor immediacy in American and Japanese college classrooms. Communication Research, 24, 431–451. doi:10.1177/009365097024004006 Ozmen, K. S. (2011). Perception of nonverbal immediacy and effective teaching among student instructors: A study across cultural extremes. International Online Journal of Educational Sciences, 3, 865–881. Plank, R. E. (1998). The emic versus etic dilemma in cross-cultural marketing research: A personal construct theory perspective. Proceedings of the Midwest Marketing Association Meeting, 80–94. Pogue, L. L., & Ahyun, K. (2006). The effect of instructor nonverbal immediacy and credibility on student motivation and affective learning. Communication Education, 55, 331–344. doi:10.1080/03634520600748623 Powell, R. G., & Harville, B. (1990). The effects of instructor immediacy and clarity on instructional outcomes: An intercultural assessment. Communication Education, 39, 369–379. doi:10.1080/03634529009378816 Richmond, V. P., Gorham, J. S., & McCroskey, J. C. (1987). The relationship between selected immediacy behaviors and cognitive learning. Communication Yearbook, 10, 574–590. Richmond, V. P., McCroskey, J. C., & Johnson, A. D. (2003). Development of the nonverbal immediacy scale (NIS): Measures of self-and other-perceived nonverbal immediacy. Communication Quarterly, 51, 504–517. doi:10.1080/01463370309370170 Roach, K. D., & Byrne, P. R. (2001). A cross-cultural comparison of instructor communication in American and German classrooms. Communication Education, 50, 1–14. doi:10.1080/03634520109379228 Robinson, R. Y., & Richmond, V. P. (1995). Validity of the verbal immediacy scale. Communication Research Reports, 12, 80–84. doi:10.1080/08824099509362042 Rodriguez, J. I., Plax, T. G., & Kearney, P. (1996). Clarifying the relationship between teacher nonverbal immediacy and cognitive learning: Affective learning as the central causal mediator. Communication Education, 45, 293–305. doi:10.1080/03634529609379059 Sanders, J. A., & Wiseman, R. L. (1990). The effects of verbal and nonverbal instructor immediacy on perceived cognitive, affective, and behavioral learning in the multicultural classroom. Communication Education, 39, 341–353. doi:10.1080/03634529009378814 Santilli, V., Miller, A. N., & Katt, J. (2011). A comparison of the relationship between instructor nonverbal immediacy and instructor credibility in Brazilian and US classrooms. Communication Research Reports, 28, 266–274. doi:10.1080/08824096.2011.588583 Smythe, M., & Hess, J. A. (2005). Are student self-reports a valid method for measuring teacher nonverbal immediacy? Communication Education, 54, 170–179. doi:10.1080/03634520500213389 Thomas, C. E., Richmond, V. P., & McCroskey, J. C. (1994). The association between immediacy and socio-communicative style. Communication Research Reports, 11, 107–114. doi:10.1080/08824099409359946

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Thweatt, K. S., & McCroskey, J. C. (1996). Instructor nonimmediacy and misbehavior: Unintentional negative communication. Communication Research Reports, 13, 198–204. doi:10.1080/08824099609362087 Velez, J. J., & Cano, J. (2012). Instructor verbal and nonverbal immediacy and the relationship with student self-efficacy and task value motivation. Journal of Agricultural Education, 53, 87–98. Walker, K. B., & Hackman, M. Z. (1991, November). Information transfer and nonverbal immediacy as primary predictors of learning and satisfaction in the televised course. Paper presented at the convention of the Speech Communication Association, Atlanta, GA. Wei, F. Y. F., & Wang, Y. K. (2010). Students’ silent messages: Can instructor verbal and nonverbal immediacy moderate student use of text messaging in class? Communication Education, 59, 475–496. doi:10.1080/03634523.2010.496092 Wiener, M., & Mehrabian, A. (1968). Language within language: Immediacy, a channel in verbal communication. New York, NY: Appleton-Century-Crofts. Witt, P. L., & Kerssen-Griep, J. (2011). Instructional feedback I: The interaction of facework and immediacy on students’ perceptions of instructor credibility. Communication Education, 60, 75–94. doi:10.1080/03634523.2010.507820 Witt, P. L., & Schrodt, P. (2006). The influence of instructional technology use and instructor immediacy on student affect for instructor and course. Communication Reports, 19, 1–15. doi:10.1080/08934210500309843 Witt, P. L. Schrodt, P., & Turman, P. D. (2010). Instructor immediacy: Creating connections conducive to classroom learning. In D. L. Fassett & J. T. Warren (Eds.), The Sage handbook of communication and instruction (pp. 201–220). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Witt, P. L. Schrodt, P., Wheeless, V. E., & Bryand, M. C. (2014). Students’ intent to persist in college: Moderating the negative effects of receiver apprehension with instructor credibility and nonverbal Immediacy. Communication Studies, 65, 330–352. doi:10.1080/10510974.2013.811428 Witt, P. L., & Wheeless, L. R. (2001). An experimental study of teachers’ verbal and nonverbal immediacy and students’ affective and cognitive learning. Communication Education, 50, 327–342. doi:10.1080/03634520109379259 Witt, P. L., Wheeless, L. R., & Allen, M. (2004). A meta-analytical review of the relationship between instructor immediacy and student learning. Communication Monographs, 71, 184– 207. doi:10.1080/036452042000228054 Yu, J. H., Keown, C. F., & Jacobs, L. W. (1993). Attitude scale methodology: Cross-cultural implications. Journal of International Consumer Marketing, 6, 45–64. doi:10.1300/J046v06n02_05 Zhang, Q. (2005). Instructor immediacy and classroom communication apprehension: A crosscultural investigation. Journal of Intercultural Communication Research, 34, 48–63. Zhang, Q. (2006). Immediacy and out-of-class communication: A cross-cultural comparison. International Journal of Intercultural Relations, 30, 33–50. doi:10.1016/j.ijintrel.2005.06.006 Zhang, Q. (2007). Instructor misbehaviors as learning demotivators in college classrooms: A cross-cultural investigation in China, Germany, Japan, and the United States. Communication Education, 56, 209–227. doi:10.1080/03634520601110104 Zhang, Q. (2009). Perceived instructor credibility and student learning: Development of a multicultural model. Western Journal of Communication, 73, 326–347. doi:10.1080/10570310903082073 Zhang, Q., & Huang, B. (2008). How does instructor clarity affect student learning? A multicultural test for the mediated effect. Texas Speech Communication Journal, 33, 10–19. Zhang, Q., & Oetzel, J. G. (2006a). Constructing and validating an instructor immediacy scale: A Chinese perspective. Communication Education, 55, 218–241. doi:10.1080/03634520600566231

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Zhang, Q., & Oetzel, J. G. (2006b). A cross-cultural test of immediacy-learning models in Chinese classrooms. Communication Education, 55, 313–330. doi:10.1080/03634520600748599 Zhang, Q., Oetzel, J. G., Gao, X., Wilcox, R. G., & Takai, J. (2007a). Instructor immediacy scales: Testing for validity across cultures. Communication Education, 56, 228–248. doi:10.1080/03634520601089092 Zhang, Q., Oetzel, J. G., Gao, X., Wilcox, R. G., & Takai, J. (2007b). A further test of immediacylearning models: A cross-cultural investigation. Journal of Intercultural Communication Research, 36, 1–13. doi:10.1080/17475750701265209 Zhang, Q., & Sapp, D. (2008). A burning issue in teaching: The impact of perceived instructor burnout and nonverbal immediacy on student motivation and affective learning. Journal of Communication Studies, 1, 152–168.

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8 Instructor Credibility Abstract: For centuries scholars have believed source credibility to be one of the central elements of persuasive communication. Aristotle envisioned ethos or credibility as an audience’s image of a particular source and suggested that it was the most potent means of persuasion. During the 1960s, communication scholars advanced empirically based approaches to the study of Aristotle’s theory of ethos. Students make attributions about an instructor’s credibility based on that instructor’s communication behavior. Instructor credibility – perceived character, caring, and competence – has emerged as a super-variable that affects teacher-student interactions and instructional outcomes. In this chapter we trace the genesis of ethos/credibility back to ancient Greece and summarize both early and contemporary social scientific work on source credibility, including operationalizations of the multi-dimensional construct. We review instructor characteristics that are positively or negatively associated with student perceptions of credibility and identify some demographic variables associated with instructor credibility. We conclude by considering theoretical and pedagogical implications of credibility across cultures, discussing possibilities for extending future research, and providing some research-based practical suggestions for instructors. Keywords: ethos, credibility, instructor characteristics, competence, character, goodwill, caring, trust, source, attribution, Aristotle

Twenty-five hundred years ago, long before anyone dreamed of printing presses, telephones, television, or texting, oratory was the primary mode of public communication. Ancient Greece was a culture in which laws and societal issues were debated and decided orally, and the most effective orators usually had the most influence. Aristotle (trans. 1932), a student of Plato and a skillful observer of human interaction, identified three types of appeals one might use when delivering a persuasive message: logos, logical appeals; pathos, emotional appeals; and ethos, source credibility. Aristotle espoused that the source of a message is a dominant factor in that message’s persuasiveness. He observed that the source of communication can have a tremendous influence on how an audience receives a message, and the findings of contemporary scholars bear this out. Simply put, people often reject information from sources that lack credibility (Beatty & Behnke, 1980). Research has shown that the effectiveness of a persuasive message is partly dependent upon the receivers’ perceptions of credibility of the source (Burgoon, 1976; Hovland, Janis, & Kelley, 1953; McCroskey, Holdridge, & Toomb, 1974; Miller & McReynolds, 1973). High-

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er audience attributions of source credibility correlate with greater persuasive effectiveness (McCroskey & Teven, 1999). The study of ethos, or credibility, has a long and rich history. Credibility is arguably the most studied construct across contexts within the human communication discipline, and more than four decades of research have been devoted to understanding credibility in instructional communication settings. As will become evident in this chapter, credibility can be considered an instructional communication super-variable because it is related to so many other instructional communication variables. McCroskey and his colleagues (1974) were the first to argue the importance of credibility for instructors in the classroom and to recognize its power to influence student learning outcomes. In this chapter we trace the genesis of ethos/credibility back to ancient Greece and summarize both early and contemporary social scientific work on source credibility, including operationalizations of the multi-dimensional construct. We review instructor characteristics that are positively or negatively associated with student perceptions of credibility and identify some demographic variables associated with instructor credibility. We conclude by considering theoretical and pedagogical implications of credibility across cultures and discussing possibilities for extending future research.

Conceptual Foundations and Developmental Research Ethos, or credibility, was a major focus of theorizing and discussion in ancient Greece and Rome. For example, Aristotle (trans. 1932) viewed credibility as an audience’s image of a particular source and suggested that it was the most potent means of persuasion. Aristotle’s assertions have been corroborated by modern scholars whose research suggests that a speaker perceived to have high credibility tends to be more persuasive (O’Keefe, 2015; Stiff, 1986), and is seen as a more effective communicator (Infante, 1985), than a speaker with low credibility. Aristotle asserted that communicators must establish their credibility from the very beginning of a communication act because the receivers’ positive perceptions of the source can enhance the persuasiveness of that message. Thus, credibility is a dynamic construct: it is subject to change as a result of experiences that an audience has with a particular source (McCroskey, 1968). Source credibility is a multidimensional construct. Aristotle’s conceptualization of credibility is reflected in three primary dimensions: intelligence (sagacity and good sense), trustworthiness (good moral character), and goodwill. Intelligence consists of one’s possessing knowledge or expertise of a particular subject. Corax and Tisias (400 B.C.) essentially developed the study of communication, teaching

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effective persuasive speaking to citizens who needed to use these skills in courts to settle land disputes (Kennedy, 1999). They were already providing the foundation for the type of communication competence that Aristotle would call intelligence. If sources are to be perceived as intelligent, they must be perceived to know what they are talking about. Perceptions of intelligence depend both on one’s actual expertise and how that expertise is portrayed or communicated. Competent communicators explain complex material clearly, possess above-average communication skills, and have the ability to answer audience questions effectively. The essential question for listeners is, “Do we perceive this person to be an authority who speaks knowledgeably about the subject at hand?” The second dimension of source credibility is trustworthiness. Trust is a foundation of credibility and can influence attitude change (Giffin, 1967). Aristotle stated that audiences are more likely to believe people who have good character than those who do not. Persuasion is achieved by the speaker’s personal character when the speech is so spoken as to make us think him [sic] credible. We believe good men more fully and more readily than others: this is true generally whatever the question is, and absolutely true where exact certainty is impossible and opinions are divided … his [sic] character may almost be called the most effective means of persuasion he possesses. (Aristotle, trans. 1932, pp. 8–9)

The trustworthiness dimension is at the heart of the credibility construct. Within a relationship, even one in the public communication arena (speaker-audience), trustworthiness is the degree to which an audience member trusts a speaker or source. When audience members perceive that a speaker is not being truthful, they are likely to see that speaker as less credible. Goodwill, the third component of source credibility, has to do with the receivers’ perceptions of the speaker’s intentions toward them. Speakers who communicate goodwill demonstrate that they have their audiences’ best interests at heart. For instance, politicians often speak to the issues that concern voters the most. Speakers who communicate that they care about their audiences (more than their own selfish interests) will be perceived as more credible. Hence, credibility is not only based on positive qualities of a source, but also on the relationship a speaker builds with an audience through acts or expressions of goodwill. The brilliance of Aristotle’s conception of credibility is that it is audiencebased. Speakers do not possess credibility by themselves; rather, their credibility lies in the perception of the audience. It is important for speakers to learn how to communicate in such a manner that their audience members will attribute to them the quality of credibility. As Teven and McCroskey (1997) asserted, “It is not the caring that counts; it is the perception of caring that is critical” (p. 1). As recipients and evaluators of the message, it is the audience who ultimately makes the assessment of source credibility, and in the classroom it is students who assess the credibility of their instructor.

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Other notable rhetoricians also placed importance on the integrity of the speaker in communication. Quintilian emphasized credibility in his reference to “a good man speaking well” (Murphy, 1983, p. 156). He described the ideal Roman orator as one who is “virtuous, efficient, courageous, eloquent” (Murphy, 1983, p. 175). Isocrates, a contemporary of Aristotle, also considered the speaker’s credibility in the persuasion process. Specifically, Isocrates discussed a speaker’s prior reputation, which must be established and developed over time, to be more important than substance or content of the rhetorical discourse. As Isocrates stressed in Antidosis (trans. 1929), “The man who wishes to persuade people will not be negligent as to the matter of character; no, on the contrary he will apply himself above all to establish a most honorable name among his fellow citizens” (p. 339). Cicero advanced Aristotle’s theory of credibility by suggesting that word choice and speaking style affect an audience’s perceptions of the speaker’s character (Smith, 2012).

Early Social Scientific Work on Source Credibility The role of source credibility in communication has been studied extensively for several decades (Andersen & Clevenger, 1963; Berlo, Lemert, & Mertz, 1971; Hewgill & Miller, 1965; Hovland et al., 1953; McCroskey, 1966; McCroskey & Dunham, 1966; McCroskey & Young, 1981; Miller & Hewgill, 1964; Self, 1996). Overall, research has shown that the effectiveness of a persuasive message is partly dependent upon the receiver’s perceptions of credibility of the source (Burgoon, 1976; McCroskey et al., 1974; Miller & McReynolds, 1973). Early experimental results in psychology revealed unequivocal evidence of the positive relationship between the credibility of the communicator and attitude change (Arnet, Davidson, & Lewis, 1931; Aronson, Turner, & Carlsmith, 1963; Bochner & Insko, 1966; Haiman, 1949; Hovland & Weiss, 1952; Kelman & Hovland, 1953; Kulp, 1934). An important program of research on source credibility and attitude change was developed at Yale University (Hovland et al., 1953; Hovland & Weiss, 1952). As an extension of Aristotle’s three elements of intelligence, character, and goodwill, Hovland et al. saw source credibility as composed of three elements: expertness, trustworthiness, and intention toward the receiver. Various other writers have used different terms, but generally theorists have agreed there is a dimension that can be referenced as competence (qualification, expertness, intelligence, authoritativeness) and another dimension that can be referenced as trustworthiness (character, sagacity, safety, honesty). The third dimension, goodwill or intention toward receiver, was for decades the “lost dimension” of credibility due to misanalysis and/or misinterpretation of data in a variety of empirical studies. As a result, this dimension was ignored by many contemporary researchers and theorists until the 1960s.

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The Factor Analytic Revolution From the mid-1960s to the early 1980s, scholars utilized factor analysis to test Aristotle’s original conceptualization of source credibility, investing considerable effort in the development of valid instruments to measure the construct (Applbaum & Anatol, 1973; Baudhuin & Davis, 1972; Berlo et al., 1971; Falcione, 1974; McCroskey, 1966; McCroskey & Jenson, 1975; McCroskey & Young, 1981; Tuppen, 1974; Whitehead, 1968). Most of these researchers accepted the traditional three-dimensional conceptualization, but some conducted purely exploratory studies to determine through factor analysis the exact number and identity of dimensions. In most of these studies dimensions that could be labeled competence and trustworthiness (or similar titles) were observed, but none adequately identified a third dimension that could be appropriately labeled goodwill or intent toward receiver. The goodwill dimension had always been included in the theoretical discussion, but decades of research into general person perception based on the meaning measurement approach (Osgood, Suci, & Tannenbaum, 1957) had taken the emphasis away from the theory-based examination of credibility (Cronkhite & Liska, 1976), which led to a myriad of new dimensions of credibility being “discovered.” Unfortunately, this approach only added confusion to the understanding of credibility. McCroskey and Young (1981) observed that, when subjected to factor analytic techniques, only two dimensions of credibility survived, with the third (goodwill) being subsumed under the other two dimensions. This was due to the fact that satisfactory measures of competence and trustworthiness had been developed, but not for goodwill. The resulting effect was that goodwill, as a component of the larger source credibility construct, was frequently overlooked or omitted from contemporary communication research. After a careful reconceptualization and operationalization of the goodwill dimension, two studies (Teven & McCroskey, 1997; McCroskey & Teven,1999) reexamined the source credibility construct, particularly the goodwill dimension. To operationalize the three-dimensional credibility construct asserted earlier by Aristotle, they used a 10-item bipolar scale that included a distinct goodwill (or perceived caring) dimension. They found that students’ perceptions of the caring of their teachers was independent of their other credibility perceptions (competence and trustworthiness) as confirmed by factor analysis. Moreover, those perceptions of caring predicted unique variance in teacher evaluation, affective evaluation of the content of the course, and student perceptions of their cognitive learning. Furthermore, after removing the variance predicted by competence, trustworthiness, or the two combined, analysis indicated a substantial proportion of the variance in each of the dependent variables was uniquely predicted by perceived caring. To replicate these findings outside the instructional context, McCroskey and Teven (1999) examined political sources, public sources, and interpersonal sources. Employing confirmatory factor analysis, they found further support for the traditional three-dimensional construct, as well as for the reliability and validity of the new goodwill/perceived caring measure. They developed and further refined

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the scale by measuring each dimension of credibility with six bipolar adjective items. The resulting 18-item measure, which is in use today, assesses the three dimensions of competence, trustworthiness, and perceived caring. Although each dimension contributes unique variance to the construct, they are all correlated with each other.

Goodwill/Perceived Caring Caring is a receiver perception, based on verbal and nonverbal behaviors of a source, that influences perceptions of credibility (Teven, 2001; Teven & Hanson, 2004). Within the instructional setting, a central perception of teachers made by students is the degree to which the teacher cares about them as individuals and as a class (McCroskey, 1992). Perceived caring, as discussed by Teven and McCroskey (1997), is similar to Aristotle’s conceptualization of a speaker’s goodwill toward an audience. Students often associate caring teachers with credible teachers (McCroskey, 1992). Caring teachers promote a climate of trust both within the classroom (Chory, 2007; Teven & Hanson, 2004) and in advisor-advisee interactions (Wrench & Punyanunt, 2004). In fact, Wrench and Punyanunt (2004) reported that graduate student advisees’ perceptions of their advisor’s caring/goodwill alone accounted for nearly 40 % of the variance in their perceptions of the effectiveness of the advisoradvisee relationship. Three factors lead students to perceive the teacher as caring about their welfare: empathy, understanding, and responsiveness (McCroskey, 1992). Empathy is one’s ability to identify with another’s situation or feelings. Prosocial behavior stems from altruistic motives and a concern for others (Stiff, Dillard, Somera, Kim, & Sleight, 1988). The second factor of teacher caring is understanding, or the ability to comprehend another person’s ideas, feelings, and needs. Perceived understanding has a positive impact in a variety of communication contexts (Cahn, 1986; Cahn & Shulman, 1984; Cushman & Cahn, 1985). Some teachers are adept at determining when students are encountering a problem either personally or with the course content, whereas other teachers seem insensitive to such matters. Responsiveness, the third factor of perceived caring, involves being other-oriented and having sensitivity toward others. The responsive individual is defined as ‘‘helpful, sympathetic, compassionate, sincere, and friendly’’ (Thomas, Richmond, & McCroskey, 1994, p. 109). Students typically evaluate teachers based on how they communicate caring (empathy, understanding, and responsiveness), and teachers who are perceived to communicate caring are also perceived as credible. Students’ attitudes toward their instructors are integral to important learning outcomes, and it is in the context of instructional communication that credibility emerges as a super-variable. In the classroom, the instructor is a central figure and the primary source of messages and information. If students do not place trust in their instructors, they may not make sufficient investment in the relationship or in

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the learning process and may even question the relevance or validity of the information their instructors present. On the other hand, positive perceptions of instructor credibility are associated with higher reports of student motivation (Jaasma & Koper, 1999; Martin, Chesebro, & Mottet, 1997) and various learning outcomes (Beatty & Zahn, 1990; Pogue & AhYun, 2006; Teven & McCroskey, 1997), especially the affective component consisting of positive regard for the instructor and the material presented in the course (Krathwohl, Bloom, & Masia, 1964). A recent meta-analysis conducted by Finn and colleagues (2009) explored the relationships among instructor credibility, instructor behaviors and traits, and student outcomes in over 50 independent studies. They concluded that, although overall instructor credibility plays a substantial role in both creating effective instructorstudent interpersonal relationships and enhancing student learning, it is the caring dimension that is the most salient of the three dimensions from the students’ perspective. In the American college classroom, instructors show their caring for their students in five ways: (1) they behave in ways that demonstrate their concern for student performance and/or grades; (2) they are concerned about their own teaching and classroom performance; (3) they solicit, and respond to, student questions and feedback; (4) they attempt to build positive interpersonal relationships with their students; and (5) they use nonverbal immediacy behaviors while teaching (Teven & Gorham, 1998). Teachers who exhibit these values and communicating styles are deemed as credible sources of course information.

Instructor Characteristics and Actions Associated with Credibility Instructional communication scholars have identified a number of instructor characteristics and behaviors associated with students’ attributions of instructor credibility, as well as characteristics or misbehaviors that may decrease those perceptions. For example, Mazer and Graham (2015) investigated instructors’ immediacy and clarity in relation to credibility and reported positive correlations among the three variables. Other scholars have studied additional instructor variables in relation to perceptions of credibility. We briefly summarize their findings here.

Nonverbal Immediacy Mehrabian (1969, 1971) originally advanced the immediacy concept in the interpersonal domain of communication. He defined immediacy as behaviors that “enhance closeness to and nonverbal interaction with another” (Mehrabian, 1969, p. 213). Andersen (1979) identified the nonverbal communication cues that increase perceptions of interpersonal closeness (immediacy) between teachers and students, in-

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cluding eye contact, gestures, relaxed body position, smiling, vocal expressiveness, movement, and proximity. Numbers of research studies have shown that teachers who engage in these communicative actions are perceived by their students as more credible than those who do not (e.g., Teven & Hanson, 2004), probably because these actions indicate caring and positive personal regard.

Affinity Seeking Affinity seeking is “the process by which individuals attempt to get other people to like and feel positive towards them” (Bell & Daly, 1984, p. 111). Teachers who employ more affinity-seeking strategies with students are perceived as more likeable and create a more positive classroom climate (Myers, 1995). Frymier and Thompson (1992) discovered positive relationships between instructor use of affinity-seeking behaviors and students’ perceptions of teacher competence and trustworthiness, two of the dimensions of credibility. Frymier and Thompson (1992) pointed out, however, that some of the affinity-seeking strategies appear to enhance perceptions of character (trustworthiness) but not perceptions of instructor competence. Hence, ongoing research programs will serve to clarify these discrepant findings.

Communicator Style Norton (1978) defined communicator style as “the way one verbally and paraverbally interacts to signal how literal meaning should be taken, interpreted, filtered, or understood” (p. 99). An instructor’s communicator style affects the way he or she presents course content (Nussbaum, 1992). For example, Sallinen-Kuparinen (1992) suggested that teachers perceived to be friendly, relaxed, dramatic, attentive, and open communicators are also perceived to be effective teachers, especially capable of generating high affective evaluations for their courses. Rubin and Feezel (1986) observed that teacher credibility and teacher effectiveness were best predicted by the communication styles of being relaxed and impression-leaving. Beatty and Behnke (1980) found that instructors who were consistent in their verbal and nonverbal messages accompanied by positive vocal cues were often perceived as more competent and possessing greater character. In fact, Teven and Comadena (1996) discovered students’ perceptions of instructor communicator style and credibility were more positive if the instructor maintained an office that was generally neat, organized, and attractive.

Socio-Communicative Style A related teacher variable, socio-communicator style (SCS), centers on perceptions of the patterns of an instructor’s communication behaviors. According to Thomas

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(1995), SCS refers to “an individual’s tendencies with regard to initiating communication with and reacting and adapting to the communication of another person” (p. 5). SCS is usually classified into two orthogonal dimensions: assertiveness and responsiveness. “Assertiveness is characterized by descriptors such as independent, dominant, aggressive, competitive, and forceful. Responsiveness is characterized by descriptors such as helpful, sympathetic, compassionate, sincere, and friendly” (Thomas et al., 1994, p. 109). Students’ perceptions of teacher communicator style are not often based on one single interaction, but rather a continuing pattern of interactions between both the students and a teacher. For example, an instructor who is assertive is willing to take a stand, to stand up for her or his position without impinging upon the rights of students to believe differently (Richmond & McCroskey, 1990). Kearney (1984) described a highly assertive teacher as one who strives for excellence and who sustains task orientation. Wooten and McCroskey (1996) found that student perceptions of increased teacher responsiveness and assertiveness were associated with increased trust of the teacher (both are positively related with trust, though the relationship was much stronger for responsiveness than for assertiveness). Scholars have also conceived of SCS along four categories (competent, aggressive, submissive, and noncompetent). Martin and colleagues (1997) found instructors with the SCS of competent were perceived highest in all three dimensions of credibility (expertise, character, and caring) and in students’ situational motivation. Conversely, instructors classified as noncompetent were perceived as lowest in caring and expertise, and instructors classified as aggressive were perceived as lowest in character.

Teacher Power Use Power can be conceived as the behavioral patterns and verbal and nonverbal message strategies used by a source in order to maximize the impact upon the targets of a persuasive attempt (McCroskey, 1998). In an instructional context, perceived power refers to “the degree to which the student perceives the teacher as having the ability to influence the student’s existence” (Hurt, Scott, & McCroskey, 1978, p. 125). The use of power is an inherent part of the teaching process (McCroskey & Richmond, 1983); if teachers do not exert influence in the classroom, they are not likely to enhance student learning (Richmond & McCroskey, 1984; Richmond & Roach, 1992). College instructors have drawn from a number of traditional power bases, including reward, referent, expert, coercive, and legitimate strategies (French & Raven, 1959), to influence students to follow course policies, attend class, and complete tasks. Instructor influence strategies (whether prosocial or antisocial in nature) can affect students’ perceptions of credibility and satisfaction in the college classroom. Teven and Herring (2005) observed that students’ perceptions of their teachers’ expert, referent, and reward power use were positively related to their

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perceptions of their teachers’ competence, caring, and trustworthiness. Moreover, teacher power use predicted approximately one-third of the variance in teacher credibility (Teven & Herring, 2005). These results reflect the critical role of students’ perceptions of teacher power use in the classroom that may, in turn, mediate various perceptions of credibility. For instance, one study found that graduate teaching associates who employed more negative or antisocial strategies tended to damage their credibility with students (Pytlak & Houser, 2014).

Verbal Aggressiveness Verbal aggressiveness involves communication behaviors that attack the self-concept of others (Infante, 1985; Infante & Wigley, 1986) and is sometimes considered a subset of hostility (Infante, 1987). By attacking a person’s self-concept and delivering psychological pain, verbal aggression has great impact on targets, leading to feelings of embarrassment, inadequacy, humiliation, hopelessness, desperation, and depression (Infante, 1987; Infante & Wigley, 1986). Research consistently suggests that verbal aggression leads to negative relational outcomes (Infante, Myers, & Buerkel, 1994; Infante & Rancer, 1996; Teven, Martin, & Neupauer, 1998; Venable & Martin, 1997). In the instructional context, Teven and Gorham (1998) found that teachers who used direct verbal expressions of discouragement and/or dislike towards their students were perceived to be significantly less caring than instructors who displayed empathy and who responded positively to students. Martin, Weber, and Burant (1997) reported that instructors who used verbally aggressive messages were perceived by students as less competent, less immediate, and less appropriate than those who did not use verbal aggression. Instructors’ use of verbally aggressive messages toward students is negatively associated with student affect toward the instructor, course, and recommended course behaviors (Myers & Knox, 1999). Teven (2001) reported that teacher verbal aggressiveness is negatively associated with student perceptions of their teachers’ caring, and Myers’ (2001) found that perceived instructor competence, trustworthiness, and caring were all negatively correlated with perceived instructor verbal aggressiveness. In other words, teachers who use verbally aggressive messages (e.g., character attacks, competence attacks, background attacks, physical appearance attacks, malediction, ridicule, threats, swearing, inappropriate nonverbal emblems) are perceived as being less competent and less caring than teachers who refrain from verbally aggressive communication with students.

Clarity Chesebro and McCroskey (1998a) defined teacher clarity as a process that allows the instructor to “effectively stimulate the desired meaning of course content and

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processes in the minds of students through both verbal and nonverbal messages” (pp. 262–263). Clarity is a fundamental component of effective teaching (Chesebro, 2003). Eisenberg (1984) identified clarity as a relational variable because it requires the source to narrow the possible interpretations of a message so that the particular receiver may accurately interpret it. Early research found highly credible sources tended to use a clearer oral style than less credible sources (Carbone, 1975). Hence, a teacher who is clear (as compared to unclear) is likely perceived as credible by students. Research suggests that structure allows for clarity in the classroom (Chesebro & McCroskey, 1998b) and that nonverbal clarity includes time spent covering a topic, speaking pace, use of transitions, and clear communication of classroom process (Chesebro & McCroskey, 1998a, 1998b; Civikly, 1992). Teacher clarity leads to greater student achievement (Civikly, 1992; Sidelinger & McCroskey, 1997), which may, in turn, stimulate an increase in perceived teacher effectiveness (Sidelinger & McCroskey, 1997).

Teacher Misbehaviors Instructor misbehaviors, by their nature, will harm students’ perceptions of credibility. Research on teacher misbehaviors has been directed toward identifying the behaviors of teachers that “interfere with instruction and thus, learning” (Kearney, Plax, Hays, & Ivey, 1991, p. 310). To identify specific teacher misbehaviors, participants were asked to recall instances when their teachers had said or done things that had ‘‘irritated, demotivated or substantially distracted them in an aversive way during a course’’ (Kearney et al., 1991, p. 313). This open-ended method generated over 1,700 teacher misbehaviors that aggregated into nine types of incompetence, six types of offensiveness, and six types of indolence, all of which lead to negative outcomes for both teachers and students. Teacher misbehaviors substantially reduced students’ affect and perceptions of teacher credibility (Banfield, Richmond, & McCroskey, 2006; Semlak & Pearson, 2008; Teven, 2007). It should be noted that instructors may be able to commit an occasional offensive misbehavior without experiencing a loss of credibility, as long as they remain interpersonally immediate with their students (Mottet, Parker-Raley, Beebe, & Cunningham, 2007). Collectively, these research findings indicate that, though credibility is a student attribution about the instructor, teachers can proactively engage in certain communication styles and patterns that are likely to enhance more positive student perceptions. Before exploring theoretical explanations underpinning credibility research, we briefly note some important demographic variables that influence students’ perceptions of instructor credibility.

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Demographic Variables and Perceived Credibility Age Semlak and Pearson (2008) observed that students perceive older teachers as more competent, caring, and trustworthy than younger teachers, though adult (non-traditional) learners may have different expectations of and standards for their instructors than younger, traditional students (Anderson, 1997). To account for this effect, Semlak and Pearson asserted that older teachers have had more life experience and have gained insight into why particular instructional techniques succeed or fail.

Gender and Biological Sex Few studies in communication have addressed sex differences of students and faculty in relation to credibility, as there is little theoretical justification for assuming such differences. However, a few researchers have reported that female instructors are rated less credible than male instructors (Centre & Gaubatz, 2000; Hargett, 1999). This finding seems inconsistent with reports that female instructors are often rated higher in immediacy and thus are more likely to be seen as promoting closeness with students through their classroom behaviors (Jaasma & Koper, 2002), so future investigations are warranted.

Sexual Orientation Russ, Simonds, and Hunt (2002) observed that students rated gay instructors as less credible than straight instructors and that they believed they learned more from heterosexual than homosexual instructors. With the passage of time since this study was conducted, and the changes in social attitudes in the United States, future studies may find discrepant results concerning this question.

Race In the United States, racial differences have been more widely researched than other demographics. For example, Rubin (1998) reported that students rated AsianAmerican instructors as less credible and less intelligible than Caucasian instructors. Hendrix (1998) reported that, although students initially stated that they did not favor one race over the other, findings indicated that they perceived Black professors as harder-working when it came to establishing credibility. Concerned

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with more racially diverse populations, Glascock and Ruggiero (2006) found that White instructors were viewed as somewhat more competent and caring than their Hispanic colleagues, leading these researchers to conclude that increasing the numbers of faculty members of color could potentially enhance the perceptions of credibility of historically underrepresented faculty.

Theoretical Explanations of Instructor Credibility Two established communication theories contribute explanations about how and why students perceive certain instructors as more credible than others. Expectancy violations theory (Burgoon & Hale, 1988) and attribution theory (Heider, 1958) are discussed in relation to the instructor credibility construct.

Expectancy Violations Theory Students enter the classroom with expectations of how their instructors should interact, dress, communicate, and behave. As Witt and Wheeless (1999) explained, students bring a set of expectations about an instructor’s behavior derived from previous experiences with teachers. If a college instructor were to violate student expectancies, his or her credibility would likely be influenced as a result of violating expectations. For instance, if a male instructor were to use inappropriate touch with a female student in the classroom, student perceptions of his credibility are likely to be altered. Expectancy violations theory (EVT; Burgoon & Hale, 1988) explains that people experience increased arousal when others violate communication expectations. If an instructor deviates from what students expect, then an expectancy violation occurs. These violations can be emotionally unsettling for students. LePoire and Burgoon (1996) assert that arousal triggers an orienting response in which people shift attention away from the conversation to the other party (i.e., the violator) in an attempt to interpret and evaluate the unexpected behavior. Researchers have examined the ways in which instructors have violated students’ expectations in the classroom (Lannutti, Laliker, & Hale, 2001; McPherson, Kearney, & Plax, 2003; Mottet et al. 2007). Applying the tenets of EVT to instructor credibility, when student expectations are met positively, students are more prone to like their instructors, perceive a closer relationship, and have more favorable attitudes toward and perceptions of their instructors (McPherson & Liang, 2007). Conversely, when students’ expectations for course instructors are violated, and such violations are deemed to carry a negative valence, students rate their instructors lower in credibility (Koermer & Petelle, 1991). Mottet et al. (2007) examined the effects of teacher nonverbal immediacy behaviors and course-workload demands on student perceptions of teacher credibility

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and student affective learning. They concluded that immediate teachers preserved teacher credibility even when they violated student course-workload expectations. In other words, an immediate teacher who assigned a large course workload was perceived as more credible than the non-immediate teacher who assigned a large course workload. Returning to EVT, the positive communicator reward valence that students assigned to the immediate instructor tended to neutralize the way students perceived the instructor’s moderate and high workload demands. Thus, the tenets of EVT allow researchers to predict the effects of perceptual variables (e.g., immediacy) in relation to instructor credibility.

Attribution Theory Attribution theory provides another lens through which to examine how people draw causal inferences about the source of the message (Heider, 1958; Kelley, 1967). Heider (1958) advanced a three-step process describing how individuals make attributions about the behavior of others, and this model explains how students make attributions about an instructor’s credibility based on that instructor’s communication behavior. First, students carefully observe their instructor’s behaviors in the classroom starting on the first day of class (Schrodt & Witt, 2006). As a simple example, students observe whether the instructor arrives early, on time, or late to class. Second, students begin to make judgments concerning their instructor’s behavior. For example, if the instructor were to habitually arrive late to class, students might attribute negative qualities of the instructor’s sense of professionalism and perceive the instructor to be less credible. Third, if students believe that their instructor has control over arriving on time to class (which is a fair and reasonable expectation since students made the effort to arrive to class on time), they will attribute dispositional (personal) characteristics to the instructor. All three dimensions of the instructor’s credibility (character, competence, and caring) could be negatively affected. Students would likely see the instructor as less trustworthy, given that instructors set the tone for the class. In addition, the instructor’s lateness creates an inconsistency: If instructors expect students to be on time, they too should arrive on time. Students might also interpret the instructor’s tardiness as an indication of lower competence or intelligence because the instructor failed to plan ahead and account for traffic or parking. Finally, students could perceive less goodwill/caring if they judged the instructor to be self-centered and concerned with neither the students nor excellent job performance. Such negative credibility attributions would likely have negative effects on student motivation and learning.

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Theoretical and Pedagogical Implications Credibility Across Cultures Recently, scholars have begun to explore the question of generalizability of the source credibility construct across cultures beyond the instructional context (Dilbeck, Domínguez, Ruiz, McMurrich, & Allen, 2013; Santilli, Miller, & Katt, 2011). The extant credibility measures have mostly been tested within a Western (and monocultural) perspective and beg for valid assessments across cultures. Because participants from other cultures operate from a semantic space that is different from the Euro-American population, their attributions of source credibility could also be different. In other words, their meanings for credibility may or may not be accurately represented on commonly used credibility scales. Complicating the issue is the fact that varying conceptions and evaluations of credibility emerge from existing values of the culture in question. The world’s cultures have produce a wide variation of communication differences pertaining to the notion of “self” and “other” (Hofstede, 1983; Knutson & Posirisuk, 2006; Neuliep, 2009; Nisbett, 2003; Oetzel & Ting-Toomey, 2003; Oyserman, Coon, & Kemmelmeier 2002; Triandis, 1995). The majority of data already collected on teacher credibility comes from students taking courses in a U.S. classroom setting. It is likely that particular dimensions of the credibility measure (competence, trustworthiness, and/or caring) are more salient factors in some cultures than others. In a cross-cultural investigation comparing students in the United States (low context) and Brazil (high context), Santilli et al. (2011) found that the U.S. students perceived instructor nonverbal immediacy behavior to be positively associated with all three dimensions of source credibility: competence, trustworthiness, and caring. Among Brazilian students, however, instructor nonverbal immediacy was positively related to competence and caring only. The relationship of nonverbal immediacy to instructor competence was stronger for Brazilian students than it was for U.S. students. Dilbeck et al. (2013) recently discovered that all three elements of credibility (competence, trustworthiness, and goodwill/caring) tend to generalize to Spanish and Thai cultures (Dilbeck et al., 2013). Employing structural equation modeling, Zhang (2009) tested a credibility-learning model in U.S., Chinese, German, and Japanese classrooms. She discovered that teacher credibility showed only an indirect relationship to cognitive learning, mediated by affective learning and motivation. Teacher competence and caring had a positive relationship with affective learning, while teacher trustworthiness had neither direct nor indirect association with affective learning, motivation, or cognitive learning. Interestingly, her confirmatory factor analysis indicated that the three-factor model of teacher credibility applied across the four cultural groups.

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Implications for Teacher Training on Effective Intercultural Instruction These findings suggest several implications for teacher training programs geared for cultural diversity and the enhancement of teacher credibility. Given that credibility is an audience perception and a prerequisite to being persuasive, effective intercultural teaching requires instructors to be adept in their audience adaptation. As Dilbeck et al. (2013) explain, “European and North American students often prefer more of an individualistic in-class dialectic to challenge and clarify what is taught, while Pacific/South(east) Asian students often prefer to seek clarity from the instructor outside of lectures as members of collectivistic groups” (p. 25). Imagine that an American instructor is invited to China as part of an international study abroad program, but the instructor is culturally insensitive, makes little attempt to adapt to the Chinese students, and does not adjust his/her classroom teaching style. This lack of awareness would likely cause damage to the instructor’s credibility with those students. Instructors who take the time to learn about specific culture(s) prior to placement in a school and who pay attention to their students’ unique learning styles, values, and affective and cognitive qualities, will have a better chance at establishing and maintaining credibility.

Directions for Future Research and Pedagogy Scholars who wish to extend credibility research have a wide array of possible directions. For example, the availability of innovative instructional technologies offers new learning environments such as online courses, in-class pedagogy, and social networking systems, each of which may alter students’ perceptions of their instructor as a credible source of information. However, as future research programs are developed in this and other areas, it is imperative that scholars give greater attention to the validity of credibility measurement. We conclude the chapter by examining these future opportunities.

Perceptions of Instructor Credibility in Computer-Mediated Environments Research has shown that perceptions of teacher immediacy and teacher credibility are highly correlated. However, online instruction often removes nonverbal cues and creates a greater sense of interpersonal distance, with the result that much of an instructor’s traditional classroom immediacy evaporates (Schutt, Allen, Laumakis, 2009; Trad, Katt, & Miller, 2014). The format of online classes presents a

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challenge to instructors in terms of engaging in nonverbal communication behaviors that enhance perceptions of affiliation, connection, and closeness. This limitation can be particularly problematic when instructors must critique their students’ work or give feedback concerning their performance. To compensate for the loss of relational cues, Trad et al. (2014) suggested that instructors engage in face threat mitigation (FTM) strategies when communicating potentially face-threatening messages (Kerssen-Griep, Trees, & Hess, 2008). How instructors provide instructional feedback to students can foster changes in the perceptions of how credible students evaluate that instructor to be (Witt & Kerssen-Griep, 2011). Extant research has indicated that FTM has positive effects on student affect and perceived instructor credibility (Kerssen-Griep & Witt, 2012; Sabee & Wilson, 2005; Trees, Kerssen-Griep, & Hess, 2009; Witt & Kerssen-Griep, 2011), but more work is needed to identify precise verbal strategies that reduce face threat and enhance positive perceptions of instructor caring and credibility. Can teachers be trained in the effective use of FTM tactics? Do traditional and non-traditional students differ in their expectations of instructor immediacy, or even credibility, in online environments versus face-to-face instruction? These and many other questions await careful investigation.

Classroom Instructors’ Use of Technology Technology also enables the instructor to extend and enhance the student’s learning experience in the classroom (McComb, 1994), and technology use can have an effect on students’ perceptions of instructor credibility (Schrodt & Turman, 2005; Schrodt & Witt, 2006). Classroom technology such as videos, PowerPoint, and webbased resources have the potential to enhance student learning, and today’s college students enter the classroom expecting a certain amount of technology use during class. If instructors use too little or too much technology, is their credibility at risk? Early research indicates that it might be, as Schrodt and Witt (2006) reported that immediacy and technology use interacted to produce different levels of perceived credibility. Students perceived highly immediate instructors as being the most competent when they designed a course with minimal to moderate amounts of technology. Further study is needed to determine the most effective ways to introduce technology-assisted instruction during class times. Are there other communication cues or strategies that teachers can use to demonstrate their competence in the use of instructional technology? Are students’ expectations for technology use changing as new technologies become available? Do students view instructors as more competent or more credible if they appear to be early adopters of innovative technologies? Future researchers have many avenues to examine concerning technology in the classroom and its impact on perceived instructor credibility.

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Perceptions of Credibility in Social Media A current trend in college teaching is for instructors to bring social media into the classroom for the purpose of increasing student engagement and student participation (Powell & Powell, 2010). In addition, out-of-class sharing of personal beliefs through Facebook, Twitter, or social media sites has become increasingly popular. However, college instructors should be cautious how social media posts could impact their credibility. Early research findings indicated that as long as the content and interactions between students and instructor remained appropriate, an instructor’s credibility could be enhanced (Johnson, 2011; Mazer, Murphy, & Simonds, 2007), but rapid changes in technology are bringing rapid changes in social norms concerning the use and acceptance of social media. For example, more recent studies indicated that students’ perceptions of teacher credibility decreased as negativity of instructor self-disclosure increased (Coffelt, Strayhorn, & Tillson, 2014; Miller, Katt, Brown, & Sivo, 2014). With contradictory results being reported by researchers every day (e.g., Barberpp & Pearce, 2008; Hutchens & Hayes, 2014), it is imperative that credibility scholars closely examine teachers’ use of social media and the potential effects on perceptions of their credibility.

Measurement Issues The majority of research studies on instructor credibility have employed Teven and McCroskey’s (1997) and McCroskey and Teven’s (1999) credibility scales to measure competence, trustworthiness, and goodwill. Though the reliability and validity of these scales have been well established since their introduction in the 1990s, models of instructional communication are growing increasingly complex. Furthermore, Mazer and Graham (2015) noted that “constructs evolve and measurement devices need to keep pace with this natural evolution” (p. 231), so future scholars should re-examine current credibility measures in the following ways:

Rhetorical Re-analysis Because semantic differential scales are anchored by words, and the meanings of words are ever-changing, scholars should periodically subject scale anchors to lexical analysis to determine whether the meanings and connotations for the current anchors are still valid. If future students are unfamiliar with words that appear on the scales, the validity of certain scale items would be weakened (Teven & McCroskey, 1997).

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Problems with Reverse-Coded Questions It has been common practice among communication researchers to include reverse-coded items in multi-item scales. Traditional wisdom suggests including reversed items reduces the possibility that respondents develop a response pattern (Reinard, 2001; Wrench, Thomas-Maddox, Richmond, & McCroskey, 2013). Over the years, however, some scholars have pointed out potential confusion by respondents (Babbie, 2014, Reinard, 2008) due to negatively worded items. Others have examined the effects of including reversed items on the factor structure of multidimensional scales, noting a tendency for the reverse items, irrespective of their content, to load on the same factor (Deemer & Minke, 1999; DiStefano & Motl, 2006, 2009; Reinard, 2008). Although such an artifact might be of little consequence in a simple analysis, the emergence of a spurious method factor has the potential to confound a more complex analysis. Thus, future researchers should investigate the possibility of this type of measurement problem as they build and test complex statistical models.

Establishment of Best Statistical Practices In his online instructions concerning the use of the McCroksey & Teven (1999) source credibility scales, McCroskey (2007) warned that “the three measures represent unique constructs, but those constructs are intercorrelated, as suggested by Aristotle … these scores should not be summed to create a single score” (McCroskey, 2007, para. 2). Despite his admonitions, some scholars still combine the individual scores into one. In addition, a variety of complex statistical models are being developed with little methodological consistency. For these reasons, future scholars should undertake methodological studies to determine best practices for statistical analysis of the three correlated, yet unique, credibility dimensions. The field can benefit from more credibility research, but only if it incorporates methodologies and measures that meet the most rigorous standards of scientific inquiry.

Advice to Teachers Teachers provide leadership in the college classroom (Bolkan, Goodboy, & Griffin, 2011). From the initial meeting between the students and the instructor until the course ends, it is important for instructors to both establish and maintain the perception of credibility. When teachers engage in appropriate and effective classroom behavior, students are more prone to like them, perceive a closer relationship, and have more favorable attitudes toward and perceptions of their instructors. Cumulative research findings suggest four communication strategies for teachers seeking to establish and maintain credibility with students:

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1.

Instructors should use nonverbal immediacy cues to build rapport and trust with students, as immediate instructors are perceived as more credible instructors (Miller, et al., 2014; Teven, 2001, 2007; Teven & Hanson, 2004; Thweatt & McCroskey, 1998). 2. Instructors should recognize the importance and power of first impressions. From the minute they walk into the classroom on the first day of class, students are understandably curious about them and the course. Students are looking closely at how instructors dress, walk, gesture, talk, and present themselves. These characteristics all act as clues as to an instructor’s personality and credibility. The first day is an opportunity for instructors to show they are knowledgeable, trustworthy, and caring. 3. Instructors should consider that credibility extends to out-of-class communication including student-initiated visits during office hours, conversations before or after class, and informal meetings on campus between students and instructors (Fusani, 1994). Even the appearance of an instructor’s office can influence students’ perceptions of instructor credibility (Teven & Comadena, 1996). 4. Instructors should judiciously examine their online postings in social networking systems, as the nature and frequency of online self-disclosure may potentially damage students’ perceptions of the instructor’s professionalism and credibility. Students like teachers who are transparent and authentic, but current research is inconclusive concerning the effects of such communication on perceived credibility as an instructor.

Conclusion The ancient Greek and Roman rhetoricians correctly observed long ago that the credibility of the communicator can have a tremendous influence on the persuadibility of an audience. Modern research has since shown that instructor credibility is one of the most influential factors in determining the effectiveness of a classroom instructor. Although no single chapter can hope to cover all the ways in which teachers can influence students, we have sought to provide an overview of some of the most well-known, frequently-cited studies relating to instructor credibility. A strength of teacher credibility research is that it has yielded a wealth of useful, albeit qualified, generalizations, including empirical links between instructor characteristics, behaviors, and student perceptions of instructor competence, character, and caring. This is not to suggest that instructional communication scholars should consider the knowledge of credibility accrued thus far to be sufficient. With the accelerating rate of change in technology and culture, we can expect the next few years to bring new communication modalities, new communication challenges, and the necessity for new communication research that furthers our understanding of the ancient, yet contemporary, role of source credibility in instructional communication.

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9 Humor Enactment in Learning Environments Abstract: This chapter examines how enacting humor can be beneficial in all types of learning environments, and why that is true. We begin by offering definitions of humor implementation in learning environments, using a source perspective. Next, we describe four major theoretical approaches scholars and practitioners can take to understand the use and effectiveness of humor during instruction: theories of incongruity, disposition, benign violation, and instructional humor processing. Integrated throughout the chapter is research on humor in the classroom, both traditional and the most recent research findings for the use of humor in learning. In addition, particular challenges for educators conducting humor-related research are noted. We conclude by offering practical applications and distinct categories of humorous communication for educators who wish to incorporate humor in their teaching. Keywords: humor, humor enactment, instructional humor processing theory, categories of humor, incongruity, disposition, benign violation

A TEACHER ASKS: Harold, what do you call a person who keeps on talking when people are no longer interested? HAROLD: A teacher.

Anyone who has taught in any learning context – whether in public schools, universities, Sunday school, children’s organizations, corporate training, or in-home kitchenware sales – knows that humor is a useful communication skill for maintaining audience interest. On a broad basis, being appropriately funny can help ease tensions and erase status discrepancies, increase attention and affinity, and heighten group cohesion. However, in a volume entitled Communication and Learning, our primary focus concerns whether an instructor’s humor enhances learning. We contend that it can, and a number of studies, both quantitative and qualitative, support that contention. In this chapter we begin by offering definitions of humor and setting expectations for humor’s implementation in learning environments. Next, we integrate theoretical approaches scholars have taken concerning the use and effectiveness of humor during instruction. In the following sections we discuss multiple instructional goals, offer research background on humor in the classroom, and the most recent research findings for the use of humor in learning, as well as particular challenges presented by such research. We conclude by offering practical applica-

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tions for educators who wish to incorporate humor in their teaching, and we introduce new avenues and topics for research on the enactment of humor in learning environments.

Humor Definitions and Conceptualizations Rancer and Graham (2012) pointed out numerous conceptual and operational definitions for the term humor. Hence, it is important to understand the perspectives from which any research or writing emanates. In this chapter, we will employ humor as a noun (as opposed to a verb, such as to humor someone) consistent with contemporary usage (as opposed to the historical term for humors in bodily functions). The Oxford Dictionary defines humor as “the quality of being amusing or comic, especially as expressed in literature or speech … the ability to express humour or amuse other people.” Of course, what amuses or entertains may differ widely depending on the intended audience, an idea particularly salient for instructional communicators, and one we will be revisiting throughout the chapter. The instructional use of humor consists of “the intentional use of verbal and nonverbal messages which elicit laughter, chuckling, and other spontaneous behavior taken to mean pleasure, delight or surprise in the targeted receiver” (BoothButterfield & Booth-Butterfield, 1991, p. 206). This is an admittedly pro-social approach, one that is appropriate for instructional contexts. In contrast, research on the construct of humor styles recognizes that all humor might not be pro-social and positive. For example Martin, Puhlik-Doris, Larsen, Gray, and Weir (2003) extended the enactment of humor to include negative, or more maladaptive, dimensions of humor (e.g., aggressive and self-defeating). In the classroom these may take the form of hurtful teasing, bullying, or in some cases teachers’ attempts to discipline students. Further, humor enactment may be recognized and operationalized as occurring at several different conceptual levels, and scholars working in the area of humor in learning environments acknowledge differences in both conceptualization and measurement. Humorous communication can be conceived as a predisposition to use communication to entertain, make people laugh, chuckle, or enjoy life. This constitutes a trait orientation, an enduring personal characteristic that remains consistently over time (e.g., the humor orientation construct; Booth-Butterfield & Booth-Butterfield, 1991). In comparison, a humor style (Martin et al., 2003) may be an ongoing pattern of communication adopted by a teacher, a habitual response, though not necessarily a personality trait. Finally, one could operationalize humor, or being funny, in a very situational manner. Someone may be hilarious in the immediate situation or a specific context such as a classroom, but not humorous as an ongoing, cross-situational pattern of communication.

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Humor Production and Source Orientation Another important operational point for people who are teaching is that humor, as we examine it here, is an intentional enactment, entailing the production of communicative messages. This integrates instruction and communication with a source orientation. In comparison, some researchers study humor from a receiver orientation, as appreciating another’s sense of humor (Martin & Lefcourt, 1984). Such a receiver orientation represents a response to often-unplanned humor. Understanding sense of humor is certainly important, but in educational contexts a source orientation implies that instructors focus their communication efforts on humor production because it is very difficult to predict and control humor appreciation. Perceived funniness is highly idiosyncratic and influenced by context, culture, and even the age of receivers – and all these variables are present in a classroom filled with students. What makes one individual laugh may be entirely mundane to another. Thus, from a communicator perspective, and especially an instructional orientation, our primary focus is how teachers enact appropriate humor during instructional messages. By definition, then, an instructor who decides to incorporate humor while teaching becomes an intentional source of humor. A source orientation involves (a) a cognitive approach to encoding entertaining messages, (b) memory capacity for the humor and its application in the learning context, and (c) verbal and nonverbal delivery skills in order to obtain optimal effects. Teachers who appreciate and understand the effects of instructional humor attempt all three of these aspects in their classroom communication, and teachers who are successful accomplish them.

Presentational Versus Conversational Humor Enactment When people envision humorous communicators, the images that often emerge are stand-up comedians, comic actors, or other individuals who make their living being funny in front of an audience. Although this is one form of humorous communication, it is probably not the best image for instructional communication. Research indicates that students have expectations about the amount and type of humor that is appropriate for the classroom. Not surprisingly, instructors’ use of too much negative or poorly developed humor can adversely impact student learning. Gorham and Christophel (1990) noted that when students indicated their instructors relied on too much negative classroom humor, they also reported less interest in the content area. Unlike comedians, instructors have to incorporate the appropriate amount and type of humor in the classroom to maintain their credibility and enhance student learning (Gorham & Christophel, 1990). Thus, a distinction can be drawn between presentational and conversational orientations to humor enactment (Miczo, 2014). The presentational approach to

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humor entails a one-to-many, often prepared, and fairly one-sided enactment of humor. Professional comedians epitomize this presentational humor, even if their style is low-key and seemingly spontaneous. On the other hand, the conversational orientation to humor enactment involves interaction, entertainment that flows out of the situation at hand and is apparently unrehearsed. Most day-to-day humorous encounters more closely resemble this conversational form rather than a person who relates a string of jokes or anecdotes. Most communicators are not funny all the time but rather pick their opportunities to insert something in conversation that others will find funny. Instructors confront a complex structure when they want to employ humor in learning. The goal is that the humor will be perceived as conversational, casual, and mutually produced, and that the laughter will flow naturally out of ongoing classroom interaction. However, in a teacher-centered instructional context, some instructors’ humor is enacted from a presentational orientation; i.e., it is somewhat strategic, planned, and flows primarily from the teacher to the students. Examples of classroom humor would include humor embedded in Power Point presentations or exams, as well as amusing stories prepared in advance to illustrate an instructional point. Scholars who assess the effects of appropriate/inappropriate humor generally agree that the optimal instructional humor – whether presentational or conversational – is at least somewhat relevant to the lesson (Frymier, Wanzer, & Wojtaszczyk, 2008; Wanzer, Frymier, & Irwin, 2010). Another consideration is that instructor humor that is unplanned and spontaneous may backfire in the classroom and lead to unproductive student responses. One type of spontaneous classroom humor that could backfire is when instructors tease or ridicule students. In such cases, both the targets of the teasing and the observers are negatively affected by this type of humor use. To better understand the effects of observing other-disparaging humor on young adults, Janes and Olson (2000) tested the effects of what they called “jeer pressure” on college students. The researchers studied whether observing peers being ridiculed and teased was related to college students’ fear of failure, creativity, and conformity. Participants viewed one of three videos (other-ridicule, self-ridicule, or no-target humor) and then completed a variety of tasks to assess fear of failure, conformity, and creativity. Compared to participants who viewed the self-ridicule or no-target humor video, those in the other-ridicule condition were more conforming in completing their tasks and indicated a greater fear of failure. These findings shed light on potential repercussions for instructors who tease students or use aggressive humor. Instructors who tease or ridicule students in an effort to be funny may risk offending the targeted student and stifling creativity and autonomy in the classroom. Whether using a presentational or conversational orientation to humor enactment, instructors should always avoid humor that disparages students based on race, ethnicity, sex, group affiliations, sexual orientation, intellect, or appearance. Several studies have indicated that students find these types of humor offensive

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and that the classroom environment is negatively affected (Claus, Booth-Butterfield, & Chory, 2012). Overall, as we explore humor in learning environments in this chapter, we will (a) use the encoding/source perspective as a framework, (b) focus primarily on prosocial instructor humor, and (c) recognize that there are multiple patterns of teacher humor, both presentational and interactional, which may occur.

Theoretical Explanations of Humor in the Classroom Scholars who investigate instructors’ use of humor have drawn on several theoretical frameworks to interpret research findings, better understand humor enactment, and attempt to predict receivers’ responses. These theories of interpersonal and instructional communication sometimes overlap and mesh in their explanations of how and why humor occurs during the teaching-learning process. In this section we overview some long-established theoretical frameworks, including incongruity theory, benign violation theory, and disposition theory, as well as instructional humor processing theory.

Incongruity Theory When we laugh with surprise about something, the unexpected nature of the humor is explained by the tenets of incongruity theory (Berlyne, 1960; LaFave, Haddad, & Maesen, 1996; Suls, 1972). As the most often-used theory in humor research, incongruity theory accounts for most cases of perceived funniness whether in the educational environment or elsewhere. As an umbrella term, incongruity refers to a necessary condition for humor – the perception of a surprise, a twist, or the unexpected. Thus, the perception of humor derives from something appearing as outside the normal pattern, something that is out of place, out of order, or unique in some way. Some students may contend that is why teachers are sometimes perceived as funny; i.e., they are not expected to be entertainers (Frymier & Weser, 2001). People typically do not laugh at something they have seen or heard before and perceive as normal or natural, so the stimulus to laugh often presents the unexpected. Obviously, all surprises are not funny; e.g., weapons in the classroom may be unexpected but are certainly not humorous. For incongruity to function as a source of humor, there also must be a background against which to compare the humor. Incongruity resolution theory (LaFave et al., 1996) extends and clarifies the basic theory by stipulating that the frame or content of the attempted humor is resolved as indeed “humorous,” as opposed to shocking, offensive, or rude. If the content is not understood (as in linguistic, cultural, or age differences) or is not interpreted/

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resolved as funny (it is amusing if I say it, but not if you say it), then the communication will not be perceived as humor.

Benign Violations Theory Extending the work of Veatch (1998), McGraw and Warren (2010) proposed benign violations theory (BVT), which posits that humor occurs when a violation (i.e., a stimulus that is physically or psychologically threatening) simultaneously seems benign (i.e., harmless and acceptable). According to BVT, something that threatens one’s sense of how the world “ought to be” may in fact be amusing, as long as the threatening situation also seems safe, or not really a serious threat. BVT explains why an instructor who jokes with students about silly practices on campus or in the social scene will likely seem humorous (i.e., benign), but joking about an unannounced quiz or lowering grades in the class will not be perceived as humorous at all due to the perception of an academic threat that may be harmful. Additional factors that appear to jointly influence perceptions of humor include the degree to which a stimulus is a violation (e.g., a tragedy versus a mishap) and one’s perceived distance from the stimulus (e.g., far away versus close proximity, either physical or psychological; McGraw, Warren, Williams, & Leonard, 2012). Several studies revealed that situations defined as tragedies (severe violations and consequences) may be perceived as humorous when they are temporally, socially, hypothetically, or spatially distant. In the classroom this might translate to online exams gone awry. The situation could be very stressful at the time but humorous in looking back on it, or make you smirk if it happens elsewhere and not to you. However, mishaps (mild violations) are more humorous when psychologically close. That is, if violations occur and seem too benign (as perhaps with instructors’ tales of their family trips), they are perceived to be boring and not funny (McGraw et al., 2012; McGraw, Williams, & Warren, 2014). Again, in the classroom it behooves instructors to remember these features and carefully recount their humorous anecdotes – sufficiently threatening, scary, or surprising, but not so extreme that it truly upsets the students.

Disposition Theory As another theoretical explanation of humorous communication, disposition theory (Zillmann & Cantor, 1996) focuses on the identity of the target of the intended humor. Individuals will describe humor as not funny or inappropriate when it is aimed at people they like, whom they feel are “protected,” or individuals who are part of their own referent groups. Conversely, people are more likely to view a humor attempt favorably when it targets individuals whom they dislike, consider as adversaries, or do not include as part of their referent group. Disposition theory

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explains why students may label instructors’ humor attempts as inappropriate, if they are perceived as attacks against individual students, sororities, fraternities, political affiliations, males, or females (Frymier et al., 2008). On the other hand, humor that denigrates or makes fun of rival schools or sports teams is likely to be well-received by students.

Instructional Humor Processing Theory Though each of these humor theories is informational in its own way, Wanzer et al. (2010) sought to synthesize their various perspectives and focus them on the context of humor in the teaching-learning process. They posited instructional humor processing theory (IHPT) to bring theoretical clarity to the abundance of research on the relationship between instructor humor and student learning. IHPT was created in an attempt to explain the relationship between humor and learning and specify the types of instructor humor that might lead to learning. IHPT is an integrative theory that incorporates the elaboration likelihood model (ELM) of persuasion (Cacioppo & Petty, 1984; Petty & Cacioppo, 1981, 1986) incongruity resolution theory (Berlyne, 1960; LaFave et al., 1996; Suls, 1972) and disposition theory (Zillmann & Cantor, 1996). The next sections describe ELM and how it can be used as a general framework to explain the relationship between instructor humor and student learning. The ELM explains how individuals perceive and respond to different types of persuasive messages (Cacioppo & Petty, 1984) and can be extended to describe how instructor humor is processed. According to ELM, individuals process message information either peripherally or centrally. When individuals process messages peripherally, they pay attention to cues, heuristics, or truisms instead of message arguments, and as a result, cognitive structures are not changed. Central route processing is described as more cognitively demanding because individuals process message arguments and self-generate information related to the message arguments, a process labeled elaboration (Cacioppo & Petty, 1984; Petty & Cacioppo, 1981, 1986). A number of studies (Claypool, Mackie, Garcia-Marques, McIntosh, & Udall, 2004; Heesacker, 1986; Johnson & Eagly, 1989; Petty, Cacioppo, & Goldman, 1981; Petty & Wegener, 1998) have repeatedly found that individuals are more likely to engage in central route processing when they are motivated to think about the message arguments and when they have the ability to process message information. Thus, applying ELM to instructional contexts, in order for students to elaborate on course content, they would need to be both motivated and able to process instructional messages. Certain types of messages are related to motivation and ability to process information. For example, Petty and Cacioppo (1986) identified topic relevance as influencing motivation to process messages. From an instructional perspective, when students perceive the topic or message as relevant, they

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should be more motivated to process the information, resulting in greater retention and understanding of the content. Consistent with this thinking, several studies found a positive relationship between students’ perceptions of content relevance and motivation to study (Frymier & Shulman, 1995; Frymier, Shulman & Houser, 1996). Additionally, Frymier et al. (1996) reported a positive correlation between relevance and learner empowerment and perceived learning. Keller (1983) also included relevance as a central component in his ARCS model of motivation (see chapter 15 in this volume). Thus, IHPT predicts that instructor’s use of relevant humor should increase motivation to process message information and therefore lead to greater student learning. Preliminary research testing IHPT found support for this claim (Wanzer et al., 2009). Motivation to elaborate on a message has also been linked to incongruent information. Some research (Baker & Petty, 1994; Hastie & Kumar, 1979; Maheswaran & Chaiken, 1991; O’Sullivan & Durso, 1984; Srull, 1981) indicates that incongruent or discrepant information results in increased message processing and recall due to increased motivation. As incongruity resolution theory would predict (LaFave et al., 1996), people are more likely to notice unusual or inconsistent information because it does not align with their expectations. Thus, when professors use instructional humor in their lectures that involves incongruities, students may pay more attention to this content and attempt to resolve the incongruent information. Students must also accurately resolve or make sense of the instructor’s humor attempt in order to label it as humorous. If the incongruity in the message is not understood, students will be distracted by the message, rather than perceiving humor. For example, if students do not “get” the instructor’s outdated or complicated joke, story, or humorous example, they will ignore it, or it may even serve as a distraction from the instruction. Therefore, in order for instructor’s humorous message to positively impact learning in the classroom, it must go beyond recognition alone and should instead increase students’ motivation and ability to process the instructional message (Wanzer et al., 2010). In order to engage in central route processing, individuals must be able to process the message. Factors such as distraction and prior knowledge are identified as variables that influence people’s ability to process message information (Petty & Caccioppo, 1981, 1986). Drawing on instructional communication research, gaining students’ attention in the classroom (Kelley & Gorham, 1988) and making content clear (Chesebro, 2003; Chesebro & McCroskey, 2001) have been identified as central elements of effective teaching related to student retention of information. From an ELM perspective, instructional messages that gain students’ attention and help them make sense of course content (i.e. clarity behaviors) enhance students’ ability to process the content resulting in greater retention and learning. Instructional humor has often been described as an attention-gaining strategy (Gorham & Christophel, 1990) as well as a means of generating positive affect toward the course material and the teacher. However, an instructor’s use of inappropriate or offensive

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humorous messages might generate negative affect toward the course material and teacher and serve as a distraction from the instructional message, resulting in a reduced ability to process and retain information. Therefore IHPT predicts that instructors’ use of appropriate humorous (i.e. related) messages would be expected to result in greater motivation and ability to process course content to the extent the humorous message potentially gained students’ attention, created positive affect, made content relevant, and/or increased the clarity of the content and did not distract students from the instructional message. Conversely, instructors’ use of inappropriate messages would have the opposite effect on student learning. To date, few scholars have analyzed the effects of different types of instructor humor on student learning, and IHPT addresses this issue. According to IHPT and ELM specifically, if the instructor uses offensive humor (e.g., crude or sexual in nature) or other-disparaging humor (e.g., humor attempts that target students, other teachers, or political figures), this would likely result in less motivation and ability to process instructional messages. Humor that disparages students based on specific characteristics (e.g., sex, sexual orientation, or race) or affiliations (e.g., sororities, fraternities, or sports teams) distracts students, generates negative affective responses, and reduces their ability to focus on lecture content. Disposition theory is also included in IHPT to address the important role affective responses to humorous messages play in student motivation, as well as their ability to process messages and student learning specifically (Zillmann & Cantor, 1996). Preliminary research on IHPT indicates that instructors’ use of both offensive and other-disparaging humor was not correlated with student reports of affective learning and selfreported learning behaviors (Wanzer et al., 2010). As predicted by IHPT, instructors’ use of related humor was positively associated with student reports of affective learning and self-reported learning behaviors (Wanzer et al., 2010). Though initial research testing IHPT has been promising, this theory requires additional testing in order to further clarify the complex relationships among instructor humor and student motivation, ability, and learning. In sum, these theoretical explanations of humor provide valuable structure for analysis of instructors’ enactment of humor in the classroom, to the benefit of both researchers and practitioners. Because humor is implicated in effective teaching, we next examine major goals instructors have for communicating with humor in the classroom.

Rhetorical and Relational Goals in Classroom Instruction As noted by Mottet, Frymier, and Beebe (2006), most teachers attempt to achieve dual goals during classroom instruction: successfully presenting course content

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(task-related, rhetorical goals) and achieving an appropriate degree of affinity or positive personal regard (social, relational goals). Instructional humor can facilitate both. For example, an instructor who uses humor effectively and appropriately in the classroom helps create an environment where students feel comfortable talking with each other as well as the instructor (i.e., relational goals). Once students feel more comfortable in the classroom, they may be more inclined to engage with the instructor and other students as they focus on achieving tasks and learning course material (i.e., rhetorical goals). Indeed, a recent study indicated that professor-student rapport was the strongest predictor of student ratings of instructor scores (SRIs), explaining 54 % of the variance of scores on the SRIs (Richmond, Berglund, Epelbaum, & Klein, 2015). In the same study, the researchers also investigated whether student reports of instructor humor influenced SRIs. To determine whether certain types of humor were stronger predictors than others, the researchers had students complete the Teacher Humor Scale (THS) (Frymier, Wanzer, & Wojtaszczyk, 2008), as well as student evaluations of a selected professor. The THS assesses perceptions of instructors’ use of related, unrelated, offensive, selfdisparaging, and other-disparaging humor. Notably, related humor was the only type of humor that emerged as a significant positive predictor of student ratings of instructors (Richmond et al., 2015). This finding is consistent with Wanzer et al.’s (2010) research that tested IHPT and identified a positive relationship between instructors’ use of related humor and student learning. Instructors who incorporate humor to establish rapport with their students may achieve additional rhetorical and relational goals. For example, when students perceive instructors as humor-oriented, they are more likely to perceive reduced psychological distance from them (Aylor & Oppliger, 2003), engage in outside-ofclass communication with them (Aylor & Oppliger, 2003; Goodboy, Booth-Butterfield, Bolkan, & Griffin, 2015), and share their personal and course-related concerns with them (Aylor & Oppliger, 2003). The use of instructor humor also predicts student effort, participation, learning, and out-of-class communication – which entail both rhetorical and relational goals (Goodboy et al., 2015). Finally, students are more satisfied with the course and teacher when humor is used during instruction, leading to the assertion that “maintaining student communication satisfaction in the classroom may require instructors to have a sense of humor” (Sidelinger, 2014, p. 298). Another way to understand how instructor humor can be used to achieve relational and rhetorical goals is by examining the teacher immediacy construct. Immediacy refers to “the degree of perceived physical or psychological closeness between people” (Tibbles, Richmond, McCroskey, & Weber, 2008, p. 392). Immediate teachers utilize verbal and nonverbal behaviors strategically to reduce physical and/or psychological distance between themselves and their students. Common classroom immediacy cues include direct eye contact, smiling, open body positions, forward leans, gestures, proximity, vocal variety, and calling students by

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name (Andersen, Andersen, & Jensen, 1979; Gorham, 1988). Humor has been identified as one type of immediacy behavior, and many of the same behaviors a teacher might enact to deliver humorous messages, such as smiling, funny faces, and vocal variety, also have the potential to reduce perceived psychological distance between the teacher and students. Gorham and Christophel (1990) reported that highly immediate instructors used 63 % more humor than low and moderately immediate teachers and were seven times more likely to use physical humor/vocal humor than low immediacy teachers. These researchers went on to suggest that an instructor’s humor/immediacy may be associated with student learning: “While a particular bit of humor may not enhance retention and may not even be perceived as funny to a particular subject – an ongoing teacher-student relationship in which humor has contributed to immediacy might affect arousal, retention, and learning” (Gorham & Christophel, 1990, p. 48). In subsequent years, the potential relationship between instructor humor and student learning has been thoroughly investigated. Though results have been at times contradictory, it is generally accepted that some skilled instructors enact humor strategically to achieve specific tasks such as helping students retain and recall course material (i.e., rhetorical goals). A number of studies have documented a positive and significant relationship between teacher humor and student cognitive, affective, and perceived learning (e.g., Chapman & Crompton, 1978; Davies & Apter, 1980; Gorham & Christophel, 1990; Vance, 1987; Wanzer & Frymier, 1999; Ziv, 1988), and researchers have identified the specific types of humor that most often lead to learning and satisfaction with communication with instructors (Sidelinger, 2014; Wanzer et al., 2010). In the remainder of this chapter we describe findings related to the humor-learning relationship, as well as the types of humor instructors should avoid using in the classroom.

Classic and Contemporary Research on Instructional Humor: Benefits, Classification Systems, and Appropriateness A substantial portion of the instructional humor research points to the benefits of classroom humor for both teachers and students. First and foremost, students indicate that they want to take classes from teachers who use humor. As early as the 1940s, college students identified instructor’s use of humor as a characteristic associated with effective teaching. When students were asked to list the qualities of effective instructors, their use of humor preceded valued traits such as voice, poise, appearance, accomplishment in research, and reputation as a scholar (Bousfield, 1940). Almost fifty years later, Check (1986) conducted a similar study in which students identified the employment of humor as one of the instructor traits they

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considered essential for effective college teaching. Thus, one of the benefits of humor in the classroom is that entertaining teachers are often labeled as highly effective in the classroom (Bousfield, 1940; Check, 1986). Not surprisingly, awardwinning teachers use moderate amounts of instructional humor (as opposed to excessive amounts) to relate to their students (Javidi, Downs, & Nussbaum, 1988). It is believed that humor during instruction can improve the classroom environment by lowering student anxiety and tension related to difficult or dreaded subject material or simply creating a more enjoyable learning atmosphere (Huss, 2008; Kher, Molstad, & Donahue, 1999; Teslow, 1995). A primary reason instructors use humor is to increase student attention and focus on learning in the classroom. The relationship between instructor humor and student learning has been studied extensively, but the results are inconclusive. Some research indicates that instructor humor leads to or is associated with learning (Chapman & Crompton, 1978; Davies & Apter, 1980; Goodboy et al., 2015; Gorham & Christophel, 1990; Wanzer & Frymier, 1999; Wanzer et al., 2010; Ziv, 1988), whereas other researchers have observed no such relationship (Gruner, 1967; Houser, Cowan, & West, 2007). Banas, Dunbar, and Rodriguez (2011) provide a thorough summary of the instructional humor research conducted over the last forty years and describe the wide range of variables related to how instructors employ humor in the classroom. Not surprisingly, the use and effects of instructor humor differ based on sex, experience, culture, and personality (Banas et al., 2011). In the next section we highlight some of the classic research on instructional humor and illustrate the evolution of this line of research over the years. Early scholars focused on the attention-gaining effects of humorous content while teaching children. For example, Wakshlag, Day, & Zillmann (1981) found that first- and second-grade children were more likely to select educational television shows that included humor, especially if the humor was perceived as fast-paced in nature. Other researchers noted that humor could be incorporated in classroom settings to maintain children’s attention, especially if it was used in brief bursts throughout the day (Zillmann Williams, Bryant, Boynton, & Wolf, 1980). To further delineate how instructors use humor in the classroom, researchers collected audiotaped data on instructors’ lectures (Bryant, Comisky, & Zillmann, 1979). Analysis indicated that college instructors used humorous messages 3.34 times during a 50-minute class period, with male instructors using humor more often than female instructors. Using a deductive method to analyze their data, these researchers identified six broad types of teacher humor: jokes, riddles, puns, funny stories, funny comments, and other/miscellaneous. The main way instructors used humor in the classroom was by sharing funny stories, with 39 % of their sample indicating that they used this behavior. Bryant and colleagues further clarified the content of humor instructors used by coding it as sexual or nonsexual, hostile or nonhostile, related or unrelated to course material, and determined whether it disparaged the student, teacher, or a third person or group. Over half

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(52 %) of the examples fell under nonsense humor, whereas the remaining examples were coded as tendentious in nature. Compared to previous research on elementary school teachers, college instructors of the 1970s appeared to use a great deal of sexual and hostile humor that is tendentious in nature (Bryant et al., 1979). In the 1980s Downs, Javidi, and Nussbaum (1988) and Javidi and Long (1989) examined different types of instructional humor using a category system developed by Nussbaum, Comadena, and Holladay (1985). The category system incorporated several types of classroom “play offs” or quick, intentional humor attempts directed toward a particular target (i.e., self, students, others in class, course material or object). Downs et al. also studied whether the humor was related or unrelated to course content, and they noted that award-winning teachers employed more humor in the classroom than non-award winning teachers, and their humor attempts were often related to course material (Downs et al., 1988; Javidi & Long, 1989). Whereas Bryant et al. (1979) and Nussbaum et al. (1985) utilized deductive methods, Gorham and Christophel (1990) adopted an inductive method to develop a typology of typical instructor humor. In their study, students were asked to keep a log of the actual humor behaviors their instructors exhibited over five consecutive class meetings. The researchers applied grounded theory/constant comparison methods to identify 13 distinct categories of instructional humor labeled: (1) brief tendentious comments directed at either individual students; (2) the class as a whole; (3) the university, department, or state; (4) national or world events; (5) world events or personalities; (6) the topic or subject matter; (7) the self (self-deprecating); (8) personal anecdotes or stories related to the subject; (9) general anecdotes or stories related to the subject; (10) general anecdotes or stories not related to the subject; (11) jokes; (12) physical or vocal comedy; or (13) other. The researchers also investigated the relationships among instructor immediacy, humor type, and learning. Both the amount and the type of humor employed were related to student learning outcomes in that students seemed especially cognizant of instructors’ use of tendentious, that is overtly biased, humor, which was negatively associated with affective learning outcomes. While earlier instructional studies focused on students’ perceptions of instructor humor, Neuliep (1991) sent out surveys to public high school teachers to learn more about the frequency of humorous behaviors, their perceived appropriateness, and reasons for using humor. Teachers rated the appropriateness of the thirteen different types of humor identified in the Gorham and Christophel (1990) study. In addition, they provided a detailed description of the last time they used humor in the classroom, stated why they used humor, and indicated whether they had ever received a teaching award. Overall, the high school teachers indicated that humor related to course content was the most appropriate type to use in the classroom. Neuliep also observed that the high school teachers typically used the same types of humorous messages as college professors, but less often, and that they used humor to put students at ease and to maintain their attention.

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In more recent research, Torok, McMorris, and Lin (2004) examined how often instructors used humor in the classroom as well as college students’ and instructors’ perceptions of Bryant et al.’s (1979) seven types of classroom humor (i.e., funny stories, funny comments, jokes, professional humor, puns, cartoons, and riddles). Students indicated that in general, instructors use humor quite often and, more specifically, they used funny stories and funny comments the most frequently. These types of humor were also evaluated as the most appropriate for the classroom. Instructors’ use of sexual humor, ethnic humor, and aggressive/hostile humor were used less often in the classroom and were not recommended for use by instructors. Findings from this study should be interpreted with caution because the researchers only included an assessment of three instructors and 124 students. Despite the small sample size, it is important to note that it is one of the first studies that attempted to distinguish between student perceptions of appropriate and inappropriate forms of classroom humor. To extend these investigations, Wanzer, Frymier, Wojtaszczyk, and Smith (2006) identified a comprehensive list of appropriate and inappropriate instructional humor. They employed constant comparative methods to place student-generated humor examples of recent classroom experiences into categories of appropriate and inappropriate humor. This inductive methodology produced four broad categories of appropriate humor (i.e., related humor, unrelated humor, self-disparaging humor, and unplanned humor) that were similar to those categories identified in prior research (Bryant et al., 1979; Downs et al., 1988; Gorham & Christophel, 1990). Four broad categories of inappropriate teacher humor were also identified (i.e., offensive humor, disparaging student humor, disparaging other humor, and self-disparaging humor). Interestingly, self-disparaging humor emerged as both an inappropriate and appropriate form of instructional humor. This particular finding illustrates the complexity of understanding how students interpret their instructor’s humor use in the classroom. In a follow-up investigation, Frymier et al. (2008) used the Wanzer et al. (2006) typology of appropriate and inappropriate teacher humor to create a humor appropriateness measure called the Teacher Humor Scale, which tested three explanations for differences in interpretation of teacher humor. The first explanation for student perceptions of teacher humor was predicated on incongruity resolution (e.g., Berlyne, 1960; LaFave et al., 1996; Suls, 1972) and disposition (Zillmann & Cantor, 1996) theories. The researchers argued that students would generally perceive certain types of humor as more inappropriate when they did not recognize and resolve it (incongruity resolution) and when it made fun of liked or similar others (disposition theory). Not surprisingly, students viewed teacher humor as inappropriate when it was perceived as offensive and when it demeaned students as a group (i.e., sororities, fraternities, or athletes) or individually (i.e., race, sex, or hair color). The second explanation for student variability in perceptions of humor appropriateness was based on the premise that student personality traits or receiv-

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er characteristics influence perceptions of teacher humor. Students’ humor orientation, verbal aggressiveness, and communication competence were related to how they viewed teachers’ use of appropriate/inappropriate humor. For example, students higher in verbal aggression and humor orientation viewed offensive types of instructor as more appropriate in the classroom, whereas students scoring higher in communication competence viewed offensive humor as less appropriate for the classroom setting. The final explanation for variability in student perceptions of teacher humor was that teacher traits or characteristics impact student perceptions of teacher behavior; that is, students expect teachers who possessed certain traits to exhibit behaviors congruent with those traits. Hence, teachers’ perceived levels of humor orientation, verbal aggressiveness, and nonverbal immediacy were also related to how students viewed teachers’ use of humor. For example, students expected verbally aggressive teachers to use humor that targeted other students or student groups. These findings illustrate the complex relationships among instructor traits, student traits, and instructor humor and suggest that a combination of both student and instructor factors, as well as message content, can help explain differences in ratings of classroom humor appropriateness. Collectively, this research indicates that instructors use humor in their teaching and reap a variety of benefits from such use. Not surprisingly, instructors also enact a number of different types of humor in the classroom and some (i.e., related and unrelated humorous stories, examples) are more appropriate in the classroom than others (offensive and disparaging humor).

Procedural Challenges Faced by Instructional Humor Researchers There are a number of challenges associated with conducting instructional humor research. These challenges may explain, in part, the mixed findings in the instructor humor-student learning literature. The list of potential problems, questions, and criticisms faced when conducting instructional humor research is long and complicated. For example, how is humor conceptualized? How is humor operationalized and subsequently measured in studies? Are the measures used to assess instructor humor and student learning reliable and valid? If humor is manipulated, what is the best way to do so? What makes something funny? Are all forms of instructional humor effective in the classroom? What individual differences affect how humor is delivered and interpreted? What theories explain the relationships among the variables? Those who study instructional humor are keenly aware of these questions and attempt to address these concerns in their study designs. Although scholars might agree somewhat on the general conceptual definition of humor (i.e., stimuli that often evoke laughter and smiling), there appears to be

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significant variability in how instructional humor is actually operationalized and measured in the research. In fact, inconclusive or contradictory findings in earlier studies may be best explained by examining how the research was conducted. For example, Ziv (1988) examined a number of studies that tested the relationship between humor and learning and noted the significant variability in the way humor was measured. In several studies, the length of time individuals were exposed to humorous stimuli may have been too short (e.g., ten minutes) to affect students’ ability to retain information. Another important methodological concern expressed by Ziv and others (Booth-Butterfield & Wanzer 2010) was the extent to which the humorous stimuli were actually perceived as funny by the study participants. Ziv also pointed out that many of the original studies investigating the relationship between humor and learning were conducted in laboratory settings that did not resemble real classrooms. Similarly, Gorham and Christophel (1990) argued that it is difficult to compare early study results because of the variability in the types of humorous stimuli researchers utilized (e.g., cartoons, jokes), as well as differences in whether the humor was studied in the research lab or the classroom. Early instructional humor scholars tested a wide range of humorous materials such as cartoons and videos, and this material was often selected by the instructor or researcher. In several of their early studies, they also tested instructional materials instead of instructor-generated humor. In addition, the researchers did not conduct manipulation tests to determine whether the humorous material was perceived by the students/study participants as funny or relevant. Although early research did shed some light on the different types of instructional humor that could be used to help students retain information, it did not describe or test the types of humor instructors should avoid in the classroom. Current scholars agree that, instead of advocating for all types of humor in the classroom, it is important to specify which types of humor are more advantageous and which types should be avoided. To address this concern, IHPT (Wanzer et al., 2010) was developed to predict the types of instructional humor that are more likely to lead to student learning. As IHPT would predict, instructors’ use of offensive and disparaging type of humor was not related to students’ perceived learning. Instructors’ use of related humor was positively related to students’ perceptions of learning (Wanzer et al., 2010). Another challenge faced by humor researchers relates to the sample populations from which data are drawn. Most large studies have been conducted using college students as participants. Far fewer studies examine humor in learning-type settings involving non-traditional learners, older adults, organizational employees, or young children. It is possible that similar humor guidelines apply with these learners, but that assertion has not been thoroughly tested. Indeed, most studies in other contexts using corporate workers or health professionals include much smaller samples and often less rigorous empirical standards (e.g., Guenter, Schreurs, Van Emmerik, Gijsbers, & Van Iterson, 2013)

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Related to the challenge of diversity in sampling is the over-use of correlational designs. There is a need for carefully controlled experimental designs with randomization and control (Kerlinger, 1986). Such rigorous research designs will provide more valid data and more useful conclusions about how humorous instruction facilitates or detracts from learning. Such outcomes-focused research would be a fruitful endeavor for future researchers. Finally, we return to a previously mentioned concern regarding methodology and the measurement of humorous communication. There are substantive differences among the concepts of humor orientation, humor styles, functions of humor, and humor appreciation/sense of humor which are often either overlooked or meshed together in some research attempts (Wanzer & Booth-Butterfield, 2012). Such ambiguity introduces uncertainty in research and increases error, which often results in less credible findings. To alleviate this confusion, we contend that investigations of instructors’ enactment of humor should be carried out using the perspective of humor orientation or humor styles, which both deal with encoding humor. Humor orientation can be measured with Booth-Butterfield and BoothButterfield’s (1991) 17-item, Humor Orientation Scale (e.g., I regularly tell jokes and funny stories when in a group; Being funny is a natural communication style with me). It has been administered from both the instructors’ and students’ perspectives (e.g., Goodboy, et al., 2015; Wanzer & Frymier, 1999). The scale is measured with a 5-point Likert format and has demonstrated high internal reliability with Cronbach’s alphas ranging from .89 to .95 (Booth-Butterfield & Booth-Butterfield, 1991; Graham, 2009; Vela, Booth-Butterfield, Wanzer, & Vallade, 2013). Humor styles is operationalized with Martin et al.’s (2003) 32-item Humor Styles Questionnaire which assesses four dimensions or styles of humor use, which they labeled: affiliative, self-enhancing, aggressive, and self-defeating. The measure includes two adaptive styles, which are affiliative and self-enhancing (e.g., Even if something is really funny to me, I will not laugh or joke about it if someone will be offended), and two maladaptive styles, which are aggressive and self-defeating (e.g., I will often get carried away in putting myself down if it makes my friends or family laugh). The scale employs a 7-point Likert format and has demonstrated alpha reliabilities for the styles ranging from .73 to .85 (Cann, Zapata, & Davis, 2011; Martin et al., 2003). On the other hand, if the researcher is more interested in what communicators do with their humor, or how humor operates in a situation, then that research topic deals with functions. For example, Graham, Papa, and Brooks (1992) developed the Uses of Humor Index, which addresses using humor to express oneself, to smooth interactions, or even to reprimand someone. The UHI contains 11 items and uses a 5-point Likert-type scale to assess the ways people, including teachers, use humor to accomplish goals in communication interactions. This scale includes three dimensions in using humor: positive affect (e.g., develop friendships), expressiveness (e.g., disclosing difficult information), and negative affect (e.g., put others in

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their place). The internal reliability for this scale is typically approximately .72 (Graham et al., 1992). The Teacher Humor Scale (THS) allows researchers to measure appropriate and inappropriate humor types (Frymier et al., 2008) enacted in the classroom and to focus on how humorous messages may be employed in an effective or ineffective manner. This 41-item scale was based on a previous inductively derived typology of students’ perceptions (Wanzer et al., 2006), and underwent validity testing, which revealed a linkage with perceived competence, one’s own humor orientation, and nonverbal immediacy. The THS contains five dimensions of teacher humorous communication: other-disparaging humor, related humor, unrelated humor, offensive humor, and self-disparaging humor. Responses are based on a 5-point scale from very inappropriate to very appropriate, and each dimension demonstrates internal reliability of 0.80 or higher (Frymier et al., 2008). Finally, when research concerns how audiences or targeted receivers respond to humor attempts, that endeavor entails perceived humor, humor appreciation, or individuals’ trait-like sense of humor. For example, the 21-item Situational Humor Response Questionnaire (SHRQ; Martin & Lefcourt, 1984) examines the extent to which people respond to various situations with laughter and general amusement. The items present examples of potentially humorous situations, and respondents gauge how much they would laugh at the situation, using five response options that range from “I would not have been particularly amused” to “I would have laughed heartily.” An example of a scenario included on the SHRQ is, “If you were eating in a restaurant with some friends and the waiter accidentally spilled soup on one of your friends.” Of some concern is that scenarios presented on the SHRQ were originally created for college student populations and may be dated or ineffective for non-college samples. Note that each of the diverse types of humor research questions have specific, validated, and reliable forms of measurement that will best address the construct under study.

Students Enacting Humor Before moving toward a conclusion, it is important to note that humor in learning contexts does not originate with instructors only; students, also, have occasion to introduce humor during the teaching-learning process. However, there is scarce research that focuses exclusively on how students enact humor and how those messages are perceived by instructors and other students. In a related line of research, a few scholars have examined how student traits (i.e., humor orientation) or predispositions affect their perceptions of their instructor’s humor. For example, humor-oriented students learn best from humor-oriented instructors (Wanzer & Frymier, 1999), have a greater tolerance for instructors’ use of offensive classroom

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humor (Frymier et al., 2008), and expect their instructors to engage in verbal and nonverbal immediacy behaviors (Frymier & Weser, 2001). What seems less clear, however, is how and why students themselves might introduce humor in the classroom with their instructors or their peers. It is safe to assume that many teachers enjoy students who are appropriately funny in class, and that some students do, in fact, joke, tease, or make humorous comments during classroom instruction. Students’ enactment of humor could be a manner of coping with the pressures of academic life (e.g., Booth-Butterfield, Booth-Butterfield, & Wanzer, 2007) or a way of seeking affinity with the instructor (Wanzer, 1998). Of course, in much the same way that instructors walk a fine line and have to discern between appropriate and inappropriate humor, students also may struggle with their own humor attempts. Further, when students communicate inappropriately using humorous comments, the repercussions for them may be more serious, so they may be more cautious about engaging in humorous interactions. Therefore, because most researchers have focused on instructors’ humor as opposed to students’ humor, this gap suggests a valuable avenue for future research.

Pedagogical Implications and Applications Cumulative research indicates that instructors can use humor as an effective communication strategy to assist in achieving both rhetorical and relational goals. However, for instructional humor to be successful, it must be thoughtfully chosen and effectively enacted. To assist classroom teachers in identifying effective and appropriate humor strategies, we provide the following empirically validated categories of instructional humor (Booth-Butterfield & Booth-Butterfield, 1991; Wanzer, Booth-Butterfield, & Booth-Butterfield, 2005). As instructors seek to discern the humor types most likely to achieve positive benefits in their classroom, they should also consider the use of instructor immediacy behaviors that frequently accompany humorous instruction and serve to build rapport with students. Though a few instructors are innately funny people, most have to be more intentional in the selection and delivery of humorous material. To maximize affective and cognitive learning outcomes, these different types of humor should be connected somehow to the course material in order to increase students’ ability to retain the content later. Here are some important factors to consider: 1. Low humor is essentially acting stupid. It often involves silly physical actions or even “bathroom” humor. This finding may not be the best avenue for educators’ humor enactment because it entails tripping, spilling, dropping things, making noises, and even equipment failure to get a laugh. With low humor in the classroom, a little can go a long way, and instructors may not want to risk credibility by over-doing this type of humor enactment.

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Wit incorporates all elements of language in order to entertain: puns, riddles, jokes, verbal taunting, sarcasm, innuendo, all types of word play both positive and negative. This is probably the most often used by instructors because, in most classes, they have the floor most of the time. Because language elements are easier to identify and code than a broad range of humor patterns, early typologies of instructional humor were based largely on wit (e.g., Bryant, et al, 1979; Gorham & Christophel, 1990; Torok et. al, 2004). 3. Nonverbal humor can encompass vocal cues (pitch, tone, accents, and vocal impressions), gestures (hand, arm, and walking features), facial expressions (everything from a smile to a straight face, surprise, fear, or anger), and other forms of nonverbal communication. Many teachers enact nonverbal humor, seemingly automatically, and it tends to accompany other forms of humorous enactment. 4. Impersonation entails various types of imitation using speech, mannerisms, or scenarios to emulate a known character. To be effective, the instructor must choose an appropriate target for humorous impersonation, be certain that students know who is being impersonated, and assure that the characterization is well-enacted. For example, when instructors use out-of-date characters, portray little-known scenarios from movies, or target people whom students are inclined to defend, the impersonation will not be viewed as effective or funny. 5. Expressivity accompanies humor as generalized positive affect that makes the message larger or more intense. This could include exaggeration, being outgoing, friendly, enthusiastic, or very positive. Expressivity is especially helpful in larger rooms or lecture halls with a large group of students. Although some stand-up comedians may get laughs by being intentionally inexpressive, such a style is not recommended for the classroom. 6. Other-orientation involves the teacher giving full attention to the student audience and involving them in the humorous interaction. Specific actions may include noticing students’ reactions, including everyone in the humorous situation, waiting for listeners to “get it,” carefully timing delivery and response, and providing encouragement for others to play along. Skilled humorous communicators seem to understand this subtle action almost inherently, and it is almost always an essential element in effective teaching and learning. 7. Using props can create amusement in the classroom. Anyone, even an instructor who is not typically funny while teaching, can employ props or artifacts to introduce a humorous element in the classroom. These tools might include hats, dressing a certain way to illustrate a point, toys, or seasonal décor, but they may also include the introduction of humorous material such as images, clips from YouTube, or other graphic elements. Prop humor is typically planned to coincide with specific course material, but it can be decidedly lighthearted. (To avoid embarrassment or failed attempts at prop humor, teachers with a low humor-orientation should try out the prop on a colleague who is higher in humorous communication.)

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8. Engaging another person to participate in classroom humor is an especially helpful strategy for instructors with a low humor-orientation. They may begin an anecdote or story, but then advocate that someone else “who tells it better” actually complete the amusing narrative. Some communicators also recognize students who are particularly funny and allow them to expand on the entertaining message. The practice of seeking another person to provide comic relief is an intentional strategy to enhance the teaching-learning process by inviting the active participation of others. There may well be additional types of humor enactments that could translate to instructional settings and be incorporated in classroom communication. It is important for instructors to realize the many benefits of using humor as well as the variety of options they have when enacting instructional humor in the classroom. In addition, instructors should work diligently to develop a unique humor style that complements their personality and teaching style and generates positive affect toward course material. Although not all instructors will become “experts” in delivering classroom humor, many will increase both the quantity and quality of humorous content in their classes. Students will appreciate the instructors’ effort, and instructors will benefit from increased student ratings, outside of classroom communication with instructors, and learning outcomes.

Directions for Future Research The study of humor enactments from a communicative perspective constitutes an area of increasing interest in instructional communication. As scholars continue to explore the processes and implications of humor in learning contexts, they should seek to remove existing limitations by expanding the parameters of context, culture, and measurement.

Children’s Humor Enactment Humor enactment among children is clearly an understudied area. Of course, some children are funnier than others and intentionally enact humor in unique and varied ways (Kotthoff, 2006), but very little empirical research has been conducted in this area (Booth-Butterfield, Wanzer, Birmingham, & Booth-Butterfield, 2011). An exception is the work of Klein and Kuiper (2006), who expanded Martin et al.’s (2003) research by speculating on how enacting various humor styles could impact children’s relationships. They suggested ways that humor styles could affect peer relationships and bullying in middle childhood (e.g., children in middle childhood may use affiliative humor to attempt to maintain group cohesion). Further, Klein

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and Kuiper indicated that self-defeating humor may be used by children who are bullied by their peers in an attempt to regain peer relationships and/or status, whereas aggressive humor may be used by child bullies who victimize their peers. Such patterns, however, are speculative and have yet to be measured. Prior examinations of children’s humor have focused more generally on sense of humor (e.g., Dowling & Fain, 1999), engagement in humor tasks (e.g., Puche-Navarro, 2004), and age-related stages of humor development (e.g., McGhee, 1979; Socha, 2012). These initial studies are valuable endeavors, but more systematic research is needed to explore this conceptually complex phenomenon.

Humor and Culture Another research area that is yet to be developed is humor enactment among nonAmerican samples. Again we emphasize that this is not sense of humor which is idiosyncratic and culture-bound. That is, each culture or group may consider different things “funny” or to be laughed at, and in some countries teaching might not be viewed as appropriate for humorous messages. However, in every culture some individuals are no doubt funnier and more entertaining than others (Booth-Butterfield, Kanjeva, & Booth-Butterfield, 2014). For humor to be successful, there needs to be understanding of differences in classroom expectations or learning environments across cultures, which may affect humor use and interpretation. Similar to Booth-Butterfield and Noguchi’s (2000) study on immediacy among Japanese students, more work is needed to explicate whether and how humorous communication may optimally be employed in instructional settings.

Closely-Coded Message Analysis Additional research is needed to determine exactly what causes an enactment to be funny, regardless of content. Precisely how does that high humor-oriented instructor present course content so that it comes across as amusing or entertaining? What differentiates stories or quips with the same content, when one is delivered as entertaining and another interpreted as lame? This might entail closely coded behaviors such as pausing and rhythm, delivery of punch lines, vocal inflections, or the general framing of the message as something to be laughed at.

Inept Attempts at Humor Though the focus of most research to date has been the words, actions, and traits of humorous instructors, questions about inept attempts at humor and their effects in the classroom also warrant research attention. How do instructors’ inappropriate

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or offensive humor attempts affect student learning, motivation, attendance, and other outcomes? Are there different effects in failed, but well-intentioned, humor efforts and those that are simply inept? Is this a realm for an attributional analysis in which poor humor by a well-liked instructor could be positive, whereas any humor enacted by a disliked instructor is viewed as offensive?

Humor and Communication Channels Another focus for future research is a careful, systematic analysis of how humorous messages are transmitted in instructional settings. What channels are used to disseminate humorous messages that are perceived as effective and appropriate by students? Do students correctly interpret humorous messages communicated via email messages or online forums? What negative results ensue when these messages are misinterpreted by students? Although technological advances can improve communication with our students, as well as learning outcomes, there are many opportunities for miscommunication, especially in the interpretation of statements intended to be humorous.

Training Teachers to Use Instructional Humor Finally, although we advocate appropriate humor as an effective teaching strategy, the question remains as to whether teachers can be trained to use humor effectively and appropriately in the classroom. Given our experience as teachers and humor researchers, we believe they can; however, we acknowledge that there is little empirical evidence to support this supposition outside of a very narrow scripted event (e.g., Vela & Booth-Butterfield, 2015). Cumulative research has shown that professionals who are innately funny, whether teachers, managers, or nurses, can implement that humor to their benefit. However, it is yet unclear whether the skill of humor enactment can be taught, practiced, and developed as part of an instructor’s teaching style. It is our hope that instructional communication researchers will accept the challenge of empirically determining how growth in humor enactment skill can be built.

Conclusions Though humorous communication in social interaction has been validated as a beneficial skill that confers general advantages to the interactants, the use of humor in instructional contexts presents some unique challenges. Instructors want to be interesting teachers, liked by their students, and viewed as attractive, but of

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course the ultimate goal of instruction is student learning. Whether the path toward learning passes through instructional humor is not always a predictable or reliable premise, given the complex nature of humor enactment and the range of students’ potential responses to humor during instruction. Nevertheless, some firm conclusions can be drawn about the use of humorous communication in learning environments. First, there is no single blueprint or script for successful humor enactment. Based on the existing research, it is important to consider both source and receiver characteristics in humorous exchanges. In instructional contexts we need to examine and understand the impact of both instructor and student traits on how messages are interpreted. Humor production and appreciation will differ based on the instructor and students’ humor orientation, humor styles, culture, age and sex, and level of communication competence. This is by no means an exhaustive list of instructor and student factors related to humor production and interpretation; however, it is a good place to start. Second, though scholars know a great deal about the appropriate and inappropriate messages instructors use in the classroom, they know little about how students use humor with their instructors and peers. Systematic lines of research should be developed to examine the communicatively complex ways students use humor with their instructors and peers. Such research should be grounded in established humor-related theories, and results should be interpreted by applying the tenets of those theories. It is apparent that the advantages of appropriately communicated humor outweigh the disadvantages, but in order to communicate humor effectively and appropriately, and to maintain the attention of students like Harold (from the joke that introduced this chapter), scholars and practitioners alike need to thoroughly understand all of the factors related to humor production and interpretation. The study of humor is no joke.

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self-efficacy, and motivation. Paper presented at the annual conference of the National Communication Association, Las Vegas, NV. Vela, L. E. Booth-Butterfield, M., Wanzer, M. B., & Vallade, J. (2013). Relationships among humor, coping, relationship stress, and satisfaction in dating relationships: Replication and Extension. Communication Research Reports, 30, 68–75. doi:10.1080/08824096.2012.746224 Wakshlag, J. J., Day, K. D., & Zillmann, D. (1981). Selective exposure to educational television programs as a function of differently paced humorous inserts. Journal of Educational Psychology, 73, 27–32. doi:10.1037/0022-0663.73.1.27 Wanzer, M. (1998). An exploratory investigation of student and teacher perceptions of student‐ generated affinity‐seeking behaviors. Communication Education, 47, 373–382. doi:10.1080/03634529809379144 Wanzer, M., & Booth-Butterfield, M. (2012). Measurement issues in humor communication. In R. DiCiccio (Ed.), Humor communication: Theory, impact and outcomes (pp. 51–72). Dubuque, IA: Kendall Hunt. Wanzer, M., Booth-Butterfield, M., & Booth-Butterfield, S. (2005). “If we didn’t use humor we’d cry”: Use of humor as coping in healthcare. Journal of Health Communication, 10, 105–125. doi:10.1080/10810730590915092 Wanzer, M. B., & Frymier, A. B. (1999). The relationship between student perceptions of instructor humor and student’s reports of learning. Communication Education, 48, 48–62. doi:10.1080/03634529909379152 Wanzer, M. B., Frymier, A. B., & Irwin, B. (2010). An explanation of the relationship between teacher humor and student learning: Instructional humor processing theory. Communication Education, 59, 1–18. doi:10.1080/03634520903367238 Wanzer, M. B., Frymier, A. B., Wojtaszczyk, A., & Smith, T. (2006). Appropriate and inappropriate uses of humor by teachers. Communication Education, 55, 178–196. doi:10.1080/03634520600566132 Zillmann, D., & Cantor, J. R. (1996). A disposition theory of humour and mirth. In A. J. Chapman & H. C. Foot (Eds.), Humor and laughter: Theory, research and applications (pp. 93–115). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction. Zillman, D., Williams, B., Bryant, J., Boynton, K., & Wolf, M. (1980). Acquisition of information from educational television programs as a function of differently paced humorous inserts. Journal of Educational Psychology, 72, 170–180. doi:10.1037/0022-0663.72.2.170 Ziv, A. (1988). Teaching and learning with humor: Experiment and replication. Journal of Experimental Education, 57, 5–15. doi:10.1080/00220973.1988.1080649

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10 Teacher Self-Disclosure Abstract: The argument has been made that the student-teacher relationship is interpersonal in nature. As such, teacher self-disclosure plays an important role in the development of this relationship. Teacher self-disclosure refers to the process of divulging personal information while giving instruction or interacting with students. From conversing about family to providing details about undergraduate life, this teacher communication behavior promotes understanding, influences the learning environment, and enhances the student-teacher relationship. From a theoretical perspective, the concept of teacher self-disclosure is multi-dimensional in nature, but the dimensions themselves have not yet been finalized. Amount, negativity, and relevance are the most commonly studied dimensions, with appropriateness starting to receive attention. A thorough examination of extant research indicates that teacher self-disclosure is an important instructional tool as it affects many facets of the classroom. The purpose of this chapter is to examine theoretical explanations, review past findings, and propose suggestions for future research in order to more fully understand the uses and effects of teacher self-disclosure. Keywords: teacher self-disclosure, relevance, appropriateness, social penetration theory, communication privacy management theory, rhetorical and relational goals theory, student-teacher relationship, learning environment The underlying premise of this volume is that classroom communication between students and teachers impacts both the teacher-student relationship and student learning. Consequently, it is imperative to form fuller understandings of the behavioral constructs that comprise instructional communication and examine how they work together (or against each other) to achieve instructional goals. The focus of this chapter is the communicative behavior known as teacher self-disclosure – when teachers discuss their own life experiences as a way of promoting clarity and understanding of the course material. For example, a teacher discussing the dilemma of perceived understanding may disclose something like the following: There are many times I think that I am being understood at home, but it is just my perception. I told my son that he has to clean his room before he can go over to his girlfriend’s house, and then I went back to my writing thinking that he was actually cleaning. About five minutes later he comes out of his room and says, “See you later!” I got up and checked to see if he had cleaned his room, and it was a disaster area. Obviously, I thought he understood he had to clean before leaving, but evidently his idea of what “clean” looked like was very different from mine. This is one of the many problems with perception.

This example describes a teacher’s attempt to illustrate the classroom topic by recounting a personal experience, which is a common form of teacher self-disclosure

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and arguably an effective pedagogical method. As stated by Fusani (1994), teacher self-disclosure is a “rich personal source of student-teacher communication” (p. 249) that can be brought into the teaching-learning process. However, as with most interpersonal relationships, it is not the sender’s intent but the receiver’s perception that determines the effectiveness and appropriateness of this instructional behavior. From the perspectives of both students and teachers, what is appropriate to discuss in one class may not be appropriate for all, as social and professional norms vary from class to class, creating individual communication climates. Thus, self-disclosure during instruction should be carefully monitored and evaluated, as it can produce either positive or negative effects on student learning, motivation, and affect for the teacher and course. The purpose of this chapter is to examine what researchers have learned about this useful and effective communication behavior. First, we will define the construct as it occurs in interpersonal and classroom contexts. Next, we will examine some theoretical foundations that provide explanations for how and why self-disclosure works in teaching and learning. After an overview of the relevant findings and identification of important issues related to the use of self-disclosure during instruction, we will discuss the measures that researchers use to operationalize the construct. The chapter will conclude with practical implications for instructors and directions for future researchers.

Origins and Definitions of the Construct In the 1970s the topic of self-disclosure began to receive attention from researchers interested in the role of communication in the development and maintenance of interpersonal relationships. Much like any new conceptualization, competing definitions of the construct emerged. Jourard (1971) defined disclosure as “the act of making yourself manifest, showing yourself so that others can perceive you” (p. 17), leading to the conclusion that telling others about oneself through love and trust (positive disclosures) is paramount for relationships. Taking a more general view, Wheeless and Grotz (1976) conceptualized interpersonal disclosure as “any message about the self that a person communicates to another” (p. 338). Several key findings emerged from early studies of self-disclosure in relationships. For instance, Kleinke (1979) noted that individuals who receive an intimate disclosure feel an urge to respond with a similar level disclosure in return. In addition to reciprocity, timing of disclosure is crucial: Altman and Taylor (1973) suggested that disclosing too much information early in the relationship may push others away, as an individual should establish trust before going into deep disclosures. Some of this research focused on the disclosure-liking hypothesis, that (1) individuals like others more after disclosing to them, (2) the depth of the disclosures influences liking, and (3) individuals disclose more frequently and more deeply to those

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they like (Collins & Miller, 1994). It is no surprise, then, that a positive association exists between self-disclosure and overall relationship satisfaction (Meeks, Hendrick, & Hendrick, 1998). Although the argument is often made that the teacher-student relationship is an interpersonal one, self-disclosure in the classroom context is not the same as in the friendship context. A key factor in judging the effectiveness and appropriateness of instructor self-disclosure is relevance to the course content. “Desirable classroom self-disclosure differs from self-disclosure that may be desirable in personal relationships because it should be more illustrative than revealing” (Lannutti & Strauman, 2006, p. 96). The work of Wheeless and Grotz (1976) expanded the conceptualization and operationalization of self-disclosure into the teaching-learning context, providing a starting point for defining and constructing teacher selfdisclosure. In the early development of the construct, Nussbaum and Scott (1979) pointed out that teacher self-disclosure may involve either intentional or unintentional revealing of information to students. Sorensen (1989) articulated a fuller definition for the classroom context, describing it as “teacher statements in the classroom about the self that may or may not be related to the subject content, but reveal information about the teacher that students are unlikely to learn from other sources” (p. 260). For Goldstein and Benassi (1994), it is when a teacher shares “personal and professional information and experience about himself or herself” (p. 212). Synthesizing these definitions into a working understanding for this chapter produces the following definition: Teacher self-disclosure is a voluntary (planned or unplanned) transmission of information not readily available to students. It is argued here that a significant factor is whether the disclosure is planned or unplanned. Sometimes classroom disclosures are not planned in advance. For example, an instructor may be discussing the topic of cheating in interpersonal relationships when a memory suddenly floods the teacher’s mind and is used as an illustration of a cheating event. Though the disclosure was intentional, it was unplanned. When teaching, disclosures often are unplanned and thus could be either effective exemplars of course-related material or completely inappropriate and not relevant. As noted by James (2009), teacher self-disclosure is not static, and the teacher makes a conscious decision to enter the learning process personally. In order to better explain the process, a brief survey of relevant theories is warranted.

Understanding Teacher Self-Disclosure Because the disclosure of private information often occurs in the context of friendships or family relationships, interpersonal theorists have examined how and why disclosure occurs. As noted, the teacher-student relationship is interpersonal in nature and thus, certain interpersonal theories may be used to explain teacher self-

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disclosure. Three theories are discussed here as possible explanations for the use of teacher self-disclosure in the classroom: rhetorical and relational goals theory, communication privacy management theory, and social penetration theory.

Rhetorical and Relational Goals Theory Going beyond the personal narrative in the classroom, rhetorical and relational goals theory (RRGT; Mottet, Frymier, & Beebe, 2006) provides a framework to examine and explain the use of teacher self-disclosure. Mottet and his colleagues identified two types of goals in the classroom: rhetorical and relational. Rhetorical goals refer to the results of successful course instruction such as acceptable grades and the achievement of learning outcome, whereas relational goals entail instructor communication that provides positive personal regard (affect) and an appropriate degree of interpersonal connectedness. RRGT posits that these two goals are equivalent in value and recognizes that self-disclosure is one communication strategy that teachers may use to attain these goals. Students often report they like teachers more when they disclose things in the classroom that make them appear more human. However, when using self-disclosure to achieve rhetorical goals related to successful instruction, a teacher should thoughtfully consider the amount of relevant disclosures in terms of frequency (not too often), breadth (not for every teaching point), and depth (not too personal). For example, one of the main reasons students are in class is to obtain a good grade. As such, teachers sometimes focus rhetorical disclosures on grading issues that directly communicate how students may obtain the grade they desire. When discussing a grading rubric, an instructor could state “When I was a student, I really wanted an A in instructional communication. I did all the work, but I did not read the actual grading instructions in the syllabus and overlooked something important. I ended up with a B in the class.” Instead of making a straightforward announcement, “Consult the grading policy in the syllabus,” the instructor used a more personal, self-disclosive style both to transmit the information and to build rapport with the students. In this case, the instructor’s self-disclosure helped achieve both rhetorical and relational goals, which illustrates one of the propositions of RRGT, that the two goals are intrinsically linked (Mottet et al., 2006). Sorenson (1989) observed this phenomenon in early research, noting that teacher self-disclosure links relational construction and affect through instructional and explanatory functions.

Communication Privacy Management Theory Whenever teachers talk about themselves, tell stories, and discuss their personal beliefs (Nussbaum, Comadena, & Holladay, 1987), it is obvious that an element of

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personal discretion is called for. Inappropriate disclosures may negatively impact the student-teacher relationship and could even interfere with the teaching-learning process. Thus, an important issue concerns what types of information the teacher should disclose to foster learning and the student-teacher relationship. This dimension of self-disclosure is addressed by communication privacy management theory (CPM; Petronio, 2002). CPM provides a heuristic to grasp the ways people manage their privacy during interpersonal interaction, and the tenets of the theory have direct application to the teacher-learning context. The metaphor of the boundary is utilized in CPM to “identify the border around private information” (Petronio, 2000, p. 38). CPM argues that the way to comprehend how people regulate private information is to consider several core principles. First, people regard private information as something they own, and therefore it belongs to them. They can own it alone or co-own it with other people. Second, when private information is owned and co-owned by individuals, they collectively feel the need to control the information (Petronio, 2002). Third, CPM proposes that when co-owners or stakeholders work together to generate, adjust, and refine rules to regulate privacy boundaries, they are synchronizing a coordinated effort to yield successful management of the boundaries. Clearly, the tenets of CPM apply to self-disclosures made by classroom teachers. When a teacher recounts a personal experience, previously-private information is now co-owned with the students. By making the experience more or less public, the teacher sacrifices a degree of control over the information, as many students may not maintain confidentiality of the self-disclosure, even if the teacher requests it. Thus, deciding what information to divulge constitutes a strategic decision with implications for both the student-teacher relationship and the success of the class. Few instructional behaviors influence the classroom like teacher self-disclosure because teachers enter an unspoken agreement with students in relation to privacy and relational intimacy. However, because the teacher-student teacher relationship is intrinsically different from a friendship, caution must be taken. CPM explains that privacy rules are constructed to control the privacy boundaries surrounding confidential information. These rules, hence, are developed, taught, and sometimes negotiated among the group members to manage the permeability (how much is known to outsiders), linkages (who is privileged to know), and parameters of shared ownership (the degree to which co-owners individually have rights to make choices about the information). CPM further posits that when a choice is made to allow someone access to the private information, a decision should be made about the extent to which that person is expected to protect the information.

Social Penetration Theory Within the classroom, a teacher must decide whether or not to be a part of the interpersonal learning environment. When the teacher makes this choice, he/she

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enters the personal learning environment through self-disclosure (James, 2009). Once a degree of mutual trust has been established or assumed, social penetration theory (SPT; Altman & Taylor, 1973) helps explain the ways disclosure might occur during instruction. SPT posits two dimensions of disclosure that help or hinder relationship development, breadth and depth. Breadth refers to the number of different topic areas in which the teacher discloses personal experiences or opinions, whereas depth denotes the level of intimacy or privacy that information reveals. Breadth occurs in classes where teachers disclose on a routine basis while teaching different topics. Most of these disclosures are surface-level disclosures much like the example at the beginning of the chapter. This type of self-disclosure is common, acceptable, and effective as a teaching device. Depth occurs less frequently in the classroom, as it cuts deep into more intimate areas. This type of instructor self-disclosure is more likely to occur later in the semester as the layers of a teacher’s persona are gradually peeled away. Altman and Taylor (1973) viewed self-disclosure as essential to the formation of love, faith, fear, and self-acceptance. Most people innately protect these private areas and resent intrusion from an untrusted or unexpected source. Teachers who venture into these areas of self-disclosure should use caution and be certain of their students’ attitudes and reactions. They suggested that as the relationship progresses, the level of breadth and depth increases. Similarly, as the semester progresses, the teacher-student relationship develops in and out of the classroom. Teachers may begin to use more and varied types of disclosure in their examples as a more open climate is established. SPT helps explain how a teacher may move from a few surface-level disclosures to more in-depth information covering many topics. If, however, a teacher deems the use of disclosure as too risky in terms of professionalism, the layers stay intact, meaning the self-disclosures are kept to a minimum in terms of intimacy. This is a common tactic both in the classroom and in interpersonal relationships. Overall, SPT provides a general framework for understanding how classroom disclosures contribute to the development of the student-teacher relationship. These three interpersonal theories describe the conceptualization and explain the process of teacher self-disclosure, and they form a cognitive framework for interpreting the following research findings.

Major Research Findings Most programs of research on teacher self-disclosure fall into four major categories, those that examine (1) frequency, (2) relevance, (3) appropriateness, and (4) valence. Overall, scholars are most interested in valence – i.e., the positive or negative perceptions of students and any potential effects those perceptions may have on classroom outcomes such as learning, motivation, and affect for the teacher and

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course. Chronologically, lines of research have emerged as self-disclosure measures have been introduced.

Frequency/Amount of Self-Disclosure Initial findings based on data from the Instructor Self-Disclosure Scale (Cayanus & Martin, 2002) reinforced the relational side of the student-teacher relationship. For example, these data indicated that the amount (frequency) of teacher self-disclosure was positively correlated with students’ perceptions of teacher responsiveness. In other words, students reported that they approved of their instructors’ selfdisclosive instructional style because it communicated that the teacher was open and transparent with the students, and willing to engage in interpersonal exchanges with them concerning the course content. This explains why Cayanus et al. (2003) found that the amount of self-disclosure a teacher used was positively associated with student participation in the classroom: when the teacher is transparent, the students respond in like kind. Further research by Cayanus and Martin (2004) clarified that the amount of teacher self-disclosure was positively associated with students’ motives to communicate (relational, excuse-making, and sycophancy) as well as out-of-class communication, student interest, and cognitive learning. Though these findings were based on data from the ISD scale, an early iteration of self-disclosure measurement, they provided initial understanding of the construct of teacher self-disclosure.

Amount, Relevance, and Valence The development of the Teacher Self-Disclosure Scale (Cayanus & Martin, 2008) enabled investigation of the multi-dimensionality of the construct. Cayanus and Martin found that amount, relevance, and valence of teacher self-disclosure were all positively related to affective learning, motivation to attend class, teacher clarity, and student interest. As expected, amount and relevance were positively correlated with the outcome variables, but when students judged the self-disclosures negatively, inverse correlations were observed with each outcome variable. Further research indicated that amount and relevance were also correlated with student information-seeking strategies (Cayanus et al., 2008), specifically those of overt, third-party, and observation types. In other words, in classes where instructors engaged in self-disclosure while teaching, students felt freer to ask questions and engage in active information-seeking to clarify their understanding of course content. In the presence of frequent, relevant teacher self-disclosures, students reported higher motivation to learn (Cayanus et al., 2009) and lower receiver apprehension (Goodboy et al., 2014), but only if they judged the disclosures to be positive. Negatively-valenced self-disclosures were correlated with higher receiver apprehension, a state of anxiety that interferes with the receiving and processing of new

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information. The assessment of valence in these studies – i.e., whether students responded positively or negatively to specific disclosures of their instructors – fueled the next generation of studies that focused on relevance and appropriateness.

Relevance, Appropriateness, and the Teacher-Student Relationship A current trend in this line of research is to investigate the role and impact of both appropriateness and relevance. As previously noted, Cayanus and Heisler (2013) learned that students consider teacher self-disclosures about sex, religion, and politics to be inappropriate, as well as those disclosures that have no obvious connection with the course material. Yet Cayanus and Youngquist (2016) reported that, when judging the valence of teacher disclosures, students place more importance on relevance than on social appropriateness. The implications are that even disclosures about sex, religion, and politics may be deemed appropriate if they clarify, illustrate, or relate directly to the material being covered in the class. Zhang (2010) believed that skillful instructors who emphasize the relevance of their disclosures can likely disclose what otherwise might be perceived as inappropriate. In other words, students’ understanding of the purpose of the disclosure is more important than social appropriateness itself (Paluckaite & Zardeckaite-Matulaitiene, 2015). Concerning appropriateness, research indicates that students generally expect social and professional boundaries to be observed within the classroom. Instructors who violate classroom norms may negatively affect students’ perceptions of their professionalism. For example, perceptions of teacher competence are mitigated by judged appropriateness (comfort level) of the disclosure (Schrodt, 2013). In accordance with the tenets of CPM (Petronio, 2002), teachers should be aware of this boundary when choosing what, when, and how to disclose personal information during instruction. Students also want a variety of disclosures that are relevant, mostly positive, and help foster a student-teacher relationship, expectations that align with rhetorical and relational goals theory (Mottet et al., 2006). However, there is still a great deal of ambiguity concerning how students judge something as inappropriate in the classroom. For instance, some students may see a teacher’s disclosure about personal problems as inappropriate (Nunziata, 2007), but not all see it this way. Harper (2005) noted that some teachers are afraid to disclose because they do not know how the students will react. On one hand, the disclosure creates immediacy and a more relaxed atmosphere, but at the same time it may result in loss of credibility if the instructor is perceived as crossing a professional boundary.

Instructor Self-Disclosure in Computer-Mediated Contexts Most of the research to date has focused on teacher disclosure in the traditional face-to-face classroom on American college campuses, but the proliferation of dis-

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tributed learning through online courses has introduced a new interpersonal dynamic. Computer-mediated communication (CMC) gives instructors an entirely different context within which they may choose to disclose personal information, and students may respond differently to online disclosure than they would face to face. Scholars are beginning to examine instructor self-disclosure as it occurs in two digital contexts: social networking sites such as Facebook and online instruction.

Facebook Facebook is one of the most widely used social networking sites, providing a way for students to maintain social connections with one another and (sometimes) with their instructors. Selwyn (2009) noted that few education-related posts are found on Facebook and that students use it more as a form of entertainment. Students did, however, report a willingness to communicate passively with their professors. Obviously, instructors should monitor their Facebook disclosures as carefully as they would during classroom instruction, as their professional credibility may be affected. Although some researchers have detected no clear association between Facebook posts and instructor credibility (e.g., Hutchens & Hayes, 2014), others found that negative disclosures on Facebook (such as revealing pictures or sharing unflattering information) were correlated with perceptions of decreased credibility in the classroom (Corffelt, Strayhorn, & Tillson, 2014). Conversely, Mazer, Murphy, and Simonds (2009) found that teachers who chose to maintain a Facebook presence that included personal and/or family photographs elicited from their students higher attributions of credibility – at least in terms of trustworthiness and caring; perceptions of competence were not affected. These studies were conducted among college students and their instructors. Different research findings emerged when researchers examined Facebook usage by K-12 teachers, who were found to use Facebook for instructional purposes, to check on the well-being of students, and to promote the student-teacher relationship (Asterhan & Rosenberg, 2015). Future research will reveal more about these younger students’ responses to their teachers’ self-disclosures on Facebook.

Online classes Another computer-mediated context where instructor self-disclosures might occur is during instruction in the online course. In fact, relating personal experiences or opinions online may have a higher impact on relationship satisfaction in online classes than in traditional classes (Song, Kim, & Luo, 2016). In the absence of nonverbal cues such as facial expressions and tone of voice, the verbal content of online disclosures may have increased impact on relational development and satis-

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faction. Although it has been argued that negative self-disclosures in the classroom sometimes make teachers appear more human to students (Cayanus & Martin, 2008; Cayanus et al., 2009), credibility may be harmed if negative self-disclosure occurs in the online context. Perhaps in person, instructors appear self-confident and secure when they transparently admit to flaws or mistakes they have made. Online, without the important information carried by nonverbal cues, the same messages may seem demeaning or self-critical, with the result that students might form less positive attributions of the teacher. As noted previously, self-disclosure in the classroom contributes to perceptions of immediacy or personal closeness. Similar results have been detected in online instruction. Al Ghamdi, Samarji, and Watt (2016) used the term e-immediacy to denote behaviors teachers use online to enhance immediacy, such as initiating discussion through stories and using self-disclosure. These communication cues contribute to a feeling of closeness between the teacher and students and serve to reduce perceptions of interpersonal distance. Ghamdi et al.’s findings involving teacher self-disclosure, immediacy, participation, and communication satisfaction are notable partly because this study involved students outside of American culture. Interpreting and applying the research findings reported in this chapter will have validity only when taking into consideration the social norms and classroom expectations that are characteristic of different local cultures.

Cultural Influences on Instructor Self-Disclosure The majority of instructor self-disclosure research has been conducted in American college classrooms, which are typically governed by individualistic, low-context, and small-power-distance communication norms. In such an environment, teachers may freely talk about their personal lives as if students were their friends or peers. In other cultures, instructors may not be expected (or allowed) to self-disclose while teaching, as it would violate collectivistic, high-context, large-powerdistance cultural norms. Scholars have investigated cultural preferences in terms of communication style preference (Mortenson, Liu, Burleson, & Liu, 2006) and the acceptability of teacher immediacy behaviors (Gundykunst, Lee, Nishida, & Ogawa, 2005). For example, Myers, Zhong, & Guan (1998) found that self-disclosure, though appropriate in U.S. classrooms, was not deemed appropriate in Chinese classrooms. Zhang (2007) discussed how culture influences the effect sizes of teacher misbehaviors in the classroom, including negatively-valenced self-disclosures. Given the important variations in cultural definitions of acceptable and unacceptable classroom communication behavior, the conclusions and recommendations of self-disclosure scholars should be applied with caution in non-American contexts.

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Measurement of Teacher Self-Disclosure Though scholars have identified different types of disclosure and assessed the effects of teacher self-disclosure on various student outcomes, a single agreed-upon method of measurement has not yet emerged. In the past, scholars have operationalized self-disclosure by coding transcripts of recorded lectures (Downs et al., 1988), asking students to compare current instructors to past instructors (Goldstein & Benassi, 1994), using checklists of self-disclosive statements (Sorensen, 1989), classroom evaluations (Wambach & Brothen, 1997), reading instructor narratives (Ebersole, McFall, & Brandt, 1977), or adapting an interpersonal measure of self-disclosure (Myers, 1998). In recent years, scholars have made several attempts to construct a valid and reliable instrument.

Instructor Self-Disclosure Scale Cayanus and Martin (2002) developed a unidimensional measure of the amount of teacher self-disclosure perceived by students, on the assumption that some teachers use more self-disclosure than others, and that students might interpret those instructional messages differently based on the frequency of their use. The Instructor Self-Disclosure Scale uses a Likert-type response format ranging from (1) completely disagree to (7) completely agree. Cayanus and Martin reported that the scale has face validity and has attained an acceptable reliability (α = .92). Sample items include: “My instructor often talks about him/herself,” “My instructor shares his/ her likes and dislikes,” and “My instructor often gives his/her opinions about current events.” Similar reliabilities (α ranged from .91 to .93) for the scale were reported by Cayanus, Martin, & Weber (2003) and Cayanus and Martin (2004). Additionally, Cayanus and Martin (2003) confirmed the unidimensional structure for the Instructor Self-Disclosure Scale.

Teacher Self-Disclosure Scale Lannuti and Strauman (2006) noted that most teacher self-disclosure studies have not focused on the multi-dimensional aspect of self-disclosure but have been limited to frequency of use. To address this weakness in measurement, Cayanus and Martin (2008) devised the Teacher Self-Disclosure Scale, a 3-dimensional teacher self-disclosure instrument originally designed to address amount, relevance, and valence. As in the earlier measure, the amount dimension focused on how often a teacher uses self-disclosure, the relevance dimension examined how the disclosure relates to the class material, and the valence dimension addressed the perceived positive or negative effects of the self-disclosure. After initial testing, however, the

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positive disclosure items did not separate from the relevance dimension and were thus discarded, so the third factor was reidentified as negativity. Items for the Teacher Self-Disclosure Scale were derived from several sources. For the amount dimension, items were taken from the original Instructor Self-Disclosure scale based on their high factor loadings. Sample items include: “My instructor often shares his/her dislikes and likes,” and “My instructor often gives his/ her opinions about current events.” Relevance items stemmed from the work of Frymier and Shulman (1995) and Frymier, Shulman, and Houser (1996) and were modified to focus on teacher self-disclosure. Five items were retained for the final version of the scale. Sample items include: “My instructor provides personal explanations that make the content relevant,” and “My instructor uses his/her own experiences to introduce a concept.” Five negativity items were chosen based off of the disclosure work of Wheeless and Grotz (1976) and were modified to examine teacher self-disclosure. Sample items include: “My instructor reveals undesirable things about him/herself,” and “My instructor has told some unflattering stories about him/herself.” Responses were solicited using a 7-item Likert-type response format ranging from (1) completely disagree to (7) completely agree. Items loaded on each factor appropriately and had initial reliabilities of .80 (amount), .88 (relevance), and .84 (negativity). Similar loadings and reliabilities for each dimension were found by Cayanus, Martin, and Myers (2008) and Cayanus, Martin, and Goodboy (2009). Though the Teacher Self-Disclosure Scale has proved useful in a number of classroom studies, it has not been adopted widely to the exclusion of other measures of teacher self-disclosure.

Appropriateness of Teacher Self-Disclosure Scale Around the same time this instrument emerged, Zhang, Shi, Tonelson, and Robinson (2009) introduced the Appropriateness of Teacher Self-Disclosure (ATSD) scale to focus on the crucial dimension of the social acceptability of disclosures. Items were developed from the works of Cayanus and Martin (2002), Downs et al., 1988, and earlier works of the authors. The ATSD scale contains three dimensions: topics (7 items), purposes (9 items), and considerations (4 items). Topics included aspects of teacher self-disclosure such as family, friends, hobbies, religion, and personal beliefs. Purposes entailed offering real-world examples, creating attention, achieving clarity, fostering the student-teacher relationship, and establishing classroom climate. Considerations involved students’ biological sex, cultural background, emotional state, and grade level. The scale was designed to examine K-12 teachers using a 5-point, Likert-type response format ranging from (1) very inappropriate to (5) very appropriate. Upon testing, five factors emerged from the data: common topics, uncommon topics, common purposes, uncommon purposes, and consideration of students. Though the conceptualization of the ATSD scale was theoretically

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sound, the overall reliability of the scale was not satisfactory, bringing into question the validity of the instrument. Only two of the dimensions achieved acceptable reliabilities: common purposes (α = .85) and consideration of students (α = .86). Common topics (α = .48), uncommon topics (α = .67), and uncommon purposes (α = .53) failed to reach acceptable reliabilities. Part of the measurement problem could be related to the fact that the scale asked teachers, not students, about the appropriateness of disclosures.

Revised Teacher Self-Disclosure Scale Considering these attempts at measurement development, and based on the work Nunziata (2007), Cayanus and Heisler (2013) attempted to incorporate appropriateness into a Revised Teacher Self-Disclosure (RTSD) Scale. As a starting point, 157 students were asked what makes a teacher’s self-disclosure inappropriate. Similar to past findings involving appropriateness, three main categories of disclosure emerged from the sorting procedure as inappropriate: discussion of sex life, talking about things not related to the class, and negative opinions addressing religion and politics. Respondents indicated that all other topics were safe to discuss in the classroom. Nine items for the RTSD scale were derived from the responses and from Canary and Spitzberg’s (1987) appropriateness scale, but factor analysis indicated that only two of the items separated from relevance, amount, and negativity: “My instructor’s disclosures are appropriate in the class,” and “My instructor’s disclosures are suitable for the class.” Acceptable reliabilities were attained for all four dimensions of the RTSD scale, but to date it has only been used once in research and needs more testing and development. Researchers are continuing to develop measures of the teacher self-disclosure construct. For example, Cayanus and Youngquist (2016) have just completed an exploratory inquiry into the relative importance of relevance and appropriateness in determining students’ assessment of their teachers’ self-disclosures. Initial data indicate that students have divided opinions about the ways relevance influences perceived appropriateness. Around 60 % of student participants indicated that they consider any self-disclosure appropriate as long as it is relevant to class content. Further analysis is currently under way, and the role of appropriateness and relevance, as well as other aspects of teacher self-disclosure (both teachers’ and students’ perspectives), will command the attention of scholars in the years ahead.

Implications for Instructors and Researchers Teaching is an on-going process of decision-making (Hunter, 1979). Deciding when and what to use in terms of disclosure in the classroom involves evaluating the

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class composition itself. As classrooms become more diversified in terms of ethnicity, culture, and social identity, teachers must strive for deeper interpersonal understanding of their students, individually and as a group. One barrier to achieving this understanding, as Shavelson and Stern (1981) noted, is that teachers are not entirely aware of the many details that should be considered when planning a class. At the college level, most instructors receive little to no actual teacher training. Although this issue is starting to receive attention as pedagogical training is being incorporated in some doctoral programs, many professors enter the workforce with little knowledge of which pedagogical strategies work best in the classroom. Most new instructors go through a trial-and-error process when attempting to learn classroom management skills. Among the insights new instructors gain through their early teaching experiences, learning how and when to self-disclose is an important skill at any level of education. For some classes, given the topic, class size, age of students, and experience of the instructor, disclosures of a negative nature may be warranted and educationally effective, whereas other classes may require strict adherence to positive, relevant, and few disclosures. In many cases, the teacher’s assessment of the composition of the class becomes as important as the conveying of material. As Hawley, Rosenholtz, Goodstein, and Hasselbring (1984) believed, “There is no one best instructional system, no quick fixes, and no universal criteria of teacher excellence that can be applied in all contexts, with all students, for all goals of academic learning” (p. 51). Extant research has concluded that teacher self-disclosure may have either positive or negative implications in the classroom. On the positive side, its use helps create a beneficial classroom environment, helps explain and illustrate the material, and helps build relationships between the teacher and the students. Effective self-disclosure can also increase student affect for the content, contribute to perceptions of instructor credibility, and enhance learning outcomes. On the other hand, when used inappropriately, teacher self-disclosure can become detrimental to the classroom environment and work against all these positive outcomes. Instructors must gauge how much disclosure to use, or else they run the risk of being labeled a compulsive communicator by students, which is generally viewed as a form of teacher misbehavior (Sidelinger & Bolen, 2015). Although each classroom is unique in terms of composition and temperament, future researchers may be able to detect some patterns between teachers’ and students’ perspectives on amount, relevance, effectiveness, and appropriateness of instructor disclosures. To pursue this line of research, several questions must be considered: Are these perceptions addressed in the classroom as part of the instructional climate? Are perceptions of the disclosure mediated by or related to other variables such as credibility, immediacy, interest, or participation? Are students aware when a teacher self-discloses to clarify content as compared with simply relating a narrative? Are students aware when a teacher discloses a relevant, ap-

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propriate example to illustrate a concept? How much or how little importance do students place on the teacher-student relationship, and in what specific ways does teacher self-disclosure affect this relationship? Myers (2001) called instructor credibility “one of the most important variables affecting the student-teacher relationship” (p. 354). Because of this claim, future researchers should carefully address the theoretical and practical relationship between credibility and self-disclosure. Extant research has only begun to examine how these two classroom variables interact, and more extensive research is needed. Scholars should also investigate a wider range of outcome variables in relation to instructor self-disclosure. For instance, do teachers’ self-disclosive comments during instruction contribute to greater cognitive learning as evidenced by higher grades or better short-term and long-term recall of the course material? Can appropriate and relevant disclosure be associated with perceptions of a more conducive classroom climate or a more positive teacher-student relationship? Is it even possible to parse out teacher behaviors like self-disclosure in order to fully understand how it affects students, or are teacher and student behaviors so intertwined that all are mitigated by one another? The groundwork for future research has been conducted, and further study of instructor self-disclosure will not only enhance our knowledge, but also make us better teachers. It is important to remember, however, that the valence of selfdisclosure is determined not by instructors but by students, and accurate knowledge of their perceptions and expectations can only be gained through careful observation and thoughtful evaluation. Disclosure in any relationship is risky at best, but it is the cornerstone for relational development. If the teacher-student relationship is viewed as an interpersonal one (Frymier & Houser, 2000), some level of instructor self-disclosure is definitely warranted in the classroom. Learning how to use this relational and pedagogical tool appropriately will enhance the effectiveness of both classroom and online instructors. Students frequently voice the expectation that their professors will teach more than just academics by being transparent and open in their interpersonal communication both in the classroom and beyond. Instructional self-disclosure is one way teachers can fulfill that expectation.

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Paluckaite, U., & Zardeckaite-Matulaitiene, K. (2015). The appropriateness of the relevant and irrelevant teacher’s self-disclosure: Students’ and their teachers’ attitudes. European Scientific Journal, 11, 18–35. Petronio, S. (2000). Balancing the secrets of private disclosures. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Petronio, S. (2002). Boundaries of privacy: Dialectics of disclosure. Albany, NY: SUNY. Schrodt, P. (2013). Content relevance and students’ comfort with disclosure as moderators of instructor disclosures and credibility in the college classroom. Communication Education, 62, 352–375. doi:10.1080/03634523.2013.807348 Selwyn, N. (2009). Faceworking: Exploring students’ education-related use of Facebook. Learning, Media, and Technology, 34, 157–174. doi:10.1080/1749880802923622 Shavelson, R. J., & Stern, P. (1981). Research on teachers’ pedagogical thoughts, judgments, decisions, and behaviors. Review of Educational Research, 51, 485–498. Sidelinger, R. J., & Bolen, D. M. (2015). Compulsive communication in the classroom: Is the talkaholic teacher a misbehaving instructor? Western Journal of Communication, 79, 174–196. doi:10.1080/10570314.2014.943416 Song, H., Kim, J., & Luo, W. (2016). Teacher-student relationships in online classes: A role of teacher self-disclosure. Computers in Human Behavior, 54, 436–443. doi:10.1016/j.chb.2015.07.037 Sorensen, G. (1989). The relationship among teachers’ self-disclosive statements, students’ perceptions, and affective learning. Communication Education, 38, 259–276. doi:10.1080/03634528909378762 Teclehaimanot, B., & Hickman, T. (2011). Student-teacher interaction on Facebook: What students find appropriate. Tech Trends, 55, 19–30. doi:10.107/s11528-011-0494-8 Wambach, C., & Brothen, T. (1997). Teacher self-disclosure and student classroom participation revisited. Teaching of Psychology, 24, 262–263. doi:10.1207/s15328023top2404_7 Wheeless, L. R., & Grotz, J. (1976). Conceptualization and measurement of reported self-disclosure. Human Communication Research, 2, 338–346. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2958.1976.tb00494.x Wheeless, L. R., & Grotz, J. (1977). The measurement of trust and its relation to self-disclosure. Human Communication Research, 3, 250–257. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2958.1977.tb00523.x Zhang, Q. (2007). Teacher misbehaviors as learning demotivators in college classrooms: A crosscultural investigation in China, Germany, Japan, and the United States. Communication Education, 56, 209–227. doi:10.1080/03634520601110104 Zhang, S. (2010). Secondary preservice teachers’ perspectives on teacher self-disclosure on citizenship curriculum. Action in Teacher Education, 32, 82–96. doi:10.1080/01626620.2010.10463552 Zhang, S., Shi, Q., Tonelson, S., & Robinson, J. (2009). Preservice and inservice teachers’ perceptions of appropriateness of teacher self-disclosure. Teaching and Teacher Education, 25, 1117–1124. doi:10.1016/j.tate.2008.07.011

Theodore A. Avtgis

11 Instructor Use of Aggressive Communication Abstract: This chapter comprises a comprehensive overview of aggressive communication in the instructional setting. It presents the theoretical underpinnings of aggressive communication theory and the distinctions of constructive and destructive forms of aggressive communication as supported by empirical research findings. Assessment of argumentativeness and verbal aggressiveness are discussed, along with psychometric challenges to the assessment of these two constructs that comprise aggressive communication. The chapter reviews training efforts to curtail the ubiquitous nature of destructive forms of aggressive communication, and it addresses related concepts such as bullying on behalf of both instructor and student. The chapter identifies major implications of the theory of independent mindedness, which is anchored in constructive aggressive communication. It concludes with suggestions for future research and theory-building efforts related to aggressive communication in the instructional context. Keywords: aggressive communication, communication traits, verbal aggressiveness, argumentativeness, theory of independent mindedness, instructor aggressive communication, student aggressive communication, instructor hostility, bullying This chapter focuses on the corpus of research concerning aggressive communication in the classroom. To provide some perspective as to how important aggressive communication is to the discipline of Communication Studies, Rancer and Avtgis (2006) provided a comprehensive research review of close to 400 studies directly related to aggressive communication. In the second edition of this work (2014), the number of studies had grown to over 500. This number alone speaks to the ubiquitous nature of aggressive communication and its compelling influence on human relationships around the world. In order to effectively describe the nature of aggressive communication and the effects that such communicative behavior has in the classroom, I will first examine the fundamental concepts of aggressive communication in interpersonal interaction, differentiate between constructive and destructive aggressiveness, and then survey research findings specific to aggressive communication used by teachers and students during instruction. I will also describe the measures and research designs most often used in this line of research, followed by predictions and recommendations about future research in this area.

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Theoretical Foundations of Aggressive Communication Personality/Communication Trait Development Interpersonal and instructional communication scholars study aggressive communication as a behavioral pattern or propensity to act toward others. Communication traits are related to personality traits because inner tendencies are manifest through outward communicative behavior. According to Infante, Rancer, and Womack (2003), communication traits are “an abstraction constructed to account for enduring consistencies and differences in message-sending and messagereceiving behaviors” (p. 77). Having knowledge of another person’s communicative behavior allows an individual to make reasonable predictions about how that person will respond in a given context or react to a particular message. However, although such predictions can be based on a person’s predisposition toward any given behavior, it is important to acknowledge that an individual can choose to be aggressive in any given situation regardless of any given predisposition toward such behavior. Communication traits are hypothetical constructs developed by scholars in the social and behavioral sciences; they serve as a representation of human reality that might not be otherwise observed through the five human senses (Rancer & Avtgis, 2006, 2014). Communication traits provide meaning and explanation to communicative behavior in ways that would otherwise be theoretically and practically difficult. Infante, Rancer, and Avtgis (2009) developed a classification system for the many communication traits conceptualized by scholars over the last 50 years. Some traits can be classified as presentation traits, which reflect the global impression people make when communicating with each other (e.g., communicator style), as well as the types and amount of information people reveal about themselves to others (e.g., disclosiveness). Some traits are considered adaptation traits, such as being aware of the impressions individuals make on other people (e.g., self-monitoring). Apprehension traits are those communication traits that involve fear or anxiety related to speaking (e.g., communication apprehension), initiating conversation (e.g., willingness to communicate), or receiving information (informational apprehension). The utilization of such a typology allows a rather parsimonious classification through which dozens of communication traits can be conveniently clustered based on the nature of the particular behavioral tendency.

Origins of Aggressive Communication Infante (1987a) argued that aggression and aggression-related behaviors specific to the Communication Studies discipline have lacked “comprehensive and unified

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conception of aggressiveness as a personality trait” (p. 161). Therefore, Infante posited the following comprehensive definition of aggressive behavior specific to the interpersonal communication context: An interpersonal behavior may be considered aggressive if it applies force physically or symbolically in order, minimally, to dominate and perhaps damage or, maximally, to defeat and perhaps destroy the locus of attack. The locus of attack in interpersonal communication can be a person’s body, material possessions, self-concept, position on topics of communication, or behavior. (Infante, 1987a, p. 158)

It is important to distinguish between physical aggression (punching or pushing someone or something) and symbolic aggression. Symbolic aggression is experienced via verbal and nonverbal behavior. Further, the use of both physical and symbolic aggression is designed to intentionally dominate or destroy the other person. The locus of attack may consist of the other person’s self-concept or the positions the person takes on any particular issue. Although physical and symbolic aggression are generally deemed destructive social behaviors, recent literature suggests that such behavior can be an effective compliance-gaining technique (Anderson & Rancer, 2007; Martin, Dunleavy, & Kennedy-Lightsey, 2010). In fact, there are types of aggressive communication that are not only seen as appropriate but strategically superior to other forms of communication. According to Rancer and Avtgis (2006), “This duality of aggressive communication, the notion that aggressive communication can be considered good and/or bad, can be explained in a model of aggressive communication offered by Infante (1987b) in his personality approach to aggression” (p. 11).

Constructive aggressive communication Infante’s (1987a) theoretical model posits that aggressive communication can be either constructive or destructive. Constructive aggression refers to assertiveness and argumentativeness, whereas destructive aggression refers to hostility and verbal aggressiveness. Assertiveness reflects exhibiting verbal and nonverbal behavior to stand and/or speak up when individuals believe their rights have been violated, to exert control, and to obtain rewards. When assertive communicators speak in a socially appropriate and competent way, assertiveness is viewed as a positive and beneficial trait (Lang & Jakubowski, 1976). Assertive behaviors can also include openness, which reflects “frankness and other expressions of feelings to close friends and people of the opposite sex” (Norton & Warnick, 1976, p. 64), taking initiative, initiation of communication, and lack of being anxious (Norton & Warnick, 1976; Rancer & Avtgis, 2006). The other dimension of constructive aggression, argumentativeness, may be conceptualized as a sub-set of assertiveness (Rancer & Avtgis, 2006, 2014). That is,

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all argumentative behavior is assertive, but not all assertive behaviors are argumentative in nature (Infante, 1987a). In the original conceptualization of the trait, Infante and Rancer (1982) defined trait argumentativeness as “a generally stable trait which predisposes the individual in communication situations to advocate positions on controversial issues, and to attack verbally positions which other people take on these issues” (p. 72). It is important to distinguish that, conceptualized in this way, the locus of attack consists of the positions the other person takes on issues, not personal characteristics. Hamilton and Mineo (2002) utilized the two motivational tendencies associated with argumentativeness: a motivation to approach arguments (i.e., ARGap) and a tendency to avoid arguments (i.e., ARGav). These were originally identified by Infante and Rancer (1982) to create different argumentative profiles. Hamilton and Mineo identified five categories of trait argumentativeness. The low argumentatives are people who have a low motivation to approach arguments and a high motivation to avoid arguments. High argumentatives are people who have a high motivation to approach arguments and low motivation to avoid arguments. The conflictedfeelings moderate argumentatives are people who have a high motivation to approach arguments and a high motivation to avoid arguments. The apathetic moderate argumentatives are people who have a low motivation to approach arguments and a low motivation to avoid arguments. Finally, the neutral moderate argumentatives are people moderate in both their motivation to approach arguments and their motivation to avoid arguments. As evidenced thus far, argumentativeness, similar to the macro-construct of assertiveness, is considered a constructive form of aggressive communication.

Destructive aggressive communication In contrast to these two forms of constructive aggression, Infante’s (1987a) model identified two types of destructive aggressive communication. The first type, hostility, is not uncommon in interpersonal interaction, as people often use messages that express irritability (e.g., quick temper, lack of patience, moodiness, overreaction to situations), resentment (e.g., jealousy, hatred, rumination on negative things), suspicion (e.g., distrust, belief that people are conspiring to get them), and negativity (e.g., uncooperative and antagonistic behavior, pessimism; Buss & Durkee, 1957; Infante & Rancer, 1996; Rancer & Avtgis, 2014). Several empirical studies have provided compelling evidence that people with a strong predisposition toward hostility perceive the world as a mean place, are more aggressive, and see others as persecuting them (Zelli & Huesmann, 1995). Berkowitz (1962) posited that aggressive behavior is a function of people reacting aggressively to aggressive cues (i.e., frustration and experiences that induce anger-producing hostile behavior), and that such behavior often becomes habitual

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(Infante 1987a). Such a contention has received empirical support from researchers. For example, Bosworth, Espelage, and Simon (1999) studied school children who were identified as engaging in serial bullying behavior. Their findings indicated that these children reported being hit more often by their parents than children who did not engage in bullying behavior. The other dimension of destructive aggressive communication, trait verbal aggressiveness, is subordinate to hostility in that all verbal aggressiveness is considered hostile in nature, but not all hostility involves verbal aggressiveness (Infante, 1987a). Verbal aggressiveness is defined as “the tendency to attack the self-concepts of individuals instead of, or in addition to, their positions on topics of communication” (Infante & Wigley, 1986, p. 61). According to Kinney (1994), there are three macro-categories of self-concept attacks consisting of group membership (e.g., “Your friends are a bunch of losers!”), relational failings (e.g., “Your ex-boyfriend was right about you!”), and personal failings (e.g., “Remember when you drank too much and made a jerk of yourself at the football game!”). Since the original conceptualizations of the argumentativeness and verbal aggressiveness constructs, it was assumed that if people were high in argumentativeness, they would have a natural tendency to be lower in verbal aggressiveness. Such a concept was the foundation of the skills deficiency explanation for verbal aggressiveness. That is, as a person develops the ability to use argument effectively, there will be a concomitant reduction in the tendency to resort to verbal aggression (Infante, 1995; Infante, Chandler, & Rudd, 1989; Infante & Rancer, 1996; Infante, Trebing, Shepherd, & Seeds, 1984). However, over the last several decades, research indicates that the relationship between argumentativeness and verbal aggressiveness is not as orthogonal as originally thought (see, for example, Rancer, Avtgis, Kosberg, & Whitecap, 2000; Rancer, Whitecap, Kosberg, & Avtgis, 1997). Several explanations have been offered to explain this shift in the relationship between the two constructs: (1) assumptions that not all verbal aggression is destructive and in fact, can be instrumental in nature (Martin et al., 2010); (2) the societal assumption that our global culture in general, and Western culture in particular, has become more aggressive in nature (Rancer & Avtgis, 2006, 2014); and (3) that training in argumentation skills does not necessarily mean a resulting reduction in verbally aggressive behavior as both argument and verbal aggression are approach-related constructs, yet separate from one another (Rancer et al., 2000; Rancer et al., 1997). Similar findings were reported by Anderson and Rancer (2007) in their study looking at incarcerated youth. More specifically, the authors found that incarcerated youth who were higher in verbal aggressiveness reported lower levels of communication satisfaction and greater tendency, when presented with a conflict scenario, to choose the response of physical aggression in reaction to the conflict scenario. Further, respondents also did not see significant distinctions between assertiveness, argumentativeness, and verbal aggressiveness but considered the three constructs to be functionally equivalent.

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In sum, the theoretical foundations of aggressive communication are deep and well embedded in the social sciences. The resulting empirical data show that aggressive communication is ubiquitous throughout all contexts of communication. As will be evidenced in this chapter, the classroom is dramatically affected by the presence or absence of aggressive communication. Instructors who use constructive or destructive aggressive communication while teaching produce marked results in the perceptions and/or performance of their students, and students who engage in aggressive communication with their instructors or with other students significantly influence the classroom learning environment. The next section of the chapter surveys the various ways that aggressive communication has been operationalized with an emphasis on measurement within the context of instructional communication.

Methods and Measurement of Aggressive Communication Throughout the last several decades, aggressive communication has been assessed utilizing primarily self-report measures. Most scholars measure verbal aggressiveness using Infante and Wigley’s (1986) Verbal Aggressiveness Scale (VAS). The VAS is a 20-item unidimensional measure containing 10 positively worded items (e.g., “I am extremely careful to avoid attacking individuals’ intelligence when I attack their ideas”) which are recoded for analysis and 10 negatively worded items (e.g., “If individuals I am trying to influence really deserve it, I attack their character”). The scale is summated for an overall trait verbal aggressiveness score. Dozens of studies have reported scale reliability estimates that cluster around .80 (Levine & Kotowski, 2010). In terms of specific research assessing instructional communication, studies utilizing the VAS involved changing the instructions to reflect the locus of assessment as being either the instructor or student, as well as altering the locus of assessment within each item (i.e., to reflect instructors or students; see Rancer & Avtgis, 2006, 2014). There have been several challenges to the dimensionality, validity, and reliability of the VAS measure (Beatty, Rudd, & Valencic, 1999; Hamilton & Hample, 2011; Hamilton & Tafoya, 2012; Kotowski, Levine, Baker, & Bolt, 2009; Levine et al., 2004; Levine & Kotowski, 2010; Levine, Kotowski, Beatty, & Van Kelegom, 2012), as well as publications in defense of the VAS measure (Infante, Rancer, & Wigley, 2011; Rancer & Avtgis, 2006, 2014; Wigley, 2003). More recently, several other instruments have been developed to assess verbal aggressiveness, including the 10-item Short Form Version of the Verbal Aggressiveness Scale (Infante, Anderson, Martin, Herrington, & Kim, 1993) which was adapted from the original Infante and Wigley (1986) scale, and the 8-item Adolescent Verbal Aggressiveness Scale (ADVA; Roberto & Finucane, 1997). Roberto and Finucane believed that adolescents and emerging adults represent a unique population

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with unique experiences and, as such, are better served by a measure of verbal aggressiveness specific to their experiences. Previous research indicates that the reliability of the ADVA is around .88 (Rancer et al., 1997; Rancer et al., 2000). Sample items from this measure include, “When I want my way and someone won’t listen, I will call them names and let them know I think they are stupid,” and “I like making fun of people who do things which are very stupid in order to make them smarter.” Most instructional scholars have used the original Infante and Wigley (1986) VAS, followed by the 10-Item Short Form Version of the VAS and the ADVA, respectively. The constructive side of aggressive communication, argumentativeness, has also garnered multiple self-report versions of assessment. The most popular scale, regardless of context, continues to be the original Infante and Rancer (1982) Argumentativeness Scale. This 20-item measure is based on two competing motivations: a motivation to approach argument (ARGap) and a separate motivation to avoid argument (ARGav). Each of these competing motivations is measured with 10 items each. A sample item for ARGap would be, “I am energetic and enthusiastic when I argue,” and for ARGav “Arguing with a person creates more problems for me than it solves.” Each 10-item sub-scale is summated and then calculated to produce a score for an individual’s general tendency to argue (ARGgt). More specifically, the resultant formula is ARGap − ARGav = ARGgt. Similar to the Cronbach alpha reliability estimates for the VAS, the Infante and Rancer Argumentativeness Scale collectively hovered around .80 (Levine & Kotowski, 2010). Specific to the context of instructional communication and similar to the adaptation of the verbal aggressiveness scale, researchers simply change the locus of the evaluation (i.e., focused on an instructor of the class the student had previously, or in the case of assessing instructors, focus on their students) in the directions of the scale and/or the locus of evaluation in each item. Similar to the critique of the original Infante and Wigley (1986) VAS, the Argumentativeness Scale’s dimensionality and reliability have been challenged (Boster & Levine, 1988; Boster, Levine, & Kazoleas, 1993; Hamilton & Mineo, 2002; Kotowski et al., 2009; Levine & Kotowski, 2010). However, other evidence supports the original conceptualization and scale properties of the original measure (Infante et al., 2011; Rancer & Avtgis, 2006, 2014). Although the vast majority of research on argumentativeness has utilized the original Infante and Rancer (1982) measure for assessment in the instructional context, scholars have developed several alternative forms to the scale. Infante et al. (1993) developed the 10-item Short Version of Argumentativeness Scale from items contained in the orginal Infante and Rancer scale. Similar to the rationale behind the development of the ADVA, which assumed that adolescents and emerging adults have unique experiences, Roberto and Finucane (1997) developed the 10item Adolescent Argumentativeness Scale (ADARG). The reliability of the ADARG measure generally hovers around .81. Sample items include “I have a great time when I argue” and “I enjoy defending my point of view on an issue.” Whereas studies utilizing the measure have been few, Rancer et al. (1997, 2000) used Roberto

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and Finucane’s measures (ADARG & ARGVA) to assess 7 th graders’ argumentativeness and verbal aggressiveness as well as their argument behavior. Utilizing a pre-test post-test field experiment, Rancer et al. (1997) adapted the Infante (1988) inventional system for training students to generate arguments. The inventional system includes Problem (what exactly is the problem?), Blame (exactly who is to blame for the problem?), Solution (what is the proposed solution?), and Consequence (what are the implication of implementing the solution?). Rancer et al. created a pnemonic device to increase retention of the inventional system. This resulted in the creation of the Peanut (problem), Butter (blame), Soda (solution), Crackers (consequences) dinner menu. Results from this study indicated that the experimental group who received the training using the inventional system were able to generate significantly more arguments and reported significantly greater post-trait argumentativeness scores than students in the control group. However, though the findings regarding argumentativeness and argument behavior were compelling, there was also an increase in the students’ verbal aggressiveness scores. The resulting changes in both aggressive communication traits remained stable even when assessed approximately one year later (Rancer et al., 2000). Such findings cast concern about the original linear relationship that was proposed in the theory of aggressive communication (Infante & Rancer, 1996). Although other measures of argumentativeness and argumentative behavior exist, such as the Rancer, Kosberg, and Baukus (1992) Beliefs About Arguing Measure, assessment in the instructional context has relied primarily on the original Infante and Rancer (1982) measure, the ADARG, and the 10-item Short Form Argumentativeness Scale, respectively.

Instructors’ Use of Aggressive Communication When investigating aggressive communication in the classroom, most scholars have focused on instructors’ verbal and nonverbal behaviors directed toward students (Rancer & Avtgis, 2014). The bulk of this research has been conducted within the discipline of Communication Studies (see, for example, Chesebro & McCroskey, 2002; Chory-Assad & Paulsel, 2004; Infante 1995; Kearney, Plax, & Allen, 2002; Myers, Edwards, Wahl, & Martin, 2007; Myers & Knox, 1999; Myers & Rocca, 2000a, 2000b; Rocca & McCroskey, 1999; Schrodt, 2003a, 2003b; Schrodt & Finn, 2010, 2011; Vangelisti, Daly, & Friedrich, 1999). Collective findings from these studies have increased the understanding of classroom effects for both constructive and destructive aggressive communication traits of instructors.

The Constructive Dimension: Instructor Argumentativeness As a subset of assertiveness, argumentativeness is the positive, constructive way that instructors often express assertiveness during classroom instruction. It is com-

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mon practice for classroom instructors to verbally advocate positions, prompt student debate, and defend arguments during instruction (i.e., to engage in argumentative communication). A germinal study of argumentativeness conducted by Roach (1992) investigated the relationship that instructor gender, age, teaching experience, grade level taught, and years of experience within the particular institution would have on instructor argumentativeness. Results from this study aligned with previous findings from interpersonal contexts outside the classroom (Nicotera & Rancer, 1994; Rancer & Dierks-Stewart, 1985). For example, male teachers reported significantly higher levels of argumentativeness than female teachers, older teachers reported significantly higher levels of argumentativeness than younger teachers, and instructors who taught upper-level grades (i.e., high school and university) reported significantly higher levels of argumentativeness than teachers in lower grades (i.e., primary and middle school). Such findings led to calls for the creation of school cultures that encourage the open expression of attitudes and thoughts for all instructors at all levels. Such behavior is consistent with Infante and Gorden’s (1991) theory of independent mindedness that calls for the development of argumentative skills utilizing an affirming communicator style, while also training to reduce the use of verbal aggression. It is important to note that scholars conceptualize aggressive communication through the interactionist trait perspective (Andersen, 1987; Atkinson, 1957; Epstein, 1979; Magnusson & Endler, 1977). That is, personality and communication traits are a joint function of an individual’s predisposition toward a certain behavior and specific situational factors. For example, individuals may be high in the predisposition to argue, but if they are not motivated to engage in arguing or perceive that they will not achieve success in the argument due to some attributes of the subject of controversy, situation, or the other person, they may refrain from engaging in argument. In an investigation of college students’ responses to the argumentativeness of their instructors, Myers and Knox (2000) found that higher levels of argumentativeness were associated with greater student affective learning. Research has consistently indicated that positive student affect for the course and instructor is associated with perceived learning, level of engagement of recommended course behavior, responsiveness in the classroom, compliance with teacher requests, and course attendance (Richmond & Gorham, 1996). Thus, instructor argumentativeness is associated with a host of positive classroom outcomes. Despite generally consistent research findings about this positive instructor characteristic, it is difficult to predict with certainty the effects of a teacher’s use of argumentativeness during instruction. For example, Roach (1995a) hypothesized that argumentative behavior from a college instructor may sometimes be misconstrued as verbally aggressive – a destructive trait – and therefore produce negative classroom outcomes. Roach focused his study on the perceived use of power by college instructors at the beginning rank of Teaching Assistants. His assumption was that the less teaching experience individuals have, the more their instructional

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messages will be influenced by personality and communication traits. The results of the study contradicted previous research findings. Students reported greater affect toward the course, instructor, and recommended course behaviors when classes were led by Teaching Assistants who were low in argumentativeness. It appears as if students’ perceptions determine whether instructor communication behavior is interpreted as argumentative (constructive) or verbally aggressive (destructive) in nature. Such findings speak to the complexity of aggressive communication in the classroom. In teaching and learning contexts, unlike some other communication contexts, power is both explicitly and implicitly used by both instructor and student and can have profound effects on students’ perceptions of instructors’ use of aggressive communication. When not limiting the scope of the study to only those at the lower ranks of the instructional hierarchy (e.g., Teaching Assistants), there appears to be variability in the findings reported in Roach (1995a). More specifically, the more experienced the instructor, the more constructive the use of argumentative behavior becomes. In another study, Roach (1995b) assessed Teaching Assistants’ perceptions of their own trait argumentativeness and power use. His findings indicated a positive relationship between trait argumentativeness and expert and referent power use. That is, the higher the self-perceived trait of argumentativeness, the greater the self-perceived use of these two types of power. In fact, expert and referent power are considered two of the most constructive of the various power bases available to instructors (see Richmond & McCroskey, 1992 for a comprehensive discussion of power use in the classroom). Thus, there appears to be an unclear relationship between trait argumentativeness and perceived power that may be explained by the locus of the evaluator (student versus Teaching Assistant). Roach (1995b) concluded, “Low argumentative TAs may unconsciously appeal more to power than reason in their classroom management techniques, but in terms of affective learning this is more favorably received” (p. 100). Attempting to clarify such contradictory evidence, Rancer and Avtgis (2014) argued, “Whether perceived credibility, instructor teaching experience, or instructor title are reasons for the different findings, further research is needed to sort out the influence of teacher argumentativeness on student affective learning” (p. 121).

The Destructive Dimension: Instructors’ Verbal Aggressiveness Verbal aggression in the classroom can take a host of verbal and nonverbal forms that include, in order from most frequent to least frequent, competence attacks, work ethic attacks, swearing, threats, character attacks, nonverbal behaviors, teasing, background attacks, and physical attacks (Myers et al., 2013). Collectively, researchers have observed that the use of such verbally aggressive messages have clear deleterious effects on the educational experience of the student, as indicated below.

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Instructor immediacy As a desirable feature of relational classroom communication, instructor immediacy is the perception of psychological closeness between teachers and students (Richmond, 2002). Immediate behaviors include verbal cues such as “we” and “us” instead of “you,” and nonverbal behaviors such as smiling, frequent eye contact, gestures, and the reduction of physical barriers (e.g., instructor desk and physical distance between instructor and student). When instructors use these verbal and nonverbal immediacy cues in the classroom, students report greater liking for the teacher and more positive learning outcomes (see Witt, Wheeless, & Allen, 2004 for a meta-analysis of immediacy and learning), as well as enhanced motivation and other favorable responses to instruction. For these reasons, Rocca and McCroskey (1999) hypothesized that the verbally aggressive instructor would be seen as less immediate than instructors perceived as low in verbal aggression. They found support for the hypothesis and also reported that perceived verbally aggressive behavior had a negative impact on all three elements of attractiveness (i.e., task, social, and physical), as well as homophily with students (i.e., perception of similarity). In a follow-up study, Rocca (2004) found that students of highly aggressive teachers perceived a less supportive classroom climate and reported missing more classes when taught by a highly verbally aggressive instructor. The increase in absenteeism may have been the result of a lack of procedural and distributive justice (Chory-Assad & Paulsel, 2004), if the instructor’s aggressiveness was viewed as unfair to students or inappropriate for the classroom context.

Students’ perceptions Students bring their own perceptions and characteristics into the classroom, and these can influence research findings on instructor aggressiveness. For example, Schrodt (2003a) utilized multiple student self-reports of verbal aggressiveness, selfesteem, and other-report of instructor verbal aggressiveness. Findings indicated that students self-reporting moderate levels of verbal aggressiveness reported the instructor being higher in verbal aggressiveness than students low in verbal aggressiveness. No significant differences were observed when comparing moderate and high verbally aggressive students. Further, students high in self-esteem reported lower levels of instructor verbal aggressiveness. Such findings indicate the need to account for rater (e.g., student) characteristics and the interactive effects that such characteristics can have on perceptual ratings of others (e.g., instructors). According to Schrodt and Finn (2010), “Most of the extant research on aggressive communication in instructional settings focuses primarily on student perceptions of overt instances of instructor argumentation or verbal aggression. Only a handful of studies have considered the role that students themselves play in the aggressive communication process” (p. 161).

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Socio-communicative style Socio-communicative style is an interpersonal construct comprised of assertiveness (i.e., the degree to which a person stands up for one’s rights, being interpersonally dominant) and responsiveness (i.e., the degree to which a person is perceived in an empathetic, kind, and supportive way; Richmond & McCroskey, 1990). The sociocommunicative style of most people is a combination of the two dimensions, and neither assertiveness nor responsiveness is conceptually positive or negative by definition. In the classroom, however, Myers (1998) found that higher verbal aggressiveness from instructors was associated with the assertive style and with student reports of lower instructor competence, leading the researcher to conclude that reductions in aggressive communication might result in more positive student perceptions. A related construct, communicator style, is comprised of ten dimensions: impression leaving, contentious, open, dramatic, dominant, precise, relaxed, friendly, attentive, and animated styles (Norton, 1983). Those who communicate using a friendly and attentive style are believed to exhibit an affirming style (i.e., validating the face or self-concept of the other person), which is consistent with instructor immediacy and a positive teacher-student relationship. For example, Myers and Rocca (2000a) found that students who perceived their instructors to be verbally aggressive also considered them as contentious, unfriendly, inattentive, tense, unanimated, and low on impression leaving. Myers and Rocca concluded that by exuding such an anti-social style within the classroom, the instructor may be perceived by students as being less approachable in terms of answering questions and, in general, student-instructor interaction. However, it should be noted that a highly verbally aggressive instructor who uses an affirming communicator style may suppress the evaluation of actual instructor verbal aggressiveness (Rancer & Avtgis, 2014). In other words, the instructor’s use of an affirming style may serve as a perceptual buffer for the student.

Overall learning environment When students’ ideas and classroom contributions are challenged by an instructor high in verbal aggressiveness, a number of relational and cognitive variables are negatively impacted, including lower affect toward the instructor and less satisfaction with the classroom experience (Myers & Knox, 2000), a more defensive classroom climate (Myers & Rocca, 2000b), greater feelings of misunderstanding and lower student evaluations of teaching effectiveness (Cahn 1984; Schrodt 2003b), and lower levels of instructor understanding and positivity (Schrodt & Finn, 2010). In such a learning environment, instructors may be challenged by disruptive or resistant behavior from students. For instance, Kearney, Plax, Richmond, and McCroskey (1984) examined communication strategies or behavior alteration tech-

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niques (BATs) instructors use to persuade students to stay on task or comply with academic requests. Instructor verbal aggressiveness was positively related to the use of what they termed antisocial BATs (e.g., punishment, guilt, emphasis on the teacher’s authority) and negatively related to the effectiveness of those BATs (see also Claus, Chory, & Malachowski, 2012).

Classroom justice Justice in the classroom can be defined as perceptions of equity and fairness regarding classroom outcomes, processes, and procedures (Chory-Assad & Paulsel, 2004). Over the last decade, the concept of classroom justice has emerged as a relevant factor in instructional communication, and its link to aggressive communication is noteworthy. Findings reveal that instructor use of verbal aggression in the classroom is mediated by perceptions of justice. For example, Claus et al. (2012) reported that students are more likely to use antisocial BATs with an instructor they perceive as being high in verbal aggressiveness because the students assume that the instructor would not see the use of prosocial BATs as being valid or respected. This may also be due to the fact that verbal aggression may negate the notion of classroom civility, resulting in the use of hostile or antisocial behavior on the part of the student. Further, student use of antisocial BATs may also serve as a form of retaliation for some perceived slight or embarrassment caused by the verbally aggressive instructor (Claus et al., 2012).

Student involvement Student involvement can be defined as the physical and psychological investment the student brings to the experience of education (Myers et al., 2007), and it has been linked to the level of instructor verbal aggressiveness. Students tend to have particular motivations for being involved in a class and engaging in both in-class and out-of-class communication with the instructor. These motivations can be relational, participatory, sycophantic, excuse making, or functional in nature. Myers et al. reported that students of instructors high in verbal aggressiveness were less likely to be motivated by relational, functional, and participatory motives and more likely to be motivated by excuse making. Further, these researchers indicated that instructor verbal aggression was inversely related to behaviors such as questionasking, information-seeking, out-of-class interaction, and interaction involvement.

Instructor credibility Students’ perceptions of their instructor’s credibility exert considerable influence on the teacher-student relationship and important outcomes, such as recall of

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course information and satisfaction with the class (Finn et al., 2009). Credibility, as conceptualized by McCroskey and Teven (1999), includes the three dimensions of caring (good will), intelligence (competence), and trustworthiness (character). When Myers (2001) examined students’ perceptions of instructor credibility in relation to their instructors’ self-reports of trait verbally aggressive, he found inverse correlations between aggressive communication and all three dimensions of credibility. Further, in looking at the co-influence of constructive (i.e., argumentative) and destructive (i.e., verbally aggressive) communication traits, Edwards and Myers (2007) reported that instructors who were perceived as being highest in competence, caring, and character had a trait profile of being high in argumentativeness and low in verbal aggressiveness. Such findings validate the original Infante and Rancer (1982) conceptualization of argumentativeness, as well as the original Infante and Wigley (1986) conceptualization of verbal aggressiveness.

Aggressive Messages When considering the research discussed thus far, the majority has concerned the self-reported trait of verbal aggressiveness, the predisposition, as opposed to the actual use of verbally aggressive messages during instruction. Since the original development of the verbal aggressiveness construct (Infante & Wigley, 1986), scholars have developed a typology of specific types of aggressive messages, including competence attacks, profanity, disconfirmation, personality attacks, physical appearance attacks, negative comparison, ridicule, threats, maledictions, teasing, character attacks, and nonverbal verbal aggression (Infante, 1987a, 1995; Infante, Riddle, Horvath, & Tumlin, 1992; Rancer & Avtgis, 2014). Myers and Knox (1999) found that college instructors were perceived as using character attacks most often, with the least used behavior being nonverbal verbal aggression (e.g., glaring or invading student space in an aggressive manner). These researchers concluded that these findings may be due to a degree of mindlessness on behalf of the student regarding paying attention to the behavior of the instructor. Further, they conjectured that instructors in higher education may be given a greater behavioral bandwidth than instructors at the primary and secondary levels. In other words, the socially appropriate behavioral repertoire of the college instructor is greater perhaps because they are engaging in andragogy (i.e., the education of adults) versus pedagogy (i.e., the education of children). Myers and Knox reported that students indicated lower levels of affective learning from instructors who used verbal aggression in the classroom, and they observed a gender effect such that male instructors were perceived as using more teasing, profanity, and ridicule when compared to their female counterparts. In an effort to update the original Infante (1987a) typology, Myers, Brann, and Martin (2013) used an inductive method to extract specific instructor verbally aggressive behaviors. Their nine-category typology of instructor verbally aggressive

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messages, in order of frequency, consisted of competence attacks, work ethics attacks (i.e., student lack of academic ability), swearing (i.e., profanity), threats (i.e., insinuating negative consequences regarding assignments and final grades), character attacks (i.e., telling students they were untrustworthy, immature, and rude), nonverbal behaviors (i.e., paralinguistic cue, kinesic, and proxemic violations intended to degrade the student), teasing (i.e., aggressive teasing with intention to hurt the student), background attacks (i.e., focusing on student background and experiences as the locus of attack), and physical appearance attacks (Rancer & Avtgis, 2014). These findings provided an extension of the original Infante et al. (1992) typology to include work ethic attacks and nonverbal attacks that are unique to the instructional context (Myers et al., 2013; Rancer & Avtgis, 2006). Such theoretical refinement speaks to the unique nature of aggressive communication influenced by contextual factors – in this case, the instructional context. However, there is contradictory evidence as to the negative interpretation of some aggressive communication use by instructors. Pearce and Berkos (2003) reported that when the instructor was seen as being high in verbal and nonverbal immediacy, the use of profanity in the classroom did not affect teacher credibility and attractiveness. However, when instructor immediacy was not high, instructor use of profanity resulted in lower levels of credibility and attractiveness. Again, interaction with other communication traits can potentially modify the impact of verbal aggression on student perceptions of instructor behavior. Taken as a whole, it is clear that instructor use of verbally aggressive messages can have a devastating impact on an abundance of behavioral, cognitive, and affective outcomes for students (for a comprehensive review, see Schrodt & Finn, 2010). In fact, several scholars have advocated that instructors, regardless of experience and rank, should never use verbal aggression in the classroom (Martin, Weber, & Burant, 1997; Teven, 2001). In addition to the influence of instructor verbal aggression on college student populations, research endorses the notion that instructor verbal aggression also influences the instructors themselves. For example, Avtgis and Rancer (2008) investigated the association between verbal aggressiveness and the experience of burnout syndrome by instructors (Maslach, 2003; Maslach & Goldberg, 1998). Burnout syndrome consists of the three dimensions of emotional exhaustion, depersonalization, and a perceived lack of personal accomplishment. Avtgis and Rancer found that instructors who use verbal aggression toward their students and fellow instructors create an unsupportive environment that correlates with the experience of burnout syndrome. As has been evidenced throughout this chapter, the deleterious effects of instructor verbal aggressiveness are many, whereas the pro-social and pro-educational outcomes are few. However, there are data that indicate in certain circumstances, instructor verbal aggression may, in fact, have some positive outcomes or be instrumental in nature (see Martin et al., 2010). For example, Infante, Myers, and Buerkel (1994) reported that verbal aggression may be positively

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used to motivate someone in a learning environment such as good-natured teasing and reprimanding or disciplinary action. According to Martin et al. (2010), instructors’ verbally aggressive messages “appear to work some of the time, with some of the people, in some situations” (p. 737).

Student Aggressive Communication Traits Although the main focus of this chapter is instructor verbal aggressiveness, to ignore students’ use of verbal aggression in the instructional setting would be the functional equivalent of “one hand clapping.” There is less research on students’ aggressive communication than on instructors’ aggressiveness, but scholars have examined a number of related constructs such as bullying, cyber-bullying, conflict, and physical aggression in the classroom. Most of this research has focused on school children in kindergarten through 12 th grade (K-12) and examines student-tostudent communication (see Myers & Rittenour, 2010 for a comprehensive review of these aggression-related constructs). College students have varying motivations and goals when communicating with their instructors. Sometimes these goals and motivations result in aggressive communication exchanges with the instructor and/or fellow students. For example, serial aggressive communication exchanges between the instructor and student have been observed (Chory-Assad & Paulsel, 2004; Goodboy & Myers, 2012; Schrodt & Finn, 2010). According to Legg and Wilson (2012), when students become disgruntled with an instructor and do not wish to go through the process of taking their concerns to the department chair, dean, or provost, a behavior known as articulated instructional dissent (Goodboy, 2011), they may express their displeasure through face-to-face strategies (i.e., speak to friends about negative attributes of the professor) or mediated communication (e.g., Facebook, Twitter, or teacher evaluation websites such as ratemyprofessor.com). Such venues allow the student a platform through which character attacks, competence attacks, physical appearance attacks, and personality attacks on the instructor can be accomplished, in most cases, without recourse. Further, the student-bully can choose to remain anonymous when executing such verbally aggressive attacks (Lampman, Phelps, Bancroft, & Beneke, 2009). Such behavior has been termed cyberbullying and is defined by Roberto and Eden (2010) as the “deliberate and repeated misuse of computer technology by an individual or group to threaten or harm others” (p. 198). Inherent in the teacherstudent relationship is a recognized power imbalance (e.g., legitimate power, expert power, reward power, punishment power) in that the instructor is perceived to have power over the relationship with the student, and abuse of that power may result in victimizing the student. Because instructors are usually not seen as victims of students’ verbal aggressiveness, many scholars have not yet focused their

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research efforts on the effects of student-bullying (Espelage et al., 2013). An important exception is the work of Vogl-Bauer (2014), whose personal experience with student aggressiveness prompted her to engage in a serious study of the growing phenomenon. She applied Lutgen-Sandvik and Tracy’s (2012) bullying dimensions of micro-level (i.e., interactions and communication patterns between the bully and the victim), meso-level (i.e., cultural, climate, policies, and procedures specific to the organization within which the bullying is taking place), and macro-level (i.e., larger socio-cultural assumptions concerning bullying behavior). Policies such as individual assessment, zero-tolerance policies, and greater cultural awareness campaigns represent each of these levels, respectively. Vogl-Bauer appropriated these theoretical constructs, which had been developed for K-12 students and traditional non-academic organizations, and applied them to the context of higher education, and she issued a call for focused research in this emerging area. In what could be considered a micro-level study of students’ argumentativeness and the relationship to several socio-demographic variables, Infante (1982) distinguished between high, moderate, and low argumentative students and several socio-emotional and demographic factors. He investigated the influence of political philosophy (i.e., liberal-conservative), birth order, training in argumentation, family size, college grade point average (GPA), average class size, and the degree to which their job, if they had one, required a high communication demand. Findings indicated that high argumentative students (positive characteristic) reported greater levels of high school forensic training, greater college GPA, were older than their siblings, were more politically liberal, and preferred smaller class sizes when compared with low argumentative students. Although argumentativeness was assessed via Infante and Rancer’s (1982) Argumentativeness Scale (a predisposition toward engaging in argumentative behavior), it can be extrapolated that the association of being high in argumentativeness with (1) greater communication skill development (e.g., greater forensic training, older siblings who probably interact with adults in greater frequency than younger siblings), and (2) preference for small class sizes (which often requires significantly more opportunities for interaction than in larger classes) results in greater argument skill and an increased tendency to approach arguments. Similar to the research on instructor verbal aggression and accounting for instructor self-report of trait verbal aggressiveness, Kennedy-Lightsey and Myers (2009) reported a connection between student self-reported verbal aggressiveness and perceived appropriateness of the behavioral alteration techniques (BATs) utilized by their instructors. Findings indicated positive correlations between self-reported verbal aggressiveness and the following BATs: complaining, manipulation based on the relationship between the teacher and student, guilt, public persuasion, demanding, and general excuses. Further, verbal aggressiveness was a significant predictor of the tendency to use negative BATs. However, when both perceived appropriateness and perceived effectiveness were entered into a mediating model, they significantly reduced the link between verbal aggres-

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siveness and likelihood to use antisocial BATs (from .39 to .17 and from .39 to .15, respectively). This study reveals the interesting and dynamic link between the predisposition to use verbal aggression and the state-like decision as to what techniques are appropriate and effective in any given instructional situation for engaging such messages. One of the more popular constructs in interpersonal communication is that of interpersonal communication motives. Originally proposed by Rubin, Perse, and Barbato (1988), interpersonal communication motives were adapted by Martin, Myers, and Mottet (1999) specifically for the instructional setting. Martin et al. identified the following student motives for communicating in the classroom; relational (i.e., need to establish a relationship with the instructor), functional (i.e., need to understand course assignments and material), participatory (i.e., need to be interested in the course and material), excuse making (i.e., need to justify any subpar performance), and sycophancy (i.e., need to make a good impression on the instructor). Martin et al. found that student level of verbal aggressiveness was positively related to the sycophantic and excuse-making motives. Arguably, excuse making and sycophancy are the more negative motivations for communicating with instructors and, as such, there would be a logical connection to student level of verbal aggressiveness. Similarly, student complaining behavior, regardless of the motivation for doing so, has also been linked to aggressive communication in the classroom. Adapting the Kassing (1998) organizational dissent construct to the classroom, Goodboy (2011) identified three types of dissent. Expressive dissent involves expressing negative feelings in an effort to make the student feel better about some perceived inequity or instructor wrong-doing. Rhetorical dissent reflects a student’s persuasive attempts to get the instructor to right some perceived wrong. Vengeful dissent reflects the intent of tarnishing the instructor’s reputation or competence. Student complaining behaviors focus on issues such as unfair grading, preferential treatment, ineffective teaching style, and unfair course policies, among others. In terms of aggressive communication, Goodboy and Myers (2012) reported that students high in verbal aggression reported using rhetorical and vengeful dissent more often than students low in verbal aggression. The positive relationship between verbal aggression and rhetorical dissent seems contradictory, as rhetorical dissent is closely related to Kassing’s original conceptualization of articulated dissent (i.e., voicing opinions to someone who can fix the issue or problem), which has been shown to be negatively related to verbal aggressiveness as it requires strategic argument to express articulated dissent (Kassing & Avtgis, 1999). The finding of vengeful dissent, which mirrors the Kassing original conceptualization of displaced dissent (i.e., complaining to people who cannot fix the problem but serve as a “venting” target for the dissent), is consistent with previous findings regarding verbal aggressiveness (Kassing & Avtgis, 1999). This provides further evidence of the association between student verbal aggression and other hostile communicative acts (i.e., vengeful dissent).

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Linvill and Mazer (2013) investigated the influence that student dispositions toward aggressive communication have on their perceptions of instructor political bias. Results indicated that students high in verbal aggressiveness perceived their instructor as more politically biased than did students low in verbal aggressiveness. These findings suggest that one must account for students’ predispositions toward aggressive communication in order to get a more holistic explanation for any influence on the myriad of potential outcomes (i.e., cognitive, affective, behavioral) within the classroom setting (see, Schrodt, 2003a, 2003b). In summary, it can be seen that theory and research on aggressive communication in the classroom must account for enduring characteristics of both instructor and student (i.e., communication traits), contextual factors (i.e., education forum in which the messages are being exchanged), and situational factors (specific nuances in the particular communication episode) in order to produce more satisfying and methodologically sophisticated approaches to studying aggressive communication within the classroom.

Future Research into Aggressive Communication In some ways, research investigating aggressive communication in the classroom – especially instructor verbal aggression – is still in its infancy compared to research on aggressive communication in other communication contexts such as the interpersonal and organizational contexts. One limitation of extant classroom research is that it was conducted predominantly through a Western-centric lens, as most of these studies have taken place in large universities located throughout the United States. Outside the classroom, intercultural studies in aggressive communication are abundant, as scholars have made cultural comparisons based on national/ethnic cultures (Avtgis, Rancer, Kanjeva, & Chory, 2008; Croucher et al., 2013; Gonzalez-Alcala & Rancer, 2013; Jenkins, Klopf & Park, 1991; Suzuki, 1998; Suzuki & Rancer, 1994) or organizational cultures (Avtgis & Rancer, 2002; Avtgis & Rancer 2007a, 2007b; Infante, 1987a, 1987b; Infante & Gorden, 1987, 1991). However, it should be noted that though many of the intercultural studies have used college student populations, the focus of such findings have been comparing cultures, not instructional communication variables or outcomes. As noted by Rancer and Avtgis (2014), communication research in the instructional context has yet to adopt this intercultural perspective. Such comparisons are among the most fertile research areas in light of the dramatic increase in the number of international college students from around the world who are flocking to other countries to study and learn, as well as a notable increase in the number of American college students studying abroad. Given the various political, relational, structural, and classroom processes that are present in any given instructional setting, it is imperative for instructional

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communication scholars to account for such variables, especially with regard to aggressive communication in both instructor and student populations. A second unexamined area of aggressive communication is the Kindergarten to 12th-grade classroom. Scholars who focus on this age group have investigated related constructs such as bullying, conflict management, and harassment, but far fewer have addressed instructor verbal aggression specifically. Although there are some research findings regarding K-12 verbal aggressiveness among incarcerated youth and middle-school students (Anderson & Rancer, 2007; Rancer et al., 1997; Rancer et al., 2000), this area is clearly understudied by communication scholars. Research in such areas should utilize various methodologies from both quantitative and qualitative perspectives in an effort to ask better questions and to garner better answers. In not addressing the development of aggressive communication at primary and secondary grade levels, researchers are missing an opportunity to thwart the use of destructive aggressive communication and increase the use of constructive aggressive communication. If personality theorists are correct, by the time students reach college, which is where most of the instructional aggressive communication research has taken place, an individual’s personality is already developed and extremely difficult to change. A third area of concern for future researchers involves the development and use of creative research methodologies. One research method that holds promise for verbal aggression scholars involves collecting physiological data. This type of methodology has been pioneered by a few communication scholars who have made use of the electroencephalograph (Heisel, 2010) and functional magnetic resonance imaging (Avtgis, Polack, & Brefcznski-Lewis, 2010), as well as other physiological data such as monitoring cortisol levels and pupillary measurement (see Beatty, McCroskey, & Floyd, 2009). Such measurement techniques allow researchers to develop a greater understanding of the physiological underpinnings of how people react to receiving and sending verbally aggressive messages. In terms of instructional communication, one can only imagine the possibilities in both measurement and research design in the study of instructor and student aggression that may lead researchers to provide findings of causality as opposed to simple findings of association. Taken as a whole, aggressive communication in both constructive and destructive forms is alive and thriving throughout the Western educational system. According to Infante and Wigley’s (1986) skills deficiency explanation of verbal aggressiveness, people trained in arguing skills will have a decreased tendency to resort to verbal aggression. Therefore, mandatory training in constructive forms of argument for both instructors and students should become part of the educational curriculum and instructor professional development. When the learning environment becomes polluted with relational tension, the classroom becomes a place that may do more harm than good. The study of aggressive communication in the instructional context and ways to reduce the deleterious effects of destructive forms of

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aggressive communication are crucial to improving the educational system. It is the instructional communication scholars and researchers who specialize in aggressive communication to be the ones leading such efforts.

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12 Communicating Instructional Feedback: Definitions, Explanations, Principles, and Questions Abstract: Feedback is instructional communication that references learners’ performance relative to a desired performance standard and helps them correct, affirm, and restructure what they know of their subjects and themselves. A complex social intervention, feedback’s effects are achieved and its meanings interpreted by participants relative to their cultural, organizational, situational, and relational contexts. Although little one-size-fits-all guidance has emerged after decades of research, feedback modeling and guidance have developed in sophistication and nuance as scholars increasingly account for the braided influences of many forces that matter to its success in particular contexts. Applying a communication lens (message, source, perceiver, process, and context) to organize and re-examine the feedback scholarship corpus, this chapter unpacks the theories and mechanisms, findings, principles, and challenges evident in this scholarship’s evolution. Topics include feedback’s changing conceptual definitions and its evolving theoretical explanations and research exigencies, as well as the feedback principles and communication guidelines best supported by current explanations. Keywords: instructional feedback, formative, summative, directive, facilitative, self-regulation, student motivation, feedback intervention theory, information processing Being able to help direct and shape another’s learning is the communicative heart of teaching. By definition, instruction must include adding information designed to improve a learner’s understandings and abilities; skilled instruction means being able to do so in ways that are genuinely insightful for, useful to, and ultimately welcomed and integrated by that student. Translating that intent into effect proves no simple task (Sargeant, Mann, Sinclair, Vleuten, & Metsemakers, 2008; Taras, 2003). Among other issues, instructors routinely puzzle over how to manage the tension between the need to evaluate their students’ work and yet develop harmonious mentoring relationships with them, all within challenging educational contexts that prioritize teachers’ frequent summative assessments of students over messages that guide their formative development (Boud & Molloy, 2013). Orrell (2006), for instance, found only 22 % convergence between instructors’ mainly summative/defensive feedback practices and their espoused beliefs that feedback primarily should guide and facilitate students’ own learning and self-evaluation practices. Teachers working under such condi-

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tions can feel that offering feedback is a frustrating zero-sum game: critique performance and dim the motivation or relationship, or protect longer-term mentoring and thus sacrifice some of a learner’s potential self-regulation or learning gains. Feedback is a key means to guide activity, motivate learning, focus outcomes, explain misunderstandings, identify and correct errors, establish goals, and promote critical reflection, thus improving learners’ knowledge and skill acquisition and developing independent, curious learners (Bandura, 1991; Bangert-Drowns, Kulik, Kulik, & Morgan, 1991; Bartram & Roe, 2008; Ferguson, 2011; Hattie & Timperley, 2007; Narciss & Huth, 2004; Orsmond & Merry, 2011; Shute, 2008; Thurlings, Vermeulen, Bastiaens, & Stijnen, 2013). Done well, instructional feedback generally improves individuals’ learning and self-regulation (Azevedo & Bernard, 1995; Guzzo, Jette, & Katzell, 1985; Kluger & DeNisi, 1996), often outperforming incentives or simple training in that regard (Gilbert, 1978). Its effects extend to interactions among peers and within teams. Students’ peer feedback is increasingly touted in teacher education as means to help students develop self-regulated engagement in learning itself, for instance (Cartney, 2010; Maringe, 2010; Nicol, 2010). On teams, effective performance and process feedback given to individuals can aid team process, performance, and satisfaction (Gabelica, Van den Bossche, Segers, & Gijselaers, 2012; London & Sessa, 2006). Still, the full scope of effective feedback’s communicative process has proven difficult to capture conceptually and advise practically, with surprisingly little onesize-fits-all guidance available after all this time (Cohen, 1985; Evans, 2013; KrauseJensen, 2010; Shute, 2008). Especially given evidence that students often do not treat feedback as its givers intend (Bloxham & Campbell, 2010; Fisher, Cavanaugh, & Bowles, 2011; Handley & Cox, 2007), feedback’s effects on performance have understandably been questioned (Perera, Lee, Win, Perera, & Wijesuriya, 2008). For example, Kluger and DeNisi’s (1996) exhaustive meta-analysis of the feedback research corpus famously demonstrated that feedback interventions actually reduced learner performance around one-third of the time (see also Balzer, Doherty, & O’Connor, 1989; Bangert-Drowns et al., 1991; Martens, de Brabander, Rozendaal, Boekaerts, & van der Leeden, 2010; Mory, 2004; Smith & King, 2004; Turner, Husman, & Schallert, 2002). Students prefer detailed, personalized responses to their academic performance, often finding fault with feedback’s content, clarity, focus, and timing (Higgins, Hartley, & Skelton, 2001; Huxham, 2007), while instructors tend to blame students for not internalizing or applying the feedback they receive (Higgins, Hartley, & Skelton, 2002; Lew, Alwis, & Schmidt, 2010). A truer assessment of causes is more complicated. In trying to establish which forces affect feedback’s ultimate success, researchers have taken critique for being absorbed by a too-narrow “transmission” model blind to consequential aspects of the feedback process (Evans, 2013; Nicol & Macfarlane-Dick, 2006). Much recent literature shows researchers grappling to integrate a widening host of variables and explanations governing instructional feed-

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back’s impacts. For example, learners’ willingness to engage and act on feedback messages may depend on those interventions’ emotional or self-identity impacts; on aspects of the relationship between teacher and learners; on that learning context’s complexity; on the students’ and teachers’ abilities to receive and give skilled feedback; on the students’ own experiences and beliefs about teaching and learning; or on students’ lack of requisite domain knowledge, willingness to persist, or access to metacognitive templates for dealing with failure, to name just a few such forces (Kluger & DeNisi, 1996; Price, Handley, Millar, & O’Donovan, 2010; Quinton & Smallbone, 2010; Värlander, 2008; Vermeer, Boekaerts, & Seegers, 2001; Young, 2000). Acknowledging feedback’s complex host of variables, Krause-Jensen (2010) noted that because any effective intervention is responsive to the particular people and circumstances involved, feedback researchers ultimately need to examine and inform teachers’ intelligent choice-making agency in the face of conditions that shift as much as they remain constant. Given its communicative essence, the feedback process is best viewed as a complex social accomplishment rather than as a purely personal message or simple structural reality (Butler & Winne, 1995; Cavanaugh, 2013). Yet, because people are complicated agents, there is much variation in whether and how learners make use even of skillfully designed and effectively communicated feedback intervention (Sargeant et al., 2008; Taras, 2003). Complications arise in part because all communication invokes an often tacit mix of identity, relational, contextual, and cultural negotiations amidst whatever content is being overtly discussed (Hecht, Warren, Jung, & Krieger, 2005; Imahori & Cupach; 2005; Ting-Toomey, 2005). The facethreatening status, power, and risk elements inherent in most teaching-learning situations tend to complicate rather than simplify such negotiations during feedback as all participants exercise their agency while enmeshed, enabled, and constrained by their particular identities and contextual forces. This chapter unpacks how feedback scholarship has been evolving over time and details what currently is understood about feedback’s process, best practices, and continuing questions, including key conceptual definitions and explanations, research exigencies, and guidelines supported by existing explanations. By detailing current feedback theories, findings, principles, and challenges, this chapter reveals how feedback modeling has become increasingly sophisticated and feedback guidance more learner-focused as scholars continue accounting for the complex, braided influences of so many forces consequential to its success.

Definitions: Which Phenomena Have Been Examined as “Feedback?” Instructional feedback is an interactive process whose workings are culturally, organizationally, relationally, and cognitively bound. Initially, feedback was the

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name given the process of monitoring a system’s output and putting that information back into the system as a means to adjust and control it (Boud & Molloy, 2013). Thus, although rooted in cybernetics and applicable to human and non-human systems operations alike, educational researchers routinely examine feedback within the context of instruction (Kowitz & Smith, 1987; Mory, 2004). Feedback long has been viewed as a means to prompt better accuracy and response from learners (Kulhavy & Wager, 1993), though definitional understandings of that process have gained sophistication over time as students’ interpretive role has become better understood and incorporated (Mory, 2004; Sadler, 1989). At its most basic level, instructional feedback is information provided about an aspect of another’s understanding or performance, often noting the accuracy of a learner’s response to an instructional prompt (Cohen, 1985; Hattie & Timperley, 2007). Feedback in education originally was portrayed as a simple control mechanism involving expert information transfer, as a process of “telling,” as sufficient and automatic in itself for students’ improvement to occur if only the message itself was unambiguous enough to be adopted. Feedback models assumed that students “know what action to take when provided with diagnostic information about their performance” (Boud & Molloy, 2013, p. 703). These early understandings presumed that simply noting students’ correctness for them should cause improvements in students’ learning; later modeling incorporates many forces as consequential to feedback’s effectiveness (Boud & Molloy, 2013). Although some thus have defined as “feedback” any dialogue that supports learning (Askew & Lodge, 2000) or any message presented to a learner after a learner’s response (Wager & Wager, 1985), most researchers today argue that to qualify as feedback, a message must reference not only a learner’s actual performance but also the gap between that performance and some desired performance standard (Johnson & Johnson, 1993; Ramaprasad, 1983; Shute, 2008). Some argue that a message must be received mindfully in order to truly qualify as feedback, that whatever is offered must cue the learner’s awareness of that feedback-standard gap (Bangert-Drowns et al., 1991; Nicol & Macfarlane-Dick, 2006; Sadler, 1989). Perhaps the strictest definitional standard is applied by those who insist a message becomes feedback only when it impacts students’ learning by reducing the distance between their performance and the standard (Draper, 2009; Wiliam, 2011). Over the longer term, for example, corrective feedback messages that facilitated students’ self-repair of errors outperformed feedback that simply corrected errors for them (Nassaji, 2011), bolstering this view that learners’ active response is a key condition of interactions that merit the “feedback” label (Thurlings et al., 2013).

From stimulus message to complicated social accomplishment Definitions and modeling also are coming to portray the feedback process as a complex social intervention rather than simply as helpful information provided to

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students about their work, highlighting the nuanced communicative work associated with feedback’s complicated, often impositional role in students’ learning processes (Boud & Molloy, 2013; Kerssen-Griep, 2001; Kluger & DeNisi, 1996). Feedback increasingly is defined as a process learners use to facilitate their own learning, rather than as a one-way stimulus that shapes and controls outcomes in others (Boud & Molloy, 2013). With these general parameters in mind, scholars currently note several key feedback distinctions (e.g., see Shute, 2008) that help frame more specific questions and findings.

Formative and Summative Feedback Despite recent calls for less distinction and greater harmony between the principles applied to the two forms (Black & McCormick, 2010), formative feedback traditionally has been distinguished from summative feedback (Espasa & Meneses, 2010; Martens et al., 2010). Whereas summative feedback such as a grade or test score shows students how they ultimately measured up to the standards applied to a learning experience, formative feedback aims to increase students’ knowledge and ability, ideally by verifying whether a student’s performance is on or off-target and by providing enough information for them to modify their existing understandings or actions (Gibbs & Simpson, 2004). Formative feedback’s effectiveness depends on students being able and willing to receive and utilize it with enough lead time and opportunity to implement it (Shute, 2008). Mastering how to convey both feedback intentions is key to skilled instructional communication at any level.

Corrective/Directive, Facilitative, and Sustainable Feedback Many also note the distinction traditionally drawn between corrective feedback that directly tells students what to revise or fix, and facilitative feedback whose suggestions are shaped to inform and guide students’ own re-workings of their understandings and performance (Black & Wiliam, 1998; Shute, 2008). Research generally indicates that corrective/directive feedback better suits novice, struggling, or low-achieving learners, whereas facilitative feedback is the better choice with more advanced learning tasks and motivated, higher-achieving students (Moreno, 2004; Vygotsky, 1987). According to Thurlings et al. (2013), other scholars have reframed corrective vs. facilitative feedback instead as a continuum between poles of feedback message directness versus politeness (McLaren, DeLeeuw, & Mayer, 2011), or as degrees of message explicitness versus implicitness, with directly stated feedback generally leading to slower but more accurate error correction (Baker & Bricker, 2010). Other research in this realm has distinguished degrees to which feedback intervention

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exacerbate or mitigate identity threats (i.e., face threats) for the people involved (Kerssen-Griep, Trees, & Hess, 2008; Trees, Kerssen-Griep, & Hess, 2009). Recently, some have recast the “corrective versus facilitative” distinction as a matter of intent or perception rather than as reflecting truly different types of feedback messages, claiming that all attempts to refine students’ understandings through feedback – regardless of how directly or indirectly stated – are actively processed by learners who each make of them whatever sense they will (Archer, 2010). Acknowledging that learners are complex choice-making agents rather than simply passive reactors to feedback indeed argues for defining all feedback as a facilitative “challenge tool” (Evans, 2013, p. 71) regardless of the giver’s intent or message strategy, rather than viewing any feedback as only a simple corrective stimulus merely because it was intended to be one. Labeled sustainable feedback (Hounsell, 2007), this conception does not encourage viewing any feedback as directly corrective in its effect, nor as having only short-term effects. Rather, feedback is examined for its degree of impact on equipping students to learn for their lifetime. Sustainable feedback done well pictures students in dialogues with teachers and others where they learn about quality performance standards, engage in feedback with varied sources at multiple learning stages, care about and learn to monitor and evaluate their own learning, and develop the learning-planning and goal-setting skills they need (Boud & Molloy, 2013; Carless, Salter, Yang, & Lam, 2011).

Feedback’s evolving definition Scholars recently have acknowledged that learners actively construct their own understandings via multi-faceted communication rather than simply internalizing a teacher’s message as a stimulus. This conceptualization has contributed to the evolution of feedback’s definition in at least four ways. First, feedback shifts from being studied as a teacher’s unilateral message-making act to instead being understood as the meanings students co-construct in communicating with their teachers and others about their learning and work. Second, feedback is seen as coming from the multiple learning sources that color how students understand their work relative to a standard; feedback no longer is seen as the sole purview of teachers. Third, feedback is not seen as happening individualistically, but rather as occurring in context and subject to students’ collective sense-making about what they experience within that setting. Finally, feedback gets seen cumulatively, as a designed sequence of development happening over time rather than only as a discrete, behavioral act (Boud & Molloy, 2013). Understanding feedback’s perceivers in this constructivist way also helps reveal how teachers learn alongside students through the feedback process, as well as how communities of practice and learning emerge through what can be seen as feedback-centered dialogues about learning (Evans, 2013).

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Differing Feedback Targets: Performance, Process, Self-Regulation Whether intended as formative or summative or pictured as directive, facilitative, or sustainable, feedback also can vary regarding which learner phenomena it overtly addresses. Perhaps the most obvious target, performance or task feedback involves an external agent providing at least knowledge-of-results information, often in real time, about learners’ responses to a task or problem compared against a standard (Cavanaugh, 2013; Shute, 2008). Feedback interventions tend to have greater direct effect on cognitive than on physical learning tasks (Shute, 2008). Any such feedback has been shown most effective when it is received mindfully, which is facilitated best when the feedback is heard as task-focused rather than person-focused (Bangert-Drowns et al., 1991; Kluger & DeNisi, 1996). Performance feedback is offered to teams and among peers as well as between teachers and individual students (Gabelica et al., 2012; Gielen, Dochy, & Onghena, 2011; Van der Pol, Van den Berg, Admiraal, & Simons, 2008). More tacit learning phenomena also are subject to reinforcement and change via feedback. Process feedback, for example, helps students learn about the cognitive, motivational, and procedural underpinnings of their task performance, either individually or as part of a group (Bartram & Roe, 2008). Offering information about both a group’s performance and its interpersonal decision-making process can improve members’ identification with a group, for example (Sivunen, 2006). Adding feedback that addresses the validity of students’ task, cognitive, and achievement perceptions relative to outside standards also improves performance more than outcome-only feedback can do (Balzer et al., 1989). Offering students feedback about the learning process itself (e.g., about their progress in using learning strategies) helps learners diagnose their development, perform better, and enhance their sense of self-efficacy (Butler & Winne, 1995; Schunk & Swartz, 1992). Finally, self-regulation feedback helps learners address how they engage tasks, set and adjust goals, deliberate learning strategies, manage motivations, and monitor effects of their engagement. Learners’ plans for engaging a task create desired performance criteria against which they monitor their own achievements (Boekaerts, 2006; Butler & Winne, 1995; Vermunt & Verloop, 1999). Goal-directed feedback (Shute, 2008) can target individual students’ motivations by giving them information about their progress toward a desired target rather than commenting on how they performed an individual task. Externally provided feedback is “an inherent catalyst” for learners’ self-regulated actions: attending to it offers students grounds to monitor the gap between their desired and actual learning engagement (Evans, 2013, p. 87). Note that thinking about feedback’s overt “targets” is a bit misleading here as learners certainly interpret process and self-regulation meanings from performance

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feedback messages, for example. Still, it remains useful to define feedback as containing multi-faceted messages for students’ sense-making about their performance, learning process, and self-regulation, self-efficacy, and self-identity. Conceived this way, feedback interactions clearly offer learners much more information than simply corrected answers: they note timeliness and precision, effort and ability; they comment on identity, intelligence, relationship, and status; they motivate and guide subsequent learning efforts (Mory, 2004). Feedback thus helps learners affirm, augment, correct, and restructure information they hold regarding themselves and their task, domain knowledge, cognitive tactics, and metacognitive awareness (Alexander, Schallert, & Hare, 1991), evoking emotional as well as cognitive and behavioral engagements from participants (Värlander, 2008). Together these processes present an intriguing puzzle for researchers to comprehend and apply, as they have done in a rich corpus of work over many decades.

Theories and Research Findings Grouped by Research Focus Mirroring wider trends in social science research, feedback investigations over time generally have progressed from being componential, behavioral, and causal in their assumptions to being more systemic, social, and interpretive in orientation. Invoked to serve these evolving examinations, theoretical explanations themselves have moved from rhetorical and psychological realms to integrate interactional, relational, organizational, and socio-cultural forces as scholars make sense of feedback’s operations in light of people’s agency exercised in context. Although not a homogenous trend in the literature, feedback scholarship is shifting from examining its isolated components to exploring more intricately systemic explanations of the process as scholars work to understand feedback’s consequential interconnections with other forces and social systems. Understanding feedback as a type of instructional communication helps frame it as an interactive learning process involving standards-based advisory messages and shared meanings created among participants operating within the cultural, organizational, interpersonal, and situational contexts they negotiate. Applying this communication frame thus highlights traditional process components that feedback scholars have analyzed alone and together: feedback interventions (Kluger & DeNisi, 1996) can be seen as messages offered with particular aims by sources and interpreted by perceivers in light of process and context dynamics that matter to their meaning-making. This section unpacks research findings and explanations that reflect this ongoing evolution in thought about feedback’s mechanisms and effects, sorted according to which aspect of the feedback process was examined as the primary “lever” regulating its overall enactment and success. The section reports

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more componential research first, followed by later, more systemic investigations of feedback’s mechanisms and concepts.

Message-Centered Feedback Research Much feedback research has focused on feedback message characteristics themselves as most consequential. Such scholars have investigated feedback messages’ valence, content, and delivery variables in some detail.

Feedback message valence Feedback’s impacts may be influenced by whether the message is positive, neutral, or negative in nature. Some research has found no performance differences due to this factor (e.g., Martens et al., 2010), but many others have sought to explain key nuances among these message valence distinctions. Negative feedback seems the riskiest territory, although, when done correctly, it can motivate learners to accomplish tasks they do not want to do (Van-Dijk & Kluger, 2001). Negative feedback – along with positive feedback – can be a potent motivating force when learners hear it as reinforcing an aspect of their identity they seek to have affirmed (Hattie & Timperley, 2007). Still, offering negative feedback demands substantial social and rhetorical skills to navigate successfully with students (Hattie & Timperley, 2007; Trees et al., 2009). Positive feedback may be fraught with just as many challenges, however. Thurlings and colleagues (2013) noted that while research perspectives from behaviorism to social constructivism have been consulted to justify positive (e.g., Cavanaugh, 2013; Ferguson, 2011) or at least neutral, non-hurtful, data-based feedback balanced with the grade (e.g., Fund, 2010; Li, Liu, & Steckelberg, 2010; Pokorny & Pickford, 2010; Shute, 2008), the use of praise has shown mixed or even damaging impacts on student performance, motivation, and learning (Kluger & DeNisi, 1996). Praise’s sometimes limiting effects have been blamed on how it may interfere with students’ attributions to effort (key to motivation) or amplify their unhelpful selfattention (Evans, 2013). Positive feedback works when it offers good information value about task performance efforts themselves, but is counterproductive when it diverts students’ finite cognitive energies away from fueling task performance improvement and onto defending their self instead (Kluger & DeNisi, 1996). For this cognitive reason, praising exactly how a student completed a task functions better than simply telling students what good learners they are (Cohen, Steele, & Ross, 1999; Deci, Koestner, & Ryan, 1999; Senko & Harackiewicz, 2005). Overall, the effects of feedback message valence generally depend on how valence operates in conjunction with other forces in the feedback situation (Hattie & Timperley, 2007).

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Feedback message content features: Explicitness, elaboration, and complexity Although students often may distinguish feedback’s content based on whether it addresses their work’s substance or merely its grammatical form (Higgins et al., 2002), scholars have examined many finer distinctions among feedback’s contents. These include investigating how explicit, how elaborative, and how complex feedback messages are (Dempsey, Driscoll, & Swindell, 1993). Ashwell (2000) found a form-plus-substance feedback combination most helped students improve their writing, for example. Feedback messages can be distinguished on a hierarchy of message explicitness tactics, from least to most explicit about desired responses. Least explicitly informative is simple verification of a learner’s response correctness or incorrectness, known variously as knowledge of results (KOR), knowledge correction response (KCR), recasts, or try-again feedback. Slightly more explicit error-flagging (or location of mistakes) feedback points out particular mistakes in students’ solutions, and a prompting answers strategy (PAS, or elicitations strategy) uses further tactics and hints that spur learners to come up with better responses without offering them model or correct answers (Shute, 2008). Providing learners with model or correct answers is the most explicitly informative of these feedback tactics. Though an important component of feedback, verification-only messages such as KCR and KOR generally produce less learning than more informative messages do (Bangert-Drowns et al., 1991; Ferreira, Moore, & Mellish, 2007; Mory, 2003). Even early research noted learning benefits accrued when answer verification was accompanied at least by an explanation of what makes it correct (Gilman, 1969). Although some have proposed a threshold hypothesis in favor of offering explicit, minimal feedback (i.e., correct answers only) containing little added cognitive load to distract students (Phye, 1979), feedback combinations that prompt (i.e., PAS) rather than give correct answers generally have produced best learning outcomes by offering a motivating combination of reference information and autonomy (Shute, 2008). Most research on explicitness today is finding that combinations of such tactics work best, often including elaboration and complexity strategies (discussed next) applied in particular contexts. In addition to information directness, feedback content researchers also have examined message elaboration tactics alone and in conjunction with other message variables as essential to effective feedback (Kulhavy & Stock, 1989). Elaboration tactics offer several types of information as cues guiding students’ attempts to review instruction and self-correct (Butler & Winne, 1995; Dempsey et al., 1993; Van der Kleij, Eggen, Timmers, & Veldkamp, 2012). Elaborations can vary in being task-, instruction-, or information-based; whether or not they are response-contingent or offer correct answers; and regarding whether they provide examples and/or elaborate primarily on the learning’s topic, the learner’s response, or the type of error made (Kulhavy & Stock, 1989; Shute, 2008). More elaborated feedback can involve

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response verification and error flagging along with cues about proceeding, usually without correct answers provided (Narciss & Huth, 2004). Message elaboration tactics, especially response-specific feedback, often spur gains in motivation, learning efficiency, and learning itself when combined with verification messages (Bangert-Drowns et al., 1991; Butler & Winne, 1995; Shute, 2008). For example, Murphy (2010) found that giving language-learning students elaborated feedback and then KCR and opportunity to revise led to better learning outcomes than came from providing only KCR. Models by Narciss and Huth (2004) and Butler and Winne (1995) explained such effects cognitively, noting that elaborated feedback better helps students analyze their tasks and errors and come to recognize the important task cues and activities they engage around performance, boosting their ability to self-regulate their learning. These researchers and others caution, however, that shaping effective feedback also depends on tailoring it to the instructional context and learner characteristics, complicating the picture. Elaboration tactics may be more important for low-ability than for high-ability students’ learning, for example (Hanna, 1976). Finally, message complexity also operates as a feedback content variable. Complexity sometimes is combined with explicitness and (especially) elaboration tactics (Dempsey et al., 1993). In reality, either of those tactics sometimes can simplify a received message’s complexity – see Shute (2008) regarding how elaboration tactics aid in understanding complex feedback interventions – meriting complexity’s exploration here as a distinct message variable. Feedback messages can be more elaborate and/or explicit without necessarily being more complex as well, as when a teacher “elaborates” to aid students’ learning by offering a simply stated insight about their performance. Complexity may overlap elaboration in referring to the type and amount of information included for learners’ formation (Shute, 2008), but it diverges from elaboration in also denoting how multifaceted a feedback intervention might be. The most complex intervention in one study, for example, combined answer verification with correct answer provision, explained why the incorrect answer was wrong, and pointed to the answer-relevant part of the text passage being examined (Kulhavy, White, Topp, Chan, & Adams, 1985). Shute’s extensive (2008) review of feedback complexity research mainly highlights how difficult it can be to attribute performance to any one variable; scholars report feedback complexity as both a factor and a non-factor in feedback’s impact on learning (Mason & Bruning, 2001; Shute, 2008). Sleeman, Kelly, Martinak, Ward, & Moore (1989) found that more and less complex feedback interventions used to tutor algebra did not significantly differ in their impacts on students’ performance, although both outperformed a “no tutoring” condition. Inconclusive research about feedback complexity may be due to factors such as learners’ cognitive and non-cognitive needs and the topic or skill type being taught (Shute, 2008).

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Feedback message delivery mode Setting aside message content concerns, feedback’s mode of transmission also has been examined as consequential to its effects. Although some have found no difference in the effects of written versus spoken (on tape) feedback delivery (Morra & Asis, 2009), much of the literature advises using written feedback mode as potentially less at risk of misinterpretation by its recipients (Shute, 2008). Others correctly note the need for greater research focus on skilled oral feedback practices (Black & McCormick, 2010; Trees et al., 2009). With students increasingly seen as agents actively harvesting feedback information from their instructor, it is not realistic to simply advise teachers away from oral feedback modes (see Shute, 2008, e.g.), since much more oral than written advisory communication is available to perceive in most learning situations. Oral delivery mode’s effects on the feedback process merit greater attention and understanding with an eye toward guidance.

Source-Centered Feedback Research Since all feedback providers must have sufficient standing with learners to offer effective instruction, source-focused feedback research has examined whether feedback’s success might be affected by aspects of a provider’s identity, such as whether that person is a supervisor, peer, or consultant. Many such studies have discovered other feedback variables that trump or influence any pure effect of a provider’s identity (e.g., Brinko, 1993; Ivancevich & McMahon, 1982). One exception is source credibility research. Rooted in the Aristotelian ethos and composed of competence, character, and caring components (McCroskey & Teven, 1999), credibility represents a person’s perceived believability and status to correct and advise another’s performance (Frymier & Thompson, 1992). Perceptions of a feedback provider’s credibility rely on a host of social variables (Finn et al., 2009), and spurring such perceptions can be essential to that encounter’s success (Cusella, 1984; Schrodt et al., 2009; Witt & Kerssen-Griep, 2011). Using affiliative and identity-supportive communication tactics can help enhance feedback providers’ credibility in students’ eyes (Trees et al. 2009) by helping students devote cognitive energy to the task rather than divert it to manage identity concerns (Kluger & DeNisi, 1996).

Perceiver-Centered Feedback Research Much feedback research acknowledges the important interpretive role played by its “receivers,” more aptly thought of as “perceivers” to cue how learners exercise agency in attending and responding to advisory communication. Butler and Winne (1995) wrote that:

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… considering feedback merely in terms of the information it contains is too simplistic. Rather, learners interpret such information according to reasonably stable and relatively potent systems of beliefs concerning subject areas, learning processes, and the products of learning. These beliefs influence students’ perceptions of cues, their generation of internal feedback, and their processing of externally provided feedback. In the last case, beliefs filter and may even distort the message that feedback is intended to carry. Moreover, characteristics of information in elaborated feedback … influence how a learner will use feedback. (pp. 253–254)

In particular, scholars have examined feedback recipients’ emotions and attitudes, cognitions, goals, and motivations as consequential to feedback’s success.

Feedback perceivers’ attitudes and emotions In part due to students’ psychological and emotional investment in creating work to be evaluated (Fritz & Morris, 2000), the strong emotions often associated with feedback can easily impair relevant cognition and affect performance, resilience, and self-regulation (Boud & Falchikov, 2007; Poulos & Mahoney, 2008; Värlander, 2008; Yorke, 2003). Emotions manifest in individual students’ affective receptivity to feedback, including attitudes governing whether they feel the feedback is useful, retainable, confidential enough, and conveyed without intimidation or threat (King, Schrodt, & Weisel, 2009). DeNisi and Kluger (2000, Kluger & DeNisi, 1996) explained emotion’s effects on feedback by conceiving of a three-level performance goal hierarchy, powered by the learner’s new awareness that a gap exists between actual and desired performance or understanding. Instructional feedback meant to activate a productive task-level cognitive response first must run the gauntlet of self-level and goals-level cognitive processes that assess the feedback for perceived threats to self-identity or to important goals. Thus, they note that negative emotional responses such as self-doubt and frustration divert finite attention when learners perceive feedback as a critique of the self, leaving little remaining cognitive energy to activate the intended task-level improvement response. Understanding whether and why students attribute successes and failures to their effort, ability, luck, or circumstance has emotional and performative consequences for their learning, with effort the best target (Dweck, 2000; Evans, 2013).

Feedback perceivers’ cognitions In addition to noting learners’ cognitive attention (previous section), scholars have examined several other learner-cognitive keys to feedback’s effectiveness. BangertDrowns and colleagues’ (1991) five-cycle model, for example, highlights the importance of feedback’s mindful reception by the learner. Although a host of demo-

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graphic and other mundane-seeming factors can interfere with that quality of feedback reception (see e.g. Evans & Waring, 2011; Hounsell, McCune, Hounsell, & Litjens, 2008; Shute, 2008), scholarship has focused especially on cognitive features associated with learners’ degrees of expertise in a content area as well as their expertise as learners per se. Feedback’s success depends in part on how well it is tailored to the learner’s existing knowledge level about its content or topic. Novice learners have been shown to benefit most from directive, correct-response, explanatory feedback messages, for example (Moreno, 2004; Shute, 2008). Some research also shows content-area novices may benefit more from feedback that is immediate rather than delayed, while more accomplished learners can do better with delayed, facilitative feedback better matched to their more sophisticated cognitive learning template for that content (Shute, 2008). Aside from content-specific knowledge, feedback messages interact with degrees of experience and expertise as a learner per se. Previous learning experiences and intellectual maturity play roles in feedback’s reception, perhaps due to the presence of more advanced cognitive schemas for processing information and accomplishing learning in accustomed topic areas (Bloxham & Campbell, 2010; Evans, 2013; Vickerman, 2009; Weaver, 2006). Prior knowledge and other factors can complicate as well as facilitate feedback’s reception, however, as entrenched misconceptions can be more resistant to change than novices’ cognitions might be (Chinn & Brewer, 1993; Fritz & Morris, 2000). Whereas students’ beliefs about the correctness of their work (i.e., their “response certitude”) have shown little impact on feedback’s effects (Shute, 2008), students’ beliefs about the learning environment and about the feedback’s necessity, appropriateness, and feasibility indeed can affect their reception and processing of it (Smither, London, & Reilly, 2005).

Feedback perceivers’ goals Learners’ goals help them frame and respond to learning events that occur; they have cognitive and affective components (Yorke, 2003). Learning goals should match learners’ expectations (e.g., Bloxham & Campbell, 2010). According to expectancy value theory (Bandura, 1991; Shute, 2008), when learners feel self-efficacious and perceive themselves capable of attaining them, they invest in pursuing goals of achievement and avoidance to the degree that they value the task and expect success at it. Easily attaining goals pitched too low or failing to attain goals that are pitched too far beyond a learner’s capabilities may discourage the continued effort needed to learn, and in fact can cue the opposite effect (Fisher & Ford, 1998; Shute, 2008; Wingate, 2010). Personally meaningful, appropriately challenging goals help motivate optimal learning when performance feedback reveals learners’ progress toward attaining those goals (Cavanaugh, 2013; Gabelica et al.,

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2012; Malone, 1981). The most effective goal combination may be students’ judgments that their effort is adequate and that they need to improve; Draper (2009) found such learners demonstrated the most rational engagement with feedback’s contents. Feedback messages themselves give information key to setting new goals and recalibrating existing ones (Bartram & Roe, 2008). Learners monitor their progress with goals and expectations in mind, which can engender interesting affective and motivational responses to feedback. Carver and Scheier (1990) theorized that even learners progressing exactly at the rate they expected to sometimes can experience neutral or even negative affect about their achievement, affecting their subsequent engagement. “[S]tudents’ interpretations of tasks influence the goals they establish and the cues they attend to and act on as they engage with those tasks” (Butler & Winne, 1995, p. 255).

Feedback perceivers’ motivations and self-regulation Feedback interacts with learners’ goals, beliefs, and emotions to shape their selfregulated learning (SRL), which itself helps guide feedback’s success. A more sophisticated conception of feedback’s effects, SRL attends to how feedback messages interact with students’ development as independent, expert learners who monitor and adjust their activities and effort to reduce discrepancies they see between their desired and actual performance (Butler & Winne, 1995). This feedback conception suits the focus of scholars concerned with sustainable feedback practices (Boud, 2000; Carless et al., 2011; Hounsell, 2007). SRL scholars note the importance of learners learning how to interpret the feedback they receive and improve based upon it (Sadler, 1989), even cautioning against guidance so explicit as to encourage learners’ dependence on feedback providers (Evans, 2013).

Process-Centered Feedback Research Feedback scholarship also attends to process components in combinations. Such works have examined process issues associated with communicating performance standards, feedback timing, facework, and students’ empowered participation in the feedback process, among other process variables.

Norm-referenced versus self-referenced feedback Norm-referenced feedback compares a person’s performance against others’ performances, whereas self-referenced feedback judges performance against that person’s own abilities (Shute, 2008). Self-referenced feedback (even norm-referenced guidance communicated in self-referenced terms) generally produces learning-

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helpful attributions to effort, especially for novice learners (McColskey & Leary, 1985; Shute, 2008). On the other hand, Kluger and DeNisi’s (1996) meta-analytic review found that norm-referenced feedback comparing students’ performance to others depresses poor performers’ motivations, helpful attributions, and expectations about future performance. Comparisons against self or criteria are preferred.

Feedback timing One of the more disputed issues in the literature has involved whether to provide learners immediate or delayed feedback. Advice’s sequential placement has been found consequential even in studies about communicating social support and guidance, for example (Feng, 2014; Goldsmith, 2000). In education, Shute’s (2008) review intriguingly notes that many feedback field studies show evidence of immediate feedback’s merits (especially for efficiently acquiring verbal and math facility and some motor and procedural skills), while laboratory studies often support delayed feedback’s worth. Immediate feedback may aid some learners’ retention by explicitly helping them link outcomes to causes. Alternatively, Kulhavy and Anderson’s (1972) interference-perseveration hypothesis supports delayed feedback by claiming that initial errors do not compete with feedback’s corrections when they are given time to be forgotten, and that delayed feedback may enable more conceptual knowledge transfer and tap mindful cognitive and metacognitive processing not as readily available immediately after a learning event, better utilizing a learner’s self-efficacy and autonomy (Shute, 2008). Several variable interactions are newsworthy here, including Clariana, Wagner, and Roher Murphy’s (2000) finding that immediate feedback may benefit simpler learning tasks, with delayed feedback best for more difficult tasks. While feedback should offer guidance about the learners’ learning process and next step (Nicol & Macfarlane-Dick, 2006; Thurlings et al., 2013), understanding whether and when feedback’s timing might be thwarting a learner’s own in-process problemsolving may be key to calibrating when to delay outside messaging, as when answers are provided too soon, before learners begin examining their own knowledge (Shute, 2008). Mathan and Koedinger’s (2002) review concluded that feedback’s effectiveness may rely more on the learner’s capability and the nature of the task than on feedback’s timing. Immediate error correction may benefit task acquisition, for example, but delayed feedback may better suit the more complex fluency building that comes next (Bangert-Drowns et al., 1991). Conclusions about feedback’s timing clearly are mixed and subject to the involvement of other forces.

Skilled communication of feedback interventions DeNisi and Kluger (2000) illustrated the importance of managing the affective aspect of communicating difficult messages. Based on Kluger and DeNisi’s (1996)

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cognitive modeling of feedback reception (i.e., feedback intervention theory), feedback should be communicated in fair, considerate ways that encourage and do not threaten perceivers’ ego, in order to encourage their focus on task performance only rather than divert finite cognitive energies to repair or protect their self-concept (Evans, 2013; Li & De Luca, 2014). This can be very difficult to achieve when students themselves routinely make unhelpful social comparisons between themselves and peers (Hattie & Timperley, 2007), especially when receiving feedback as a team or group (Gabelica et al., 2012). Although feedback messages do implicate learners’ identity (i.e., face) needs for autonomy, competence, and relatedness (Kerssen-Griep, 2001; Martens et al., 2010), feedback providers’ perceived oral and written facework skill (i.e., saving face, mitigating face threats) during feedback has associated with recipients’ positive perceptions of providers’ credibility and the usefulness of their feedback. Learners’ attentiveness, responsiveness, mastery learning orientation, and intrinsic motivation also are predicted by skilled facework’s perceived presence, as are learners’ own less defensive responses to instructional feedback, facework perhaps helping them perceive feedback as coming from expert allies commenting on task performance rather than critiquing their self (Kerssen-Griep, Hess, & Trees, 2003; Kerssen-Griep & Witt, 2012, 2015; Witt & Kerssen-Griep, 2011).

Students’ empowered participation Aside from succeeding when its communication mitigates threats to learners’ identities, feedback messaging along with other factors also can help students perceive a productive teacher-student relationship, affecting feedback’s reception and adoption. Feedback seen as too controlling or critical impedes performance improvement efforts (Fedor, Davis, Maslyn, & Mathieson, 2001) and stunts collaborative teacher-student relationship-building. According to Pokorny and Pickford (2010), perceiving a less controlling relationship with a feedback provider keys students’ best sense-making about their performance, goals, and achievement strategies. Feedback also improves learning when it empowers students to monitor their own learning needs and discover how to meet them (Balzer et al., 1989; Butler & Winne, 1995). This effect is due in part to granting learners a degree of control over their participation in the learning process. Student participation in assessment has been successfully spurred by soliciting their desired feedback areas (Bloxham & Campbell, 2010), involving students in feedback-about-peer-feedback exercises (Kim, 2009), and initiating learners’ reflection about and planning based on early feedback received (Cramp, 2011; Schalkwyk, 2010). Although critical theorists caution that vertical social hierarchies still are operating in such situations (Reynolds & Trehan, 2000), constructivist and SRL researchers in particular note that feedback succeeds when it involves students in something that feels like dialogue

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to them and that informs learners’ self-judgment, self-regulatory, and knowledge construction practices (Carless et al., 2011; Evans, 2013; Mory, 2003).

Socio-Cultural-Centered Feedback Research Finally, feedback scholarship increasingly examines how key cultural forces are woven into the feedback process, and with what consequences and possibilities. Concerns include understanding cultural influences on the expectations and status differentials that have consequences for feedback provision and processing, as well as for students navigating differing communities of practice in schools. Cohen et al. (1999), for example, created a feedback procedure they called “wise criticism” to use in situations where racial and status differences exist between privileged feedback providers and the recipients of those messages. They found that “wise” feedback – invoking high standards while credibly assuring they were invested in the student’s work and confident in the student’s ability to meet those standards – outperformed providers’ attempts to buffer criticism with friendliness or with praise alone; it also reduced the students’ perceptions of evaluator bias, mitigating one effect of cultural difference through communication. Socio-cultural values and norms generally frame how individuals understand and process social and academic experiences and develop their learning and cognitive styles (Evans, 2013; Vickerman, 2009). At a pragmatic level, second-language learners, for example, often recognize all but the most subtle cues in feedback (Baker & Bricker, 2010). However, to be effective for complicated learning tasks, instruction and feedback must account for culturally embedded contextual and learner characteristics that frame their encoding and decoding of feedback messages (Narciss & Huth, 2004). Individualist-cultured learners tend to seek, offer, and understand direct feedback messages, whereas collectivist-cultured students often prefer interpreting indirect feedback, and that no feedback should comment on individuals, for instance (De Luque & Sommer, 2000). Evans (2013) argued for better understanding how students’ academic and social circumstances co-operate to shape their expectations, interpretations, and navigation of instructional feedback encounters. “Teachers need to view feedback from the perspective of the individuals engaged in the learning and become proactive in providing information addressing the three feedback questions [i.e., when, how, and at what level to offer] and developing ways for students to ask these questions of themselves” (Hattie & Timperley, 2007, p. 101). Culture-interested scholars encourage approaching and educating students primarily as feedback partners in dialogue (Carless et al., 2011; Fluckiger, Vigil, Tixier, Pasco, & Danielson, 2010) or as active agents who may need training in the process of feedback itself (Sadler, 1989). Carefully designed multi-stage learning assessments (Carless et al., 2011; Handley, Price, & Millar, 2008) can dovetail with feedback training to foster students’ senses of autonomy and competence as

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learners, though with effects still moderated by individual and cultural differences (Evans, 2013; Seifert, 2010). With these influences and mitigations in mind, feedback scholars increasingly question whether standard feedback practices themselves – even those designed to develop self-regulation – unnecessarily force cultural assimilation on students (Nicol, 2008), and how institutional and instructional practices could do more to embrace and utilize students’ home cultures (Ball, 2010).

Research Conclusions In 2008, Shute concluded a comprehensive review by noting how variable and inconsistent and even contradictory the connections among feedback phenomena, mechanisms, and principles remained, even in the face of so much research on the topic. Although feedback scholarship is moving in more and more comprehensive directions, much of that inconsistency remains. Increasing attention to consequential details in combination and to key situational components is helping scholars gradually solve the riddle of correcting and helping shape their learners’ works in ways that do more good than harm.

Principles for Feedback Practice Skilled feedback should spur learners’ interest in their task, simplify that task, mark the distance between their work and the standard, offer direction and focus to help them bridge that gap, specify expectations, and reduce the risks and frustrations inherent in the learning activity (Bransford, Brown, & Cocking, 2000). Although it is clear that many forces must be accounted to create such feedback outcomes (Boud & Molloy, 2013; Evans, 2013; Shute, 2008), specific, clear, and learner-tailored feedback targeting task improvement rather than learner ability has been supported as a general guideline (Butler, 1987; Kluger & DeNisi, 1996; Kulhavy et al., 1985; Narciss & Huth, 2004; Shute, 2008; Thurlings et al., 2013). Feedback generally should provide suggestions about effortful improvement rather than focus on the intelligence or other perceived-trait attributes of the learner (Boud, 2000; DeNisi & Kluger, 2000; Evans, 2013; Hattie & Timperley, 2007; Kluger & DeNisi, 1996; Shute, 2008). Feedback scholarship’s increasing attention to key process, contextual, and socio-cultural variables, however, continues highlighting feedback’s essence as a complex social intervention and complicates prescriptions for doing it; there is no universal “top ten list” of feedback behaviors to apply without regard to audience, culture, and context. With those forces in mind, one forward-looking way to frame feedback guidance is in terms of how well it increases students’ likelihood to own and process

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the corrective communication; i.e., to develop a skilled, resilient, and self-regulated approach to judging and adjusting their own learning (Nicol & Macfarlane-Dick, 2006). In this view, skilled instructors are those who empower students to recognize in feedback ways to facilitate their own meaning-making; to notice and acquire new learning opportunities; to improve their self-management, -prioritizing, -filtering, and -perspective-building; to buttress their accountability, resilience, and grit; and to achieve their personal learning goals (Duckworth, Peterson, Matthews, & Kelly, 2007; Evans, 2013; Poulos & Mahony, 2008). Feedback has most value when it comes from multiple sources (teachers, peers, experts) at incremental stages of assignments, and when it raises students’ awareness of quality performance, supports their skilled goal setting and learning planning, and helps them develop capacities to monitor and evaluate their own learning (Boud & Molloy, 2013). Intriguingly, this sustainable feedback approach rests on the presumption that all students already self-regulate their own learning, differing only by degree; some students have gotten better at self-regulated learning practices than others have, and weaker students are the ones who most need chances to enhance their feelings of being in control (Nicol, 2008). This section thus offers general guidance synthesized from recent comprehensive reviews and reconsiderations of feedback message, source, perceiver, and process factors (Boud & Molloy, 2013; Evans, 2013; Li & De Luca, 2014; Shute, 2008; Thurlings et al., 2013). Each is a potential means to help develop learners’ short- and long-term will and capacity to seek out, make sense of, own, value, and utilize corrective communication.

Message Principles Feedback providers’ messages should be explicit regarding assessment requirements and what counts as quality work, and they should offer engagement with examples of good work. Feedback messages about performance should clarify learning goals, signpost key areas to address, and reduce learners’ uncertainty about how they are doing relative to those factors. Messages that invite learners into dialogues about and active work with assessment criteria themselves also can spur their processes of learning and repair, as well as encourage their longer-term reflection and focus on self-regulation (Evans, 2013; Thurlings et al., 2013). The literature offers many tests of very particular message strategies, but more generally it is worth knowing that for many learners (see “Perceiver Principles” below), elaborated feedback offered in clear, specific, manageable units often enhances learning more than simple verification messages do. Messages should note areas of strength and provide information on how to improve, most often without overall grading attached. Messages must be rhetorically sensitive in mitigating potential face (i.e., identity) threats (Trees et al., 2009) and not likely to be perceived as signaling personal insult – or personal praise, as learners also often are wary of or distracted by such. Hearing feedback as a comment on their self rather than their

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work often impairs the cognitive energy needed for feedback to improve learning or performance itself.

Source Principles Aside from cultivating multiple sources of formative feedback for their learners (Bouzidi & Jaillet, 2009), feedback providers should adopt consistent interpersonal and structural practices known to enhance rather than erode providers’ trustworthiness, expertise, and credibility in learners’ eyes. Cohen and colleagues’ (1999) “wise criticism” practices merit special mention as means to preserve a feedback provider’s credible mentor standing when working with learners across racial or other categorical status differentials: the provider’s feedback intervention must clearly invoke high standards plus a personal investment in evaluating the learner’s work, and also should communicate confidence in the student’s capacity to reach those performance standards.

Perceiver Principles Several practices can help tailor feedback’s potential complexity to individuals’ learning needs, abilities, and preferences (Knight & Yorke, 2003). Instructors must provide enough intellectual pressure without signaling too much control or focus on a student’s person or relative position (Evans, 2013). The best instruction seeks to nurture students’ productive learning goal orientation (i.e., mastery, or trying to achieve academic goals) rather than performance goal orientation (ego, trying to please others) toward their work. Some key means to doing this include measuring students’ performance against criteria or their own previous work rather than comparing it against their peers’ performance, targeting learners’ effort rather than their innate ability, and framing their mistakes as welcome keys to advancing their learning (Dweck, 2000). Some advice is tailored to particular types of learner. Specific, goal-directed feedback best suits learners who are focused on pleasing others or uninterested in task mastery per se. Directive (or corrective), elaborated feedback is important for novices, whereas simple verification feedback may be sufficient and offer important autonomy for high-achieving learners (Shute, 2008). Challenging facilitative feedback (including hints, cues, or prompts) also can engage high-achieving or motivated learners (Shute, 2008). Mitigate impacts on perceivers’ cognitive load by offering feedback via multiple communication modes when possible and suited to the learners. With perceivers in mind, feedback interventions should inhale as well as exhale. Providers and learners together should query feedback practices to clarify meanings, expectations, misconceptions, and future actions. Train students how to

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peer-assess and self-assess, since giving feedback often impacts a student’s future performance even more than receiving feedback does (Kim, 2009). Overall, clarify learners’ active role in the feedback process by involving them in assessment design whenever possible, and by giving students agency to develop their own action plans after feedback (Evans, 2013).

Process Principles Some process variables also can enhance feedback’s effectiveness, especially when they occur within assessment and feedback designs that respect and encourage constructive use of study time (Evans, 2013; Shute, 2008). Feedback’s timing can be one such variable. Providers should not interrupt actively engaged learners to offer feedback, as, for example, when providing answers too soon, before learners try solving problems on their own (Shute, 2008). Immediate feedback often is best for lower-achieving students or others engaged in work that is difficult for them; it also often suits fixing errors in real time and when learning verbal, procedural, and some motor skills (Shute, 2008). Delayed feedback often suits higher-achieving students or learners engaged in work that is simple for them; delayed feedback often outperforms immediate feedback when the goal is more sophisticated transfer (rather than simple acquisition) of learning (Shute, 2008). All feedback communication practices should help reinforce its integrated, ongoing, developmental role in students’ self-regulated learning process (Boud & Molloy, 2013; Evans, 2013).

Exigencies and Future Research Knowledge Gaps Scholars recently have lamented a lack of sufficient attention to the means by which cognitive styles and abilities affect learners’ abilities and responses, noting the need to incorporate recent neuroscience findings about cognition and learning, for example (Evans, 2013). Others note a need for more attention to the details of particular feedback process features, such as its ordering, for example (Evans, 2013), or how different feedback message delay lengths might impact performance (Cavanaugh, 2013), or how and why feedback interventions supporting declarative, conceptual, or procedural learning processes might differ from or overlap one another (Shute, 2008). Black and McCormick (2010) and Kerssen-Griep and Witt (2015) among others advocate greater emphasis on helping feedback providers better understand and navigate the multitude of social forces at play especially in common oral feedback encounters, rather than learn primarily about written feedback practices. Such scholarship could help feedback participants more mindfully reflect on what they omit from their commentary, and why (Evans, 2013).

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At the system level, Shute (2008) and others note major research gaps relative to understanding interactions among task characteristics, instructional contexts, and student characteristics that mediate feedback effects. There is a lack of empirical evidence about what feedback strategies best suit which situations and contexts, including how newer electronic assessment feedback interventions can affect student performance (Evans, 2013). In addition, scholars yet know too little about feedback’s role within schooling that is subject to more diverse and more continuous forms of assessment than ever before (Boud & Molloy, 2013). How does this changed academic environment influence the opportunities, abilities, actions, and outcomes achieved (and achievable) by feedback participants including school administrators, psychologists, and coaches, as well as teachers, peers, and other experts (Cavanaugh, 2013)?

Method concerns Published issues with existing research designs center around key process variables, including more consistently defining and operationalizing key phenomenal terms used frequently, such as sufficient and effective and even feedback itself as something genuinely more complex than a simple message stimulus cleanly transmitted to passive receivers (Boud & Molloy, 2013; Kluger & DeNisi, 1996; Nicol & Macfarlane-Dick, 2006; Thurlings et al., 2013). One-time, small-scale case studies dominate the literature, and self-judgment data often stand in for less subjective measures of key variables (Evans, 2013; Thurlings et al., 2013). Amid calls for more observational feedback studies is advocacy seeking larger samples, better experimental control, and more follow-up studies (Cavanaugh, 2013; Thurlings et al., 2013). In general, scholars are seeking richer and more objectively measured examinations of feedback’s complexity as enacted and experienced in particular contexts.

Responsive Future Research Develop and train teachers and scholars in a learner-centered conception of feedback communication Understanding and studying learners as feedback agents rather than as simple message receivers will improve how feedback researchers, providers, and perceivers conceive of learning and examine feedback, especially feedback practices that enhance students’ sustained, self-directed independence in learning (Black & McCormick, 2010; Boud & Molloy, 2013; Evans, 2013). This research re-focus also will help participants navigate feedback interactions as two-way dialogues about interpretations and expectations, teach learners more about how to exercise their

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ability to elicit the sorts of information they need, and highlight additional learner characteristics (e.g., their autonomy, competence, and relatedness identity needs) that matter to their effective feedback-seeking behaviors (Boud & Molloy, 2013; Evans, 2013; Li & De Luca, 2014; Shute, 2008). One word of caution here is that expanding feedback’s definition to include learners’ sense-making from available information (including from feedforward and feed-up processes; e.g., Evans, 2013) could cause the phenomenon to lose some of its identity as a unique learning activity. Is all learner sense-making from standards-based information a form of feedback when seen from this perspective? What might that expansion in feedback’s conceptual scope cost and gain scholars and practitioners consulting the literature?

Understand learners’ identity, relational, and socio-cultural sense-making about feedback communication Research needs to better integrate, contextualize, and account for the multitude of forces that combine to affect feedback’s reception, processing, ownership, and use (Evans, 2013; Boud & Molloy, 2013). Heeding Vygotsky’s (1987) warning not to artificially separate people’s intellectual from their motivational and emotional aspects, scholarship should better synthesize consequential feedback components, such as student goal-setting’s impacts on other variables (Cavanaugh, 2013), or the roles learners’ affect plus the setting plus learner characteristics play in mediating feedback outcomes (Shute, 2008). Examining the feedback process as an embedded system can help comprehend its complexity in context rather than reduce it to a matter of isolated variables (Thurlings et al., 2013).

Examine discipline-specific and cross-disciplinary aspects of effective feedback communication Finally, feedback communication scholarship should seek any overarching principles as well as practices and insights anchored within specific disciplines’ particular learning characters. Humanities and scientific feedback may differ – and overlap – for explainable reasons, for example, or feedback normally may be offered via electronic means (or peer groups, or repeated designs) within certain learning realms (Li & De Luca, 2014). Feedback participants understandably differ in how well they navigate between communities of practice (Wenger, 2000). Understanding the interplay of socio-cultural, contextual, processual, relational, communication, affective, and cognitive forces that help students self-regulate their learning across multiple settings will be key to effective feedback program design, especially collaborative program designs (Evans, 2013). Feedback scholarship continues

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attempting to make this very complex social intervention process appear as simple as it can be, and no simpler.

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Fedor, D. B., Davis, W. D., Maslyn, J. M., & Mathieson, K. (2001). Performance improvement efforts in response to negative feedback: The roles of source power and recipient self-esteem. Journal of Management, 27, 79–97. Feng, B. (2014). When should advice be given? Assessing the role of sequential placement of advice in supportive interactions in two cultures. Communication Research, 41, 913–934. Ferguson, P. (2011). Student perceptions of quality feedback in teacher education. Assessment & Evaluation in Higher Education, 36, 51–62. doi:10.1080/02602930903197883 Ferreira, A., Moore, J. D., & Mellish, C. (2007). A study of feedback strategies in foreign language classrooms and tutorials with implications for intelligent computer-assisted language learning systems. International Journal of Artificial Intelligence in Education, 17, 389–422. Finn, A. N., Schrodt, P., Witt, P. L., Elledge, N., Jernberg, K. A., & Larson, L. M. (2009). A metaanalytical review of teacher credibility and its associations with teacher behaviors and student outcomes. Communication Education, 58, 516–537. Fisher, R., Cavanaugh, J., & Bowles, A. (2011). Assisting transition to university: Using assessment as a formative learning tool. Assessment & Evaluation in Higher Education, 36, 225–237. Fisher, S. L., & Ford, J. K (1998). Differential effects of learner effort and goal orientation on two learning outcomes. Personnel Psychology, 51, 397–420. Fluckiger, J., Vigil, Y., Tixier, Y., Pasco, R., & Danielson, K. (2010). Formative feedback: Involving students as partners in assessment to enhance learning. College Teaching, 58, 136–140. doi:10.1080/87567555.2010.484031 Fritz, C. O., & Morris, P. E. (2000). When further learning fails: Stability and change following repeated presentation of text. British Journal of Psychology, 91, 493–511. doi:10.1348/000712600161952 Frymier, A. B., & Thompson, C. A. (1992). Perceived teacher affinity-seeking in relationship to perceived teacher credibility. Communication Education, 41, 388–399. Fund, Z. (2010). Effects of communities of reflecting peers on student‐teacher development– including in‐depth case studies. Teachers and Teaching: Theory and Practice, 16, 679–701. doi:10.1080/13540602.2010.517686 Gabelica, C., Van den Bossche, P., Segers, M., & Gijselaers, W. (2012). Feedback, a powerful lever in teams: A review. Educational Research Review, 7, 123–144. Gibbs, G., & Simpson, C. (2004). Conditions under which assessment supports students’ learning. Learning and Teaching in Higher Education, 1, 3–31. Gielen, S., Dochy, F., & Onghena, P. (2011). An inventory of peer assessment diversity. Assessment and Evaluation in Higher Education, 36, 137–155. Gilbert, T. (1978). Human competence: Engineering worthy performance. New York, NY: McGrawHill. Gilman, D. A. (1969). Comparison of several feedback methods for correcting errors by computerassisted instruction. Journal of Educational Psychology, 60, 503–508. Goldsmith, D. J. (2000). Soliciting advice: The role of sequential placement in mitigating face threat. Communication Monographs, 67, 1–19. Guzzo, R. A., Jette, R. D., & Katzell, R. A. (1985). The effects of psychologically based intervention programs on worker productivity: A meta-analysis. Personnel Psychology, 38, 275–291. Handley, K., & Cox, B. (2007). Beyond model answers: learners’ perceptions of self-assessment materials in e-learning applications. Association for Learning Technology Journal, 15, 21–36. Handley, K., Price, M., & Millar, J. (2008). Engaging students with assessment feedback. Final report for FDTL project 144/03. Retrieved from http://www.brookes.ac.uk/aske/documents/ FDTL_FeedbackProjectReportApril2009.pdf Hanna, G. S. (1976). Effects of total and partial feedback in multiple-choice testing upon learning. Journal of Educational Research, 69, 202–205. Hattie, J., & Timperley, H. (2007). The power of feedback. Review of Educational Research, 77, 81– 112.

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Hecht, M. L., Warren, J. R., Jung, E., & Krieger, J. L. (2005). A communication theory of identity: Development, theoretical perspective, and future directions. In W. B. Gudykunst, (Ed.), Theorizing about intercultural communication (pp. 257–278). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Higgins, R., Hartley, P., & Skelton, A. (2001). Getting the message across: The problem of communicating assessment feedback. Teaching in Higher Education, 6, 269–274. doi:10.1080/13562510120045230 Higgins, R., Hartley, P., & Skelton, A. (2002). The conscientious consumer: Reconsidering the role of assessment feedback in student learning. Studies in Higher Education, 27, 53–64. doi:10.1080/03075070120099368 Hounsell, D. (2007). Towards more sustainable feedback to students. In D. Boud & N. Falchikov (Eds.), Rethinking assessment in higher education: Learning for the longer term (pp. 101– 113). London, England: Routledge. Hounsell, D., McCune, V., Hounsell, J., & Litjens, J. (2008). The quality of guidance and feedback to students. Higher Education Research and Development, 27, 55–67. doi:10.1080/07294360701658765 Huxham, M. (2007). Fast and effective feedback: Are model answers the answer?. Assessment & Evaluation in Higher Education, 32, 601–611. Imahori, T. T., & Cupach, W. R. (2005). Identity management theory: Facework in intercultural relationships. In W. B. Gudykunst, (Ed.), Theorizing about intercultural communication (pp. 195–210). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Ivancevich, J. M., & McMahon, J. T. (1982). The effects of goal setting, external feedback, self generated feedback on outcome variables: A field experiment. Academy of Management Journal, 25, 359–372. Johnson, D. W., & Johnson, R. T. (1993). Cooperative learning and feedback in technology-based instruction. In J. V. Dempsey & G. C. Sales (Eds.), Interactive instruction and feedback (pp. 133–157). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Educational Technology. Kerssen-Griep, J. (2001). Teacher communication activities relevant to student motivation: Classroom facework and instructional communication competence. Communication Education, 50, 256–273. Kerssen-Griep, J., Hess, J., & Trees, A. (2003). Sustaining the desire to learn: Dimensions of perceived instructional facework related to student involvement and motivation to learn. Western Journal of Communication, 67, 357–381. Kerssen-Griep, J., Trees, A. R., & Hess, J. A. (2008). Attentive facework during instructional feedback: Key to perceiving mentorship and an optimal learning environment. Communication Education, 57, 312–332. Kerssen-Griep, J., & Witt, P. L. (2012). Instructional feedback II: How do instructor immediacy cues and facework tactics interact to predict student motivation and fairness perceptions? Communication Studies, 63, 498–517. Kerssen-Griep, J., & Witt, P. L. (2015). Instructional feedback III: How do instructor facework tactics and immediacy cues interact to predict student perceptions of being mentored? Communication Education, 64, 1–24. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.978797 Kim, M. (2009). The impact of an elaborated assessee’s role in peer assessment. Assessment and Evaluation in Higher Education, 34, 105–114. doi:10.1080/02602930801955960 King, P. E., Schrodt, P., & Weisel, J. (2009). The instructional feedback orientation scale: Conceptualizing and validating a new measure for assessing perceptions of instructional feedback. Communication Education, 58, 235–261. Kluger, A. N., & DeNisi, A. (1996). The effects of feedback interventions on performance: A historical review, a meta-analysis, and a preliminary feedback intervention theory. Psychological Bulletin, 119, 254–284. Knight, P., & Yorke, M. (2003). Assessment, learning and employability. Maidenhead, UK: SRHE/ Open University Press.

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Student Characteristics and Attitudes

Heejung Park

13 Cultural Values and Human Development Abstract: Cultural values – a set of values governing a society – guide individuals’ behaviors and define optimal pathways for human development. As such, differences in cultural values generate variations in learners’ attitudes, practices, and achievement. This chapter addresses the connection of cultural values with human development including learning, and its increasing complexity in the current era. First, the chapter provides conceptualizations of culture and cultural values and highlights national and ethnic variations in cultural values particularly relevant for learning and communication. Second, it explains that culturally informed feedback from parents, teachers, and peers regulate human development and learning. Finally, the chapter concludes with the ways in which economically driven social change, globalization, and multiculturalism modify learning environments and human development, along with suggestions for future research directions in this area. Keywords: Culture, human development, values, cultural values, socialization, globalization, multiculturalism, individualism, collectivism Differences in cultural values generate variations in learners’ attitudes, practices, and achievement. The cultural process of learning begins early on with parental socialization of infants and young children and continues over the course of a lifespan through various human interactions and exchange of culturally informed social feedback (Chen, 2012; Greenfield, Keller, Fuligni, & Mayard, 2003; Keller et al., 2006; Quinn, 2005). The linkage between cultural values and learning is deeply embedded in one’s cognition, values, and behaviors (Markus & Kitayama, 1991, 2010), rather than emerging abruptly with one’s entrance into formal education system. Therefore, it is imperative to understand the dynamic interaction of cultural values with learners’ characteristics and outcomes as shaped by rich cultural scripts and societal mores in diverse settings. This chapter addresses the connection of cultural values with human development including learning, and its increasing complexity in today’s rapidly changing, globalized, and multicultural world. In the first section, I will conceptualize culture and cultural values, followed by highlights of national and ethnic variations in cultural values that are particularly relevant for learning and communication. In the second section, I will explain that culturally informed feedback from parents, teachers, and peers regulate human development and learning. Finally, I will discuss ways in which economically driven social change, globalization, and multiculturalism modify learning environments, along with suggestions for future research directions in this area.

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Cultural Values and Messages Humans live in culture, and the connection between person and cultural context is intricate and inseparable (Markus & Kitayama, 2010). As such, culture is not a single variable that can be manipulated; culture cannot be simply introduced to or removed from a person. The discussion in this chapter is anchored in two telling definitions of culture provided by a leading cultural psychologist Heine (2012): First, culture is information that is acquired from other members through social learning that is capable of affecting an individual’s behaviors (Boyd & Richerson, 2005; Heine, 2012). This conceptualization underscores that a set of values and norms are learned through human interactions in a given society. Therefore, I use the term cultural values to refer to a set of values governing a society. Cultural values are important as they guide individuals’ behaviors and define optimal pathways for human development (Greenfield, Keller, et al., 2003). The second definition of culture is a particular group of individuals who exist within some kind of shared context (Heine, 2012). In the literature, cultural group contrasts have been largely based on nationality and ethnicity. Thus, many of the examples in this chapter will highlight robust patterns of cultural differences between Western and non-Western nations or between European Americans and ethnic minorities within North America. Nevertheless, the discussion will evolve to reason that the current and future directions for research face the need to diversify research samples and methodologies in suit with today’s changing demographics and cultural identities of individuals and communities nationally and globally.

The Self and the Group: Individualistic and Collectivistic Orientations Individualism-collectivism has provided a key theoretical framework for understanding variations in cultural values. The main feature of individualism is selforientation, based on the view that the self is an independent entity from others in the group (Markus & Kitayama, 1991). Thus, individualistic orientation relates to a tendency to focus on personal desires, goals, and actions (Greenfield, Keller, et al., 2003; Markus & Kitayama, 1991; Triandis, Bontempo, Villareal, Asai, & Lucca, 1988; Triandis et al., 1990). Conversely, collectivistic orientation is a tendency to prioritize one’s group over the self (Triandis et al., 1990). The group-orientation stems from the view that the self is understood as a part of the group, a concept commonly referred as interdependent self-construal (Markus & Kitayama, 1991). Therefore, collectivistic societies value relational attributes that promote group harmony and order, such as duty and obedience (Greenfield, Keller, et al., 2003; Markus & Kitayama, 1991; Triandis et al., 1988; Triandis et al., 1990). All humans inarguably recognize both the self and the group, but there are considerable cultural variations in relative emphases placed on the self versus the

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group, whether the self and the group are ultimately considered as independent or interrelated entities, and how the self and the group interact in sociocultural contexts (Markus & Kitayama, 1991, 2010). For example, Chiao et al.’s (2009, 2010) neuroimaging work has revealed that individualism and collectivism are differentially associated with neural activity. Young adults with individualistic cultural values demonstrated greater neural activation to general self-descriptions (triggering independent self-view), whereas those with collectivistic cultural values showed greater neural activation to contextual self-description (triggering interdependent self-view). These differences were observed in the brain region associated with formation, storage, and retrieval of self-knowledge, suggesting that cultural value orientation may come to shape the neural representations (Chiao et al., 2010). Western nations such as the United States are generally considered as individualistic societies that are governed by independent self-construal and self-orientation. Non-Western nations, especially East Asian nations, are understood as collectivistic societies that orient towards the group rather than the self (Markus & Kitayama, 1991; Triandis et al., 1988; Triandis et al., 1990). Research using ethnicity-based contrasts within North America has demonstrated similar patterns. European Americans often score higher than ethnic minorities on scales purported to assess individualistic orientation (Freeberg & Stein, 1996; Gaines et al., 1997; Oyserman, Coon, & Kemmelmeier, 2002), whereas ethnic minorities evidence a stronger sense of identity and obligation with the group – especially the family – than European Americans (Chao, 1994, 1995; Chao & Tseng, 2002; Freeberg & Stein, 1996; Fuligni, Tseng, & Lam, 1999). For instance, Asian-American and Latin-American adolescents are more likely to value assisting, respecting, and supporting their families than European-American adolescents (Fuligni et al., 1999). Using a simulation task where participants could earn money for themselves or contribute to their family, Telzer, Masten, Berkman, Lieberman, and Fuligni (2010) showed that Latin-American youths showed more neural activity when contributing to their family, whereas European-American youths showed greater neural activity when gaining cash for themselves. The finding was interpreted as evidence for cultural variation of family assistance between the two ethnic groups. In an interview study with 98 mothers, Chao (1995) found that Chinese immigrant mothers were more likely than European-American mothers to focus on interdependent child socialization goals that promote family harmony. In another study, parental sacrifice emerged as a key component of parental support for Chinese-American and Filipino-American adolescents (Chao & Kaeochinda, 2010), indicating the importance of family interdependence in an Asian heritage value system. In sum, studies using various methodologies have supported the notion that one’s group such as the family is central to viewing the self in non-Western interdependent cultures.

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Autonomy and Self-Assertion vs. Conformity and Obedience Self-oriented individualism and group-oriented collectivism have implications for learners’ characteristics and outcomes, as cultural values reinforce specific attributes and guide everyday behaviors in various learning contexts including the classroom. In individualistic Western societies, self-assertion signals positive development, as it matches the cultural expectation of achieving independence and becoming an autonomous individual in the society (Cook & Lawrence, 1990; Greenfield, Keller, et al., 2003; Kim, 2002). In line with the individualistic cultural emphasis on uniqueness of individuals rather than commonalities among group members (Fernández, Paez, & González, 2005; Kim & Markus, 1999; Oyserman et al., 2002; Park, Coello, & Lau, 2014), learners are encouraged to voice personal opinions (Kim, 2002), and standing out among peers is praised as a sign of positive development (Raeff, Greenfield, & Quiroz, 2000). Conversely, self-assertion may risk being reproached as a sign of disrespect and disruption in collectivistic societies where members are expected to conform to group norms and preserve group harmony (Chen, Wu, Chen, Wang, & Cen, 2001; Kim & Markus, 1999). Asserting personal opinions, especially when in disagreement with the dominant opinion, is considered a threat to group harmony. Classrooms in Korea, for example, evidenced more harmonious climate and greater levels of children’s sustained attention compared to classrooms in the United States (Clarke-Stewart, Lee, Allhusen, Kim, & McDowell, 2006). As shown in studies with Chinese children and teachers, members of group-oriented cultures are more likely to appreciate quietness as an indicator of self-controlled thinking that contributes to group cohesion (Chen, 2010, 2012; Tobin, Wu, & Davidson, 1989). Similar cultural differences tend to emerge within Western classrooms as a function of ethnicity. In a series of three experimental studies, Kim (2002) demonstrated that talking aloud to process one’s thinking in fact interferes with one’s thinking if the student comes from a cultural background where thinking is processed more internally and less through verbal speech. Specifically, she found that thinking aloud while solving reasoning problems impaired Asian-American undergraduates’ performance but did not interfere with European-American undergraduates’ performance. Interestingly, the negative effect of talking on Asian-American students’ performance appeared to be explained by their reduced use of internal thinking processes. Results highlight challenges for students whose cultural values do not match the classroom values. For instance, ethnic minority students who have been socialized with collectivistic and interdependent cultural values at home may underperform in classroom settings that expect students to assert personal opinions. Assessment of student engagement based on the frequency of voicing personal opinions, for example, may not fully capture the classroom dynamic and participation for students with different cultural values and backgrounds.

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Emotion Expression and Self-Esteem vs. Emotion Restraint and Self-Criticism Cultural expectations and values associated with self-orientation and group-orientation shape one’s learning of emotion expressivity and regulation, as well. In line with the independent self-construal model that views the self as ultimately separate from others in context, individualistic Westerners tend to express emotions that relate to personal attributes, which in turn leads to emotions that strengthen one’s identity and self-esteem (e.g., feeling proud for doing well; Markus & Kitayama, 1991). The cultural focus on one’s self-esteem and emotional expressivity shapes the definition of healthy socio-emotional development (Chen, 2012) and may reinforce praise and encouragement as valuable tools that foster motivation for learning (Henderlong & Lepper, 2002). In contrast to emotion expressivity, signs of emotion inhibition such as shyness are discouraged and considered maladaptive in societies where individualism is the norm, including in the United States and Canada (Chao, 1995; Chen & French, 2008; Rothbaum, Pott, Azuma, Miyake, & Weisz, 2000). In collectivistic societies, interdependent self-construal is a dominant model; the self is viewed as intrinsically related to others and contexts. This view of the self as a contextual, dynamic entity encourages one to change the self to fit the group (Markus & Kitayama, 1991; Singelis, Triandis, Bhawuk & Gelfand, 1995; Triandis, 1990). That is, the self is believed to be flexible and malleable depending on the circumstances, which may foster the cultural valuation of training and effort to improve (Chao, 1994; Fung & Lau, 2009). Additionally, restraining emotional expression is considered a skill and asset for maintaining group unity (Markus & Kitayama, 1991), whereas a public display of negative emotions is a threat to group harmony that should be discouraged (Markus & Kitayama, 1991; Rothbaum et al., 2000). When emotions are expressed, collectivistic Easterners are more likely than individualistic Westerners to demonstrate emotions that signal their concern for others, such as humility and sympathy, given that these types of emotions tend to foster interdependence among group members (Markus & Kitayama, 1991).

Culturally Regulated Learning: Interaction with Parents, Teachers, and Peers How do children learn these cultural values and apply them in daily behaviors? Often, cultural values are not taught to learners through explicit messages but through common patterns of generational and social transmission. Cultural values and scripts are learned through social interactions, with various individuals providing cues and feedback for learners to regulate their learning in their cultural

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contexts. Parents, teachers, and peers are key individuals with whom children interact and exchange culturally informed communications. That is, feedback from parents, teachers, and peers regulates human development and learning in one’s cultural contexts.

Parental Socialization of Children Early on, cultural values and societal norms guide parental socialization goals for their children and childrearing practices (Greenfield, Keller, et al., 2003; Keller et al., 2006). For example, it is normative for mothers in traditionally collectivistic societies such as Japan to sleep with their babies, guided by the belief and expectation that babies and mother are inseparable and interdependent (Caudill & Plath, 1966; Shimizu, Park, & Greenfield, 2014). Yet in individualistic societies such as the United States, co-sleeping is far less common and generally discouraged as a parenting practice, although not without controversy (McKenna & McDade, 2005). Furthermore, interdependence-promoting infant practice (e.g., bodily proximity and body stimulation) is found in societies where obedience and hierarchy are emphasized during childhood (Keller, 2007; Keller et al., 2009; Keller et al., 2006). As evidenced by such findings, children in collectivistic versus individualistic cultures receive quite different messages from their parents starting in infancy. Children in turn learn to enact their cultural scripts, such as demonstrated by prospective data showing that experience of proximal parenting in infancy is associated with the development of compliance among toddlers, such as the ability to inhibit a rewarding but forbidden act (Keller et al., 2004). These internalized messages from parental socialization come to shape children’s developmental trajectory. Cultural values also play a role in parental influences on children’s attitudes toward academic goals, expectations, and achievement. In individualistic cultures, parents hold a great concern for children’s self-esteem and utilize words of affirmation and praise to encourage children’s achievement (Wang, Wiley, & Chiu, 2008). Parents in individualistic cultures are also more likely to focus on discovering and developing children’s innate talents, in line with the cultural emphasis on uniqueness and individuation (Chao, 1995). By contrast, collectivistic parents tend to focus on children’s effort and self-improvement. For instance, Chinese immigrant parents emphasize the notion of training in their socialization of children (Chao, 1994; Fung & Lau, 2009). Furthermore, Asian-American and Latin-American children of immigrant parents tend to associate academic achievement with a sense of family obligation, suggesting that these children may be motivated to do well in school not only for personal reasons but also for the sake of the family (Fuligni, 2001). Importantly, these cultural differences should not be viewed as an indication of positive or negative parenting without a careful consideration of culture-specific parenting ideologies and unique cultural contexts (e.g., Fung & Lau, 2009). One should refrain from evaluating parenting without a full consideration of cultural

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contexts that encompass multiple layers of cultural scripts, strategies, and adaptation.

Student and Teacher Expectations It is well known that positive student-teacher relations influence academic motivation and achievement (Goodenow, 1993; Ryan, Stiller, & Lynch, 1994; Skinner & Belmont, 1993), but less is known about the role of cultural values in setting the expectations for ideal student-teacher relationship. In individualistic cultures, egalitarian relations are an ideal form of student-teacher interactions, and students have positive attitudes toward teachers who demonstrate caring and allow autonomy (Skinner & Belmont, 1993; Wentzel, 1997, 1998). Students are encouraged to express personal opinions to teachers, as well as ask questions and even challenge their teachers (Aguiar, Mortimer, & Scott, 2010; Chin & Osborne, 2008). In collectivistic cultures, hierarchical relations are normative and shape student-teacher dynamics. A strong reverence towards one’s teacher is captured in a popular Korean proverb, “One should not even step on the shadow of the teacher.” Indeed, a cross-cultural examination of early childhood programs showed that Korean teachers were more likely than American teachers to endorse the belief that children should always obey the teacher. Korean teachers were also more likely than American teachers to believe that it is important to teach children to obey persons in authority. Furthermore, talking and playing were more frequently observed in student-teacher interactions in the United States, whereas in Korea, student-teacher interactions appeared more distant (Clarke-Stewart et al., 2006). These findings demonstrate cultural differences in student-teacher dynamics in classrooms driven by egalitarian values versus hierarchical relational expectations. As societies around the world are becoming increasing multicultural, student diversity in classrooms presents added challenges to effective teaching and learning in cases of a cultural gap between students and teachers. For instance, while a student with collectivistic cultural values perceives the teacher as an authority figure and attends to the teacher by listening and internally processing information, the teacher with individualistic cultural values may perceive the student as disengaged in the classroom. Therefore, teacher-training programs must address cultural issues to equip teachers at all grade levels and promote effective teaching and learning. Likewise, sustainable programs in higher education should be in place to address and reduce cultural barriers to learning in colleges and universities. Whereas teachers’ understanding of students’ cultural background may foster a positive student-teacher bond, teachers’ biases towards minority students present threats and should be avoided (Aronson, 2002, 2004; Steele, 1997). In a cross-ethnic and cross-national study of European-American and Asian-American children in the United States and Korean children in their homeland, Louie, Wang,

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Fung, and Lau (2014) found evidence for negative teacher evaluations of AsianAmerican and Korean preschool children who displayed high emotion expressivity. Specifically, Asian-American preschoolers who displayed anger received lower teacher ratings of peer acceptance and prosocial behavior. For Korean preschoolers in Korea, those who expressed sadness and happiness received higher teacher ratings on antisocial behavior scores. These associations were non-significant or reversed for the European-American preschoolers, suggesting that emotion expressivity does not have negative consequences on teachers’ evaluations of their European-American students. The differential associations of emotion expressivity with teacher rating for Asian-American and European-American preschoolers are particularly troubling as the findings suggest teacher biases towards ethnic minority children within the same classroom as early as in preschool.

Peer Evaluations According to Chen’s (2012) contextual-developmental perspective, the link between cultural values and certain child outcomes is also mediated by peer evaluations. Specifically, peers evaluate the congruence of individual attributes with the cultural values and norms. In turn, the social evaluation (e.g., peer acceptance or rejection) regulates children’s behaviors. For example, research on peer evaluations of shy children reveals the role of culturally informed peer feedback in shaping children’s behavior (Chen, DeSouza, Chen, & Wang, 2006). Observing young children’s free play in Canada, Chen et al. (2006) found that shy children’s attempts to engage in social interactions with peers were met with peers’ responses of refusal and disagreement. However, in China, the same types of shy children’s attempts received peers’ approval and support. The authors interpreted the results as negative peer evaluations of shy children in Canada, in line with the cultural values of selfassertion, in contrast with positive peer evaluations of shy children in China where shyness is more likely to be viewed as signs of understanding and maturity (Chen, 2010, 2012). The contextual-developmental perspective helps to explain how variations in societal values and norms yield differential learning styles and outcomes as a result of social interactions in peer group.

Individuals in Changing and Globalized Cultural Contexts: Current and Future Directions In addition to acknowledging cultural diversity and the resulting implications for learning and human development, it is also important to honor individual differences among the persons who make up any given society. Acknowledging intracultural diversity is a more sensitive and informed perspective than making immediate

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assumptions about an individual’s cultural values based on national or ethnic identification. Furthermore, social change, globalization, and multiculturalism in the current era engender multiple cultural value systems and identities. In this final section, I present some factors that are often entangled with ethnic cultural values and discuss current and future directions for studying the dynamic linkage of cultural values and human development.

Cultural Values and Personal Traits Growth mindset and grit have gained increasing attention as important predictors of academic success (Blackwell, Trzesniewski, & Dweck, 2007; Duckworth, Peterson, Matthews, & Kelly, 2007; Dweck, 2006, 2009, 2010). Growth mindset is the belief that capabilities can be improved and developed over time (Dweck, 2009, 2010), and grit is the ability to persevere for long-term goals (Duckworth, Peterson, Matthews, & Kelly, 2007). These personal traits may interact with contextual cultural values to shape learning and success given that interdependent and collectivistic cultures are more likely to consider individuals as malleable, compared to independent and individualistic cultures where individuals are viewed as unique and fixed entities. Thus, it will be an important next step to examine whether and how cultural values interact with personal traits to shape learning and academic achievement.

Economically Driven Social Change The interaction of cultural values with learning and human development is largely a process of sociodemographic adaptation (Greenfield, 2009). According to Greenfield’s theory of social change and human development, group-oriented collectivistic values are adaptive in small communities with rural and farming ecology where families and community members work together to fulfill their needs. These communities tend to have the characteristics of informal home education, simple technology, ethnic homogeneity, and less wealth. Conversely, self-oriented individualistic values are adaptive in a large, urban ecology where individuals have greater contact with non-related peers and strangers and compete in educational and economic arenas. This type of ecology commonly features nuclear-family residence, complex technology, ethnic diversity, and greater wealth. Greenfield (2009) asserts that each of these ecological factors pushes people’s values in the individualistic direction. For example, a positive association has been observed for two centuries between increasing urbanization and individualism in the United States and United Kingdom (Greenfield, 2013). This theoretical perspective has significant implications for learning and human development in light of the current worldwide shift

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of socioecology from rural to urban, from farming to commerce, from informal schooling to formal schooling, and from low technology to high technology. Research conducted in rich cultural settings over generations demonstrate that economically driven social change alters the nature of learning environment and goals, as well as student-teacher dynamics. Following three generations over the course of 23 years, Rogoff, Correa-Cha´vez, and Navichoc-Cotuc (2005) examined children’s learning environments in a Maya town in Guatemala. The researchers noted that the town shifted from agricultural to commercial ecology, and during the time, children’s learning environments also shifted from informal home education to formal schooling. Increased schooling outside the family appeared to reduce the opportunities to observe and learn adult activities in the home environment, suggesting that children’s teachers shifted from parents at home to formal educators in the school setting. Furthermore, children’s social learning moved from interactions with extended family members and siblings to peer relations in the school. Research with Maya families in Zinacantan, Mexico demonstrates similar associations between economically driven social change and shift in learning environment (Greenfield, 2000, 2004; Greenfield, Maynard, & Childs, 2003; Maynard, 2004). Between 1969 and 1991, the traditional practice of weaving in the Maya families shifted from personal to commercialized activities. The style of learning also shifted, from more interdependent learning and communal activity to more independent learning and personalized activity. The researchers attributed this change in learning style to the need for greater independence among daughters who were learning to weave, due to their mothers’ increased participation in commercial activity both inside and outside the home (Greenfield, Maynard, & Childs, 2003). Additionally, the physical distance between the learner and teacher in weaving practices increased in later generations (Greenfield, 2000). Also in the Zinacantec Maya community, Manago (2014) examined interdependent and independent value orientations of adolescent daughters, mothers, and grandmothers. Utilizing hypothetical social dilemmas derived from ethnographic observations, she found that high school adolescents were more likely to endorse the character in the dilemmas articulating independent values, as opposed to non-high school adolescents who were more likely to endorse the other character articulating interdependent values. Furthermore, high school adolescents were more oriented towards the independent character than were their mothers, but there was no generational difference between non-high school adolescents and their mothers. The results suggest schooling as a powerful agent of cultural value shift towards individualism. She also found that involvement in a market economy was associated with higher levels of independent value endorsement in the mother and grandmother generations. Interestingly, it appeared that commerce drove value changes between grandmother and mother generations, and schooling seemed to drive value changes between the adolescent and mother generations.

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Another example may be found in current Korean society, where education also appears to be a particularly robust factor that presses individualistic values. Park, Joo, Quiroz, and Greenfield (2015) found that higher maternal education level was associated with individualistic values for elementary school children and their mothers in Korea. However, rural versus urban residence did not distinguish the participants’ value orientations. The researchers noted startling similarities between rural and urban schools, suggesting that commonalties in school environments may have reduced the relevance of rural and urban ecology for the Korean families’ value orientations. For instance, due to a governmental effort to reduce education disparities between rural and urban schools, rural children were exposed to a high-technology classroom environment and received English language and Western culture education from a native English teacher from the United States. China has also undergone rapid social change in recent decades, largely driven by economic development. Research in China shows that previously favored interdependence-oriented social goals may be losing relevance in the era of market economy. Shyness, consonant with hierarchical collectivistic values of deference and humility, was associated with positive social adjustment for children in the late 1980s and early 1990s (Chen et al., 1998). However, by the early 2000s, shyness correlated with poor social functioning in urban China as it was in North America. Bolstering the interpretation that economic growth and urbanization might have influenced cultural values in children’s attributes, shyness remained linked to positive adjustment in rural China (Chen, Cen, Li, & He, 2005; Chen, Wang, & Wang, 2009). Economically driven social change often results in dramatic transformation in just a few generations, shifting children’s socialization environments. These economic and sociocultural shifts have implications for family relations as parents and children grow up in starkly different learning environments. Research has shown signs of both conflicts (e.g., Manago & Greenfield, 2011; Shimizu et al., 2014) and resolutions (e.g., Kağıtçıbaşı, 2005, 2013; Manago, 2014) in families at the forefront of social change. Future research utilizing longitudinal designs will help to deepen the understanding of adaptation processes of families in changing environments.

Globalization and Multiculturalism: Multiple Cultural Identities Globalization and multiculturalism are partly related to economically driven social change, as increased economic resources afford more opportunities for cultural exposure such as traveling and studying abroad, as well as connecting with different cultures using technology. To understand the dynamic and complex interactions of cultural values and learning, future researchers should expand study samples and designs to capture diverse cultural identities of learners beyond relying on

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nationality or ethnicity. One valuable approach would be to compare individuals of the same ethnic group who differ in other sociocultural factors. For example, researchers can examine domestic and international students of ethnic minority groups in the United States (e.g., Chinese-American vs. Chinese-international students) to investigate the influences of heritage cultural value systems concurrently with other cultural factors such as national and ethnic identities. Additionally, examining ethnic minorities who vary in their socioeconomic status and historical contexts in the United States can provide insight on the role of resource barriers and perceived discrimination in learners’ motivation and achievement. As such, deeper understanding and appreciation of cultural diversity require moving beyond comparing ethnic minorities to European Americans as the reference group. Future researchers should also aim to investigate the changing ways of communication particularly via social media and technology use. For instance, it will be important to understand how technology is integrated into daily classroom experiences and the resulting implications. Furthermore, cultural identities of youngsters may become more complex as various online tools provide them immense opportunities to gather information and communicate with different individuals miles apart. For immigrants and international students, expansion of technology use may mean a crucial way to maintain contacts with families and friends in their homelands. It will be also interesting to examine how online communication shapes the behavior and psychology of individuals with individualistic and collectivistic backgrounds. Furthermore, increased presence of international students in colleges around the world calls for the need to understand effective multicultural and international classroom dynamics. Ample research on international students has focused on their academic adjustment and cultural adjustment (e.g., Andrade, 2006; Yeh & Inose, 2003), but these studies may portray the idea that international students should adapt to the Western cultural values that are often different from their home cultures. Although psychological, social, and academic adjustments of international students are important issues, future researchers should critically investigate the changing dynamics within classrooms as a result of more diverse student populations, as well as ways to promote and maximize cultural opportunities both for domestic and international students. These issues will become increasingly important as study abroad experiences are becoming more normative for college students around the world. Finally, future researchers should examine the cultural adaptation of international students from individualistic societies studying in collectivistic societies. Research thus far has focused on the experiences of students in individualistic, mostly Western, colleges. Sample selection in future research should also include students who have lived and studied in more than two cultural environments. Often referred to as Third Culture Kids, these students possess unique cultural backgrounds and cultural identities (Pollock & Van Reken, 2010). Understanding the

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role of cultural values in learning will help foster more effective and constructive multicultural communities across various domains such as school, work, and friendship.

Conclusion The idea that culture influences human development has been a longstanding topic of scholarly interest. Nevertheless, the understanding of complex ways in which culture and humans interact has advanced over time. Cultural value differences have been largely understood based on national contrasts and ethnicity comparisons. Although meaningful, heritage cultures are not solely responsible for shaping cultural values, especially in the current generation of multiculturalism and globalization (e.g., Park et al., 2015). Furthermore, the global shift towards economically developed learning ecology generally alters learners’ attitudes and values towards individualistic self-orientation across ethnicities and nations (e.g., Greenfield, 2013; Park et al., 2014; Park & Lau, 2015). Record numbers of international students, global emergence of formal schooling and high technology, and individuals’ identification with multiple cultures all point to exciting directions in current and future research on the dynamic interactions of cultural values with human development and learning. New ways of communication, particularly through the use of technology and social media, should be of special interest in understanding the current and future generations of learners from diverse and international backgrounds. As researchers, educators, and practitioners continue to investigate the important issue of how cultural values shape different groups of learners’ attitudes, practices, and achievement, it will be imperative to scrutinize learners’ cultural values at multiple levels (e.g., individual, familial, peer, school, national) and consider congruence among different levels. The issues are complex and the challenge is daunting, but the advancement in research methodologies and global networks of scholars and educators present a promising outlook for exploring the richness of sociocultural diversity.

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M. Chad McBride, Erika L. Kirby, Karla Mason Bergen, Shawn T. Wahl, Stephanie Norander, and Tucker Robinson

14 Social Identities in the Classroom Abstract: When instructors and students enter the classroom, they bring with them (multiple) social identities that influence classroom interaction. A social identity perspective toward instructional communication allows for exploring how interactions in the classroom are impacted by social group similarities and differences between students and their instructor (and vice versa). Being mindful of both social identity categories and intersectionality, we consider the role of multiple social identity categories and the implications of these identities for the people who claim the category, as well for others who “label” them as a part of a particular group. In particular, we look at the social identity(s) of students and instructors as tied to sex/gender, race/ethnicity, age, social class, sexual orientation, and disability. In each section, we review and evaluate relevant research and propose future directions for research in the area of social identity in the education setting. Keywords: social identity, sex, gender, race, ethnicity, nationality, age, nontraditional students, social class, first-generation college student, sexual orientation, disability Social identification is the process by which people define themselves – and by which others define them – into terms and categories that are shared with other people (see Deaux, 2001; Harwood, 2006). When operating at the level of social identity, behaviors are understood and judged in terms of group memberships. Many forms of social identity exist; when such “differences” are considered, typical categories are gender/sex, race/ethnicity, social class, sexuality, ability, and age (see Allen, 2011b). A social identity perspective highlights how communication dynamics are influenced by group identities. Furthermore, communication also constructs and shapes the meanings of particular social identities by “raising or lowering the salience [importance] of particular group identifications and constructing the meaning of groups for members and nonmembers” (Harwood, 2006, p. 88). Thus, social identity(s) have implications not only for the person(s) who claim the social identity, but also for others who see them as members of particular categories (see Deaux, 2001). Social identity cannot be fully understood outside of the notion of intersectionality. Intersectionality refers to the specific conditions that exist when we hold in tension two or more of a person’s social identities, recognizing that these conditions are inextricably bound together in the individual’s life. In other words, differences function in intersection since all individuals are comprised of multiple social identities. An analogy derived from Lorde’s (1984) metaphor of “ingredients” is to

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think of the multiple facets of social identity as colored pencils. Imagine a person (stereotypically) starts by coloring assigned sex at birth as pink or blue, then colors over that with gender (perhaps in purple), then colors over that with a shade near their skin tone, then colors yellow over that to illustrate their social class, and so forth. Then, if they “want to just concentrate on showing the purple-ness of your gender … purple has been combined with pink/blue, a shade of brown, and yellow – and so you can not just take it back without erasing everything … the ingredients intersect and are inextricably linked” (Kirby & McBride, 2009, p. xix). Clearly, social identities influence the classroom; “group identities and intergroup processes play a role in classroom behavior” (Edwards & Harwood, 2003, p. 64). A social identity perspective toward instructional communication allows for exploring how interactions in the classroom are impacted by social group similarities (and differences) between themselves and their instructor (and vice versa). Being mindful of both social identity categories and intersectionality, in this chapter, we consider the role of multiple social identity categories and the implications of these identities for the people who claim the category as well for others who “label” them as a part of a particular group. In particular, we look at the social identity(s) of students and instructors as tied to sex/gender, race/ethnicity, age, social class, sexual orientation, and disability. It is important to note that much of the scholarship we reviewed focuses on U.S. American classrooms (although not exclusively), as that is where much of the research was conducted. We then close with a critical reflection of this literature (including a discussion of theory) and a call for future research in the area of social identity and the classroom.

Sex/Gender Sex and gender may be the most salient aspects of our identity. Although the terms sex and gender are often used interchangeably, they have very distinct meanings (Wood & Dindia, 1998). Sex is assigned at birth and references the biological distinctions between individuals, commonly understood as a male-female dichotomy (although there are a small percentage of intersexed individuals who display the characteristics of both). These biological distinctions are based on the genetic composition of an individual’s X and Y chromosomes and genitalia. Gender encapsulates behaviorally-manifested characteristics described as masculine or feminine, based on culturally-accepted norms for men and women. Although we typically expect women to act in feminine ways and men to act in masculine ways, we also know that there are feminine men and masculine women. The term androgynous is used to describe the gender of individuals who behave in a mix of traditionally masculine and feminine ways. Horan, Houser, and Cowan (2007) noted the terms sex and gender are commonly misunderstood and thus often (mistakenly) used interchangeably – instructional communication researchers have also sometimes been guilty of using the

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terms interchangeably. Issues of sex and gender have come into play in instructional communication research most commonly by using biological sex (designations of male or female) as a variable, seeking to explain either instructor characteristics and behavior or student characteristics and behavior. This section focuses on instructional communication research that explores social identity markers of biological sex and gender in regard to instructor communication characteristics and behaviors and then in regard to student characteristics and behaviors. The amount of instructional communication research focused directly on matters of sex and gender is relatively small, and some of the reviewed research does not use either term in the title. A common scenario is for biological sex (the research participant’s chosen designation of male or female) to be correlated with another variable. There are, however, a few researchers who have examined the effects of both sex and gender, such as Aylor’s (2009) work on the perceived importance of teacher communication skills.

Instructor Characteristics and Behaviors As noted, when sex (or gender) is used in instructional research, it commonly functions as an independent variable. Much of the instructional research focusing on instructor characteristics and behaviors seeks to attribute differences to the sex or gender of the instructor – sometimes interacting with the sex or gender of students. Three major instructor characteristics and behaviors of interest in regard to sex/ gender differences include instructor credibility, students’ perceptions of instructors in evaluations, and instructor communication skills. All of these characteristics are studied almost exclusively through variable analytic research.

Instructor credibility Instructor credibility is a widely studied characteristic in instructional communication research due to its impact on student learning (McCroskey, Valencic, & Richmond, 2004; see also Teven & Katt, this volume). A number of instructional scholars have studied the relationship of sex/gender to instructor credibility. Patton (1999) used gender as a primary variable, examining the impact of ethnicity and gender on instructor credibility in the university classroom. However, gender was operationalized as a male or female instructor, so this was essentially a study of sex differences. Interestingly, Patton found no differences in instructor credibility between male and female college instructors. Glascock and Ruggiero (2006) also failed to find correlations between either instructor or student sex and perceptions of instructor credibility. Schrodt and Turman (2005) studied the impact of three variables: instructional technology use, course design, and sex differences on student’s perceptions of instructor credibility. They found that there was no evidence of

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sex differences moderating the relationship between instructor technology use and instructor credibility and only a small difference between male and female students’ perceptions of instructor competence and caring. Canary and Hause (1993) argued against studying sex differences because a large body of research has documented that sex differences, if existent, are usually small, and these studies cited seem to bear this out. Rather than focusing on sex differences, Pope and Chapa (2008) sought to examine the relationship between instructor gender, student gender, and instructor credibility. Perceived gender for both instructors and students was determined using the Bem Sex Role Inventory (Bem, 1974). They found that student participants who perceived the instructor as androgynous rated the instructor as more credible than student participants perceiving the instructor as feminine, masculine or undifferentiated. As argued by Rocca (2010), gender may be a better predictor of instructor differences and student outcomes than biological sex.

Instructor evaluations Instructor evaluations reflect an instructor’s image from the students’ perspective, and communication scholars have studied the effect of both sex and gender on instructor evaluations. Smith, Yoo, Farr, Salmon, and Miller (2007) examined the influence of both student sex and instructor sex on nearly 12,000 communication students’ evaluations of their instructors on five dimensions. The authors found that both male and female students rated their female instructors significantly higher than their male instructors, and that female students rated their instructors, regardless of instructor sex, significantly higher than male students. Bachen, McLoughlin, and Garcia (1999) assessed the role of gender in nearly 500 college students’ evaluations of faculty in a mixed-methods study, examining whether gendered expectations influenced how students evaluated faculty. Bachen et al. found an interaction effect between students’ sex and instructors’ sex: female students rated female professors significantly higher than male professors; there were no significant differences of male students’ ratings between male and female professors.

Instructor communication behaviors Witt and Wheeless (2001) observed that “communication behaviors employed by teachers play a strategic role in student learning outcomes” (p. 327). Instructional scholars have investigated the role of sex/gender within the areas of instructor immediacy and other instructor communication skills. Immediacy behaviors can be defined as verbal and nonverbal communication acts that increase perceptions of closeness between instructors and students (Fry-

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mier & Houser, 2000). Instructor immediacy is important because it is positively associated with perceived student learning (Witt, Wheeless, & Allen, 2004). A number of communication scholars have examined sex and gender differences in student perceptions of instructor immediacy, with somewhat mixed findings. Frymier and Houser (2000) examined the association of teachers’ communication skills and immediacy behaviors with students’ perceptions of importance, motivation, and learning. One of their goals was to learn if there were any differences in the perceptions of male and female students. The female students in this study did, in fact, perceive both the instructors’ communication skills and immediacy behaviors to be more important than did male students. Grellhesl, Smith, and Punyanunt-Carter (2011) studied student perceptions of graduate teaching assistant (GTA) immediacy behaviors and found that male students perceived their male GTAs to have higher immediacy behaviors, whereas female students rated their female GTAs as higher on immediacy behaviors. This finding may be because men and women are somewhat better at reading the nonverbal cues of their own sex, possibly due to normative gender stereotypes. Gendrin and Rucker (2002) explored how student sex affected perceptions of instructor immediacy and student motivation to learn in the classroom at a historically black college. They found that the relationship between immediacy and motivation to learn did not differ for black men and black women. Rester and Edwards (2007) studied the effects of professor and student sex and setting (classroom, professor’s office, or student center) on students’ reports of instructors’ excessive immediacy. There was a significant main effect for sex in that students were more likely to interpret male professors’ excessive immediacy as sexual harassment, but interpret female professors’ excessive immediacy as caring. The effect was greater in the out-of-classroom settings. Given the seriousness of the nature of sexual harassment between instructors and students, this study demonstrates an unusually practical application of sex difference research. Findley and Punyanunt-Carter (2007) investigated the impact of gender (operationalized as a male or female instructor) on students’ perceptions of the instructors’ nonverbal communication in the classroom. They found only a few differences between male and female students’ perceptions of instructor nonverbal behaviors. One of the interesting differences they did find was that students associated female instructors’ smiling with their own feeling of contentment during class, consistent with normative cultural expectations for feminine behavior. Aylor’s (2003) study of the effect of sex, gender, and cognitive complexity examined the relationship of these three variables on what he termed “perceived importance of teacher communication skills” (p. 496), defined as eight aspects of instructor communication in interaction with students (e.g., conversational skill, comforting skill, and conflict management skill) that previous research had found were important to students (Frymier & Houser, 2000). Although these communication skills are not exactly the same as previously defined immediacy behaviors,

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Frymier and Houser observed that there is some overlap; for example, conversational skills and comforting skills on the part of the instructor are logically related to perceptions of psychological closeness. Importantly, Aylor found that gender was a more powerful predictor than sex for six of the eight teacher communication skills.

Instructor verbal aggression In contrast to the literature on primarily positive instructor behaviors, Myers (2001) explored the topic of instructor verbal aggression, defined as “a message that attacks a person’s self-concept” (p. 355). Instructor verbal aggression is important because it is negatively correlated with instructor credibility. Myers and Knox (1999) explored whether there were sex differences in the perceived use of verbal aggression in the classroom by instructors. They found that overall, use of verbally aggressive messages by instructors was infrequent, but that male instructors used some types of verbally aggressive messages (swearing, teasing, and ridicule) more than female instructors. This finding is unsurprising given cultural norms in the United States regarding the expression of emotion for men and women. As one can see, the instructional communication research studying the role of sex and gender in instructor communication has been largely a body of work investigating sex differences.

Student Characteristics and Behaviors Probably the largest student outcome that has been of interest to instructional communication researchers is student learning, as it is the ultimate goal of teaching. In addition to learning as an outcome, student affect, communication apprehension, (un)willingness to talk in class, and student speaker characteristics have also received attention in relation to sex and/or gender.

Student learning Although McCroskey et al. (2004) identified cognitive and affective learning as two key desired outcomes of instructional communication, only a few studies have looked directly at the influence of sex/gender. Menzel and Carrell (1999) theorized that there might be an interaction effect between instructor sex and student sex. Indeed, they found that male students reported they learned more from male professors and female students reported they learned more from female professors, but the effect was mediated by the instructor’s verbal immediacy. In contrast, using a sample of black students from a Historically Black College or University (HBCU),

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Gendrin and Rucker (2002) found no difference in learning outcomes for men and women, although their participants’ learning was better predicted by nonverbal (rather than verbal) immediacy. The findings of these two studies, similar to other studies, showed biological sex to be a poor predictor on its own.

Student affect Bloom and colleagues (Bloom,1956; Krathwohl, Bloom, & Masia, 1964) considered affect to be an appreciation for the importance or relevance of content material, positive feelings toward the learning experience, and a continued interest in and high value placed on what was learned, resulting in the likelihood of applying the information or employing the behaviors recommended. As such, it has been a topic of study for instructional scholars due to its correlation to student learning. Turman and Schrodt (2005) examined the influence of instructor technology use, course designs, and instructor/student biological sex on student affect. They found that there were no significant differences in student affect for male and female instructors across three different levels of technology use. The Affective Learning Model (Rodriguez, Plax, & Kearney, 1996) posits that student affective learning mediates the relationship between instructor nonverbal immediacy and cognitive learning, a proposition confirmed through meta-analysis (Allen, Witt, & Wheeless, 2006). Using this model, Findley and Punyanunt-Carter (2007) asked students to identify their emotions invoked by particular instructor nonverbal behaviors. By and large, there were few differences between the emotions reported by male and female students, but there were some differences in the specific instructor nonverbal behaviors of male and female instructors that were linked with student feelings of contentment and nervousness. In order to maximize positive student affect in the classroom, instructors might want to be aware of the more highly valued nonverbal behaviors associated with being male or female. Increasing positive student affect is an important part of promoting student learning.

Communication apprehension/(Un)willingness to communicate Communication apprehension (CA) and related concepts have been a major area of study within the discipline of instructional communication (see McCroskey, Teven, Minielli, & Richmond McCroskey, 2014 for a review). Communication apprehension is defined as “an individual’s level of fear or anxiety associated with either real or anticipated communication with [others]” (McCroskey, 1977, as cited in Pearson, Child, DeGreeff, Semlak, & Burnett, 2011, p. 219), whereas (un)willingness to communicate (WTC) “is a predisposition representing a chronic tendency to avoid and/ or devalue oral communication” (Pearson et al., 2011, p. 219). The two concepts are

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related and highly correlated, but not synonymous. However, due to their conceptual similarity, we group them together here. Donovan and MacIntyre (2004) investigated the role of age and sex on CA and WTC using students of both sexes divided into three age groups: junior high, high school, and college. Among junior high and high school students, they found no sex differences in CA, but they found college-age women to have higher CA than college-age men. Junior high females showed greater WTC than junior high males, but there were no sex differences for the other age groups on WTC. Of course, this WTC measure applies to all contexts of communication, not simply communication in the classroom. Menzel and Carrell (1999) found that neither sex of student or instructor (although they called it “gender”) affected students’ willingness to talk in class. Pearson et al. (2011) examined the influence of biological sex, self-esteem, and CA on WTC of college students and found that women experienced communication in general as more rewarding than men, and women were also more willing to communicate. They suggested that it would also be helpful to assess students’ gender types rather than just biological sex, as they note that men and women are typically socialized to communicate in different ways. Thus, these differences in attitudes toward communication may really be a function of gender rather than biological sex.

Student speaker competency/Evaluation/Grades Instructional communication scholars have studied a variety of topics relating to student speakers and considered sex an important variable. Pearson and colleagues found female students achieve higher levels of public speaking competency than do male students while controlling for a variety of other factors (Pearson, Child, Herakova, Semlak, & Angelos, 2011). They also found that biological sex helps explain differences in grades earned in public speaking courses (Pearson et al., 2008; Pearson et al., 2011); consistent with other research, their findings suggest it is likely that female students are “more attentive students and earn higher grades overall” (Pearson et al., 2008, p. 402). For example, the female students in Campbell, Eichhorn, Basch, & Wolf’s (2009) study of 672 college students reported higher levels of effort and higher grade point averages than male students. In contrast to Pearson et al.’s studies (2008, 2011), Sellnow and Treinen (2004) did not find female student speakers to be rated higher within the public speaking classroom context. They examined the role of gender (operationalized as biological sex) in perceptions of student speaker competence via the analysis of student peer critiques and found that while speaker sex did not seem to influence the overall ratings given by peer evaluators, it did influence the types of comments given. However, the types of comments did not vary by the sex of the peer evaluator.

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The authors observe that (their sample of) public speaking classrooms seems to be immune to gender-bias. Taken along with the findings of Pearson and colleagues’ studies that consistently find women out-performing men in the college public speaking classroom, it is interesting that Sellnow and Treinen found no significant differences in ratings by speaker sex.

Student instructional dissent Instructional dissent is the “communication of disagreement” by students in regard to practices and policies in the classroom (Goodboy, 2011, p. 298). Goodboy (2012) specifically studied student sex differences in instructional dissent and how instructor sex might affect that dissent. He found that students expressed more instructional dissent (especially vengeful dissent) toward male instructors than female instructors. Additionally, female students reported communicating more expressive dissent than male students, and male students reported communicating more rhetorical and vengeful dissent than female students. These findings fit with the cultural norms for expression of emotion, with anger being seen as more acceptable for males to express; however, the author noted that the sex of the student explained only a small part of students’ use of instructional dissent. Overall, studies have found few sex differences in classroom interaction, and when they exist they are usually small; indeed, they are responsible for only about one percent of the variance across many types of communication behavior (Canary & Hause, 1993). As a whole, this body of research illustrates that focusing on sex differences may provide less insight than research involving gender when it comes to understanding student and instructor experiences in the classroom. Additionally, much of this research focuses on American classrooms, and more work should be done to examine what, if any, differences there are in other cultural classrooms.

Race/Ethnicity The concept of race is, in actuality, a social construct. In other words, from a sociocultural standpoint, students and instructors do not have an inherent racial identity apart from how those in the classroom (and out of it) talk about issues of race and what it means to be of a particular race (Allen, 2011a, 2011b; Kirby, 2011). Some instructional scholars use the word race in their research, whereas others use other words or concepts to capture these differences among people. For example, ethnicity is a cultural, ancestral, or national identification (Banks, 1987) that is sometimes used interchangeably with the term race. Also related is the term nationality, which most often refers to a place where an individual was born or which one identifies

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as homeland. Sometimes all three of these suggest the same concept, and at other times they denote different shades of one’s social identity. For example, a student may be ethnically Hispanic and may identify her nationality as a citizen of the United States. As we highlight some of the ways these constructs have been studied in the classroom, we will use the definitional/descriptive terms regarding race/ ethnicity/nationality that the researchers chose for their particular projects. In this section we will focus on two distinct approaches to instructional communication research: studies of cross-cultural comparisons between American classroom communication and that of other countries, and intercultural studies about racial/ethnic attitudes and interactions within college classrooms.

Cross-Cultural Comparisons The first research perspective addresses classroom communication in the United States as compared with that of other countries. For example, in comparative studies between U.S. and Chinese classrooms, Goodboy, Bolkan, Beebe, and Shultz (2010) identified differences between American and Chinese students’ use of behavioral alteration techniques and affinity-seeking strategies. In a study of American and Chinese students, Mortenson (2006) found that both American and Chinese students associated failure with feelings of disappointment and frustration (rather than embarrassment or shame) and coped with the distress in similar ways (e.g., seeking social support with goal-based emotions); however, Chinese students “showed a significantly weaker association between academic distress and seeking emotional support, but a stronger association between association between distress and avoidant self-coping” (p. 141) than American students. Zhang, Zhang, and Castelluccio (2011) examined student resistance in response to their U.S. and Chinese instructor misbehaviors and perceptions of credibility, concluding that U.S. students had more resistance due to instructor indolence and incompetence, whereas Chinese students only had resistance due to teacher offensiveness. Further, of the three dimensions of credibility, only instructor trustworthiness and competence predicted U.S. student resistance, and trustworthiness predicted Chinese student resistance. Cross-cultural research has shown that American and Korean students experience different communication motives and levels of satisfaction with their instructors (Mansson & Lee, 2014). Confirming the impact of local culture on classroom communication, it was found that Korean students studying in their home country perceived instructors to have greater decision-making authority and less verbal and nonverbal immediacy compared to Korean students studying in the United States (Park, Lee, Yun, & Kim, 2009). Finally, Roach and Byrne (2001) compared American and German classrooms in their examination of instructor power and its impact on affective and cognitive learning and student ratings of instruction. They found that American instructors were rated significantly higher in power use, affinity-seeking, and nonverbal immediacy than Ger-

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man instructors, resulting in significantly higher perceptions of cognitive learning by U.S. students (compared to German students). Together, these studies show that among the often studied variables in instructional literature, there are some cultural differences between instructors and students in different countries. Another dimension of cross-cultural research involves college students who pursue higher education outside their own country. For example, Wadsworth, Hecht, and Jung (2008) employed empirical research methods and applied the communication theory of identity to assess the social and educational experiences of international students studying in the United States. They examined the impact of acculturation, perceived discrimination, and identity gaps on overall educational satisfaction and found that students who were more highly integrated into American culture had a positive educational experience, whereas those who perceived racial or ethnic discrimination had a more negative experience. Further, relatively low educational satisfaction was reported by students who perceived a bigger personal-enacted gap (e.g., a gap between how students perceived themselves versus how they expressed themselves when interacting with others). This finding highlights the tension between being true to one’s own social identity compared with trying to fit into the dominant way of being in U.S. college classrooms. Collectively, this body of work examining cross-cultural experiences highlights differences in social norms, verbal communication strategies, and pedagogical methods as influenced by the local culture.

Racial/Ethnic Differences within American Classrooms From a second research perspective, communication scholars use research findings to promote and support constructive conversation in American classrooms concerning the race/ethnicity of students, instructors, and others. For example, Fitzgerald (2009) examined the role of service learning to reconfigure the multicultural classroom and suggested how reflective writing could introduce voices of color into the classroom. Another study focused on student perceptions of addressing race in the classroom and concluded that instructor self-reflexivity and support for diversity significantly impacted discussions of race in the classroom (Simpson, Causey, & Williams, 2007). The work of Miller and Harris (2005) was designed to help White students deal with their ethnicity in an interracial communication course, specifically looking at three themes about white privilege, defining an anti-racist lifestyle, and being comfortable with talking about race in the classroom. Much of this intercultural research has focused on (a) student aptitude or success, (b) differing perceptions of instructors, (c) the impact of instructor behaviors, and (d) tensions experienced by ethnic minorities in the educational context. Among those who examine students aptitudes and achievement, Powell and Avila (1986) found that White students scored significantly higher than Asians, Blacks, and Hispanics on the Communication Competence Assessment Instrument (CCAI);

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however, they acknowledged that these results may highlight the ways that the CCAI (and other measures like it) privilege White ways of speaking. Similarly, Wladis, Conway, and Hachey (2015) found that even though Black and Hispanic students may do worse, on average, in STEM courses than White and Asian students in both online and face-to-face classrooms, the differences between their scores were not increased in the online environment, suggesting that the online environment did not impact differences between race. The second focus of intercultural research examines race/ethnicity in relation to students’ perceptions of instructor immediacy and effectiveness, and how these perceptions might impact students’ motives to participate during class and engage in out-of-class communication with the instructor. For example, Collier and Powell (1990) found that Anglo-American students’ perceptions of instructor immediacy were linked to their feelings about utility of the course and how effectively their instructors processed content. These students described an effective instructor as clear, motivational, and supportive. They also found that Latino students’ perceptions of immediacy were particularly dominant in early parts of a course, whereas their respect for content outweighed their changing perceptions of instructors later in the course. These scholars examined the attitudes and perceptions of students from a variety of ethnicities, but the differences they observed among the ethnicities were not always significant, so their findings highlighted the complexities of a diverse classroom system. Gendrin and Rucker (2007) also found differences in how students of different ethnicities perceived instructors. African-American students perceived their instructors (regardless of ethnicity) to be more nonverbally immediate than did the instructors’ Euro-American students. Further, instructor verbal immediacy was associated with African-American students’ motives to communicate with their instructors for relational and participation purposes, whereas perceptions of instructor verbal and nonverbal immediacy had a negative impact on European-American students’ motives to communicate with their instructors for functional purposes. A third line of intercultural study involves how instructors change or adapt their classroom communication based on the race/ethnicity of students. In their meta-analysis of 15 studies, Cooper and Allen (1998) found that African-American and Latino students receive more negative feedback and less praise from teachers than Euro-American students. In addition, Euro-American students and teachers interact less with African-American and Latino students. Based on these results, Cooper and Allen suggested that such communication dynamics might negatively impact minority students’ academic achievement. Another study observed that racial stereotypes inside the classroom had a negative influence on academic performance of Hispanic college students’ performance on standardized exams (Rodriguez, 2014). In contrast to these findings, Wheeless, Witt, Maresh, Bryand, and Schrodt (2011) observed that teacher nonverbal immediacy positively influenced students’ intent to persist in education regardless of the ethnicity of the student.

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Clearly, inconsistencies exist in this research, highlighting the fact that instructor behaviors toward students of different ethnicities have both positive and negative impacts on these students’ success. A fourth line of intercultural research examines various tensions that students of an ethnic minority may experience in a predominately White educational context. Most of these scholars employ qualitative or interpretive methodology to elicit feelings, perceptions, and attitudes of individuals and groups of students. For example, White and Ali-Khan (2013) found some minority students (especially firstgeneration college students) often resist adoption of academic discourses because of fear of “selling out” or “acting white.” White and Ali-Khan used case studies to examine how the academic discourse of “null curriculum” of learning the language of academics had an impact on the success of these students. Using a similar approach, Simmons, Lowery-Hart, Wahl, and McBride (2013) examined the experiences of African-American students at predominantly White universities. Their participants discussed the negotiation they experienced in navigating intrapersonal tensions (e.g., tensions between their Blackness and the perceived Whiteness of their university) and intergroup tensions of deciding when and how to infuse themselves into university culture (integration/segregation), as well as when to educate others about their culture and when to protect their culture (revelation/concealment). These studies move toward capturing the true socio-cultural experiences of students as linked to their racial/ethnic identity, rather than merely assessing how their race/ethnicity might impact their academic performance or the communication behaviors of their instructors. To demonstrate the effects of White privilege on campuses and in classrooms, Covarrubias (2008) highlighted how American Indians choose to remain silent in certain classroom discussions. Specifically, discriminatory silence was “the public or private withholding of speech, specifically the withholding of voiced objections to statements that dismiss, disconfirm, or alienate a person because of racial, ethnic, or cultural origin when the ethical action would be to speak up” (Covarrubias, 2008, p. 246), and it served to further marginalize and distance American Indians from the White majority. In summary, then, it can be seen that students with an ethnic/racial background different from the majority clearly face interpersonal issues of social identity that can help or hinder classroom communication and academic achievement.

Ethnicity of Professors Most studies of ethnicity/race in the classroom address the experiences and perceptions of students, but scholars have also examined the social identity of instructors, sometimes focusing on non-native English-speaking instructors. For example, Chia-Fang (2012) found that challenges related to vocal quality and language skills influenced students’ anxiety about the learning process, and when student anxiety

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was reduced, students had more positive attitudes for the instructor/course and increased engagement in learning activities. Miller and Pearson (2013) had participants evaluate different fictionalized cases of American versus Chinese-born instructors and found that students were more willing to engage in out-of-class interaction with American instructors, and that they would have given American instructors higher evaluations for discussion-based teaching than Chinese instructors who did the same. Finally, Li, Mazer, and Ju (2011) found that when international Teaching Assistants attempted to dialogically resolve language inadequacy, it had negative effects on students’ perceptions of their clarity in the classroom, but positive effects on perceptions of instructor caring. Beyond nationality, other examinations of the race/ethnicity of instructors have yielded mixed results. For example, Glascock and Ruggiero (2006) found that students at a university with a predominantly Hispanic student population rated Caucasian instructors higher than Hispanic instructors on perceptions of competence and caring, but the effect sizes were minimal and instructor immediacy was a better predictor than instructor race. However, other researchers have found that African-American instructors are seen as a) more credible than Euro-American instructors by a variety of students (Patton, 1999) and b) more immediate by AfricanAmerican students as compared to Euro-American students’ perceptions of EuroAmerican instructors (Neuliep, 1995). Neuliep also found positive correlations between all instructors’ immediacy and measures of students’ cognitive, behavioral, and affective learning, but that these correlations were significantly higher for Euro-American instructors. Even as these quantitative studies documented differences in the impact of instructor race/ethnicity on student perceptions, interpretive scholars have also found qualitative differences in the experiences of instructors with different ethnic social-identities. For example, in one study White Graduate Teaching Assistants (GTAs) did not perceive their experiences as instructors to be different from nonWhite GTAs, but GTAs of Color felt they had a different experience from their White counterparts (Hendrix, Hebbani, & Johnson, 2007). Finally, an autoethnography by Johnson and Bhatt (2003) detailed different student reactions when they facilitated discussions of race and privilege. When these White and Asian females engaged students interactively, students reacted differently depending on the ethnic makeup of the class and whether the discussion was held individually or facilitated in their intercultural communication classrooms. Collectively, then, it can be seen that the large body of cross-cultural and intercultural communication research illustrates the crucial role played by the race/ ethnicity of students and instructors in classroom interactions and ultimately, student learning. Indeed, in the journal Communication Education alone, almost onefourth of the journal’s studies in recent years address issues of social identity (Hendrix & Wilson, 2014), including 17 articles on race/ethnicity in the classroom. Of course, there is always room for additional research related to race and ethnicity implications in the classroom.

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Age When investigating the impact of age dynamics in the college classroom, scholars typically bracket students’ ages as 18–24 (traditional students) versus 25 and older (non-traditional students). Common operationalizations of a non-traditional student include age, but go beyond age as a sole determining factor. Whereas a traditional student is a younger adult who attends college immediately after completing high school, a non-traditional student typically has one or more of the following characteristics as defined by the National Center for Education Statistics: “financial independence, part-time attendance, delayed enrollment, full-time work, dependents, and single parenthood” (Navarre Cleary, 2011, p. 34). Houser (2005) found that many non-traditional students reported working full-time while attending school, being married, and paying their own college expenses. It is significant to note that, in research concerning how age influences a non-traditional student’s social identity, traditional students are often considered normative. It is important to study this aspect of social identity in the classroom because the “definition of the ‘traditional’ college student as full-time, middle-class, white, and young is rapidly giving way to ever-increasing numbers of adults returning to or entering higher education for the first time” (Donavant, Daniel, & MacKewn, 2013, p. 132). Despite large increases in the numbers of non-traditional students entering or returning to higher education, to date scholars have given insufficient attention to the ways faculty members view and work with this student demographic (Brinthaupt & Eady, 2014). What is currently known is that, compared to their traditional classmates, non-traditional students desire to attend class more frequently (but at times are unable to), have higher levels of motivation, prefer more participative learning styles, and experience less communication apprehension (see Wei, 2007). In this section we will survey instructors’ attitudes and perceptions about students in relation to their perceived age, as well as the attitudes of students toward instructors of different ages.

Instructors’ Perceptions About Students Related to Age Day, Lovato, Tull, and Ross-Gordon (2011) did qualitative in-depth interviews with eight faculty members in order to explore how they perceived non-traditional students. They found that faculty perceived adult students as tenacious, meaning they are more committed to their education, more focused, more persistent, and harderworking in their classes than traditional students. Campbell et al. (2009) echoed the observation that students who are older put more effort into their college courses. In a survey-based study of 208 faculty members, Donavant et al. (2013) found faculty tended to support the notion that adult students exhibit greater intrinsic motivation in the classroom, and most faculty believed that adult students were

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prepared for college as well as, or better than, traditional students. This latter finding contrasted with the observations of Day et al. (2011), whose participants indicated that, though adult learners are typically prepared to devote themselves to study, they are also lacking in some preparedness in terms of specific study skills and confidence in the classroom. What do these attitudes and expectations mean in terms of how instructors approach teaching non-traditional students? Day et al. (2011) argued that faculty members are not familiar with literature on pedagogy, as most are hired due to their specialty expertise rather than pedagogical knowledge or excellence. Reflecting this fact, Donavant et al. (2013) found that, although faculty acknowledged that non-traditional students differ from their traditional-aged counterparts and enhance the overall educational environment in mixed-age undergraduate classes, faculty perceived no need to adapt their instructional approach to accommodate these students. Indeed, Brinthaupt and Eady (2014) examined the attitudes, perceptions, and behaviors of 171 university and community college teachers and observed that participants held very positive attitudes and perceptions of their nontraditional students, but that faculty reported treating these students similarly to the traditional students in their classes. These findings reveal a general lack of understanding by the professoriate regarding adult education methodologies. Accordingly, some authors offer strategies for instructors to alter their pedagogical style toward non-traditional students through offering advice on pedagogy versus andragogy: a learner-centered style of teaching where students are active participants and can discuss and share personal information (see Houser, 2004a and Chapter 27 in this volume). One strategy is to design classroom activities, such as case studies, role plays, and even service learning to draw on the relevant life experience of the adult learners using active teaching and learning strategies (e.g., Buglione, 2012; Day et al., 2011). Houser (2004a) offered a group of techniques for classroom communication with non-traditional students that address their desires for recognition, flexibility, clarity, coursework relevance, involvement, and classroom interaction. She also emphasized the importance of creating a positive learning environment and a non-threatening communication climate where nontraditional students feel as if they are part of the learning community; this is especially relevant because faculty cited the frustration and, sometimes even disdain, exhibited by students of differing generations toward each other as an impediment to faculty’s ability to create a classroom environment conducive to optimal learning (Donavant et al., 2013).

Students’ Perceptions About Instructors Related to Age In the same way that instructors form opinions about students based on age, students also form certain perceptions of and attitudes toward their instructors based to some degree on the perceived age of the teacher. Edwards and Harwood (2003)

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found that students who mention their instructor’s age in an open-ended description of an “ideal instructor” are more likely to imagine a younger instructor, and students who mention their instructor’s age in an open-ended description of a disfavored instructor are more likely to imagine an older instructor. Supporting this supposition is the work of Bianchini, Lissoni, and Pezzoni (2013), who claimed there is widespread consensus on a negative relationship between instructor age and perceptions of teaching quality; they studied how age impacted teaching evaluations at an Italian university and found that older instructors received lower teaching evaluations than their younger counterparts. In addition, Campbell et al. (2009) found a negative relationship between teacher confirmation behaviors (i.e., communication from teachers indicating that students are endorsed, recognized, and valued) and age of the professor. In other words, the older the professor was, the less students perceived that they enacted “confirming” behaviors in the classroom. In contrast to this group of findings, however, Semlak and Pearson (2008) used an experimental design and found students perceived older instructors to be more competent, caring, and trustworthy than younger instructors. They also noted that, whereas some students may believe younger instructors are the most desirable, these same students may be willing to concede that older instructors are more credible. Thus, it appears that the age of instructors may exert both positive and negative influence on students’ perceptions of their classroom communication, depending on whether the outcome variable is social desirability or effective teaching. Inconclusive research findings like these call for further investigation into the age dynamic between instructors and students.

Age-Related Differences in Students’ Expectations During Instruction Another contrast between traditional and non-traditional students concerns their expectations of their instructors and the learning environment (for direct responses to more than 42 scenarios, see Moen, Davies & Dykstra, 2010). As Houser (2005) points out, “It appears nontraditional students desire different instructor communication behaviors than typically presented in the instructional literature” (p. 224). This may be in part due to differences in learning motivation (e.g., Houser, 2006; Wei, 2007): whereas non-traditional students are more interested in overall learning (higher behavioral learning orientation), traditional students are more frequently focused on grades (higher behavioral grade orientation; Houser, 2005). In light of this higher level of motivation and learning orientation, non-traditional students desire instructors who recognize them as students who take ownership of their own learning, respect their knowledge and experiences, and treat them as adults (Houser, 2004b). They have less of a need for humor and to be “entertained” in the classroom. Furthermore, Wei (2007) found non-traditional students have a higher level of preference for lectures than do traditional students

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(and this goes for online formats as well – see Simonds & Brock, 2014). In addition, while non-traditional students expected exemplary teachers to use outlines and examples when lecturing, traditional students defined exemplary teaching as funny, interesting, and entertaining (see also Houser, 2004b). Houser (2004b, 2005, 2006) published a series of studies grounded in expectancy violations theory (Burgoon & Hale, 1988) to examine traditional and nontraditional students’ prescriptive expectations and experiences with instructor behaviors. Related to instructor immediacy (i.e., communication that expresses interpersonal liking, approval, and psychological closeness), non-traditional students have minimal desire for instructors to exemplify verbal immediacy and no desire for them to show nonverbal immediacy (Houser, 2004b). When looking at expectations as compared to experiences, traditional students’ expectations for verbal immediacy were negatively violated, in that they wanted more than they actually received from their instructors – but expectations for instructor use of nonverbal immediacy were met for both traditional and non-traditional students (Houser, 2005). Houser (2004b) also studied students’ perceptions of instructor clarity and found that both traditional and non-traditional students desire instructors who exercise higher levels of classroom clarity by using examples, providing feedback, and preparing them for exams. When looking at expectations as compared to experiences, instructional clarity was negatively violated for both traditional and nontraditional students: both groups wanted more clarity from their instructors than they perceived in the classroom (Houser, 2005). A final instructor behavior studied by Houser was affinity-seeking (i.e., encouraging students to like them). Houser (2004b) discovered non-traditional student expectations of instructor communication behaviors did not include a desire for affinity-seeking. This led to Houser (2005) finding a significant difference between traditional and non-traditional students: traditional students’ experiences with affinity-seeking met their expectations, but non-traditional students’ expectations for affinity-seeking were positively violated. In other words, because they did not see this as a necessary instructor behavior in the first place, they reported receiving too much and viewed it as too much of a good thing. They reported instructors engaging in more responsiveness, praise, and expression of student concern than needed (Houser, 2005). Collectively, these studies indicated that non-traditional students perceived excess levels of sensitivity, listening, dynamism, and openness from their instructors. Thus, extant research documents enough differences to warrant instructors to rethink their use of these prescriptive communication behaviors because traditional and non-traditional students have different needs: “The professoriate must reach an understanding of the significant challenges that older students bring to higher education and prepare to address issues such as what adult learners want, expect, and need from the classroom experience” (Donavant et al., 2013, p. 133).

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Social Class Kirby (2011) defines social class as “a relative social ranking of individuals or families by power based on economic capital (financial), cultural capital, and social capital (esteem or social status)” (p. 141). Discussions of social class are intertwined with discussions of income inequality, privilege, and access barriers to resources that enable class mobility (i.e., higher education). As such, social class can be a challenging and complicated social identity category to address in both personal and public spheres. Several scholars have called for more attention to the multidimensionality of social identities in educational contexts (Allen, 2011b; Darvin & Norton, 2014; Orbe, 2004). Nevertheless, social class remains underexplored in social identity research in general, and in instructional contexts in particular. Part of the difficulty in studying social class lies in the fact that, unlike other more visible aspects of identity, it is often enacted at the discretion of the student or instructor (see Kirby 2011; Orbe 2004). Moreover, social class, and in particular socioeconomic status, can be a barrier to entering college. As Wirt and Jaeger (2014) pointed out, most higher education instructional research is based on White, traditional-aged college students at four-year institutions, despite the fact that close to one-half of all U.S. undergraduates are enrolled in community colleges. Social class will continue to be a key social identity factor in educational contexts, as the number of first-generation college (FGC) students increases and public policy debates target higher education access and affordability. In this section, we overview the emerging research on FGC students, which provides the most focused analysis of social class to date.

First-Generation Students Much recent attention in American higher education has been focused on the experiences of first-generation college (FGC) students. FGC students are commonly defined as students “coming from a family where no parent or guardian has earned a baccalaureate degree” (Soria & Stebleton, 2012, p. 674). This group of students comprises approximately 30 % of all entering first-year students in the United States (Wang, 2012). Although FGC students tend to come from lower socioeconomic family backgrounds (Soria & Stebleton, 2012), it is important to note that not all FGC students come from disadvantaged socioeconomic backgrounds (see Orbe, 2003). However, research on FGC students provides the most insight thus far into the ways social class influences the college experience. Researchers have identified two major problems FGC students face during their college or university studies. First, they experience a performance gap across all stages of their college career, from transition to post-graduation, when compared to continuing-generation college (CGC) students (see Zwerling & London, 1992).

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Thus, FGC student research focuses on student success and on how to close this performance gap. Wang (2014) and Wirt and Jaeger (2014) emphasized the importance of student-teacher interactions and suggested that building positive interpersonal relationships with faculty impacts the FGC student experience significantly. Soria and Stebleton (2012) also concluded that increasing the frequency and quality of faculty and FGC student interactions will likely increase academic engagement and improve retention rates. The second problem typically faced by FGC students is negotiating multiple identities. In an in-depth qualitative study of FGC students, Orbe (2004) illustrated how students develop outsider status both at home and school. Because they are the first in their family to attend college, negotiating this identity within familial relationships can be positive and/or fraught with tension. Students reported feeling different and perceived being treated as different (in both positive and negative ways) from others in their families and neighborhoods. Likewise, FGC students face particular challenges and choices in negotiating and enacting this aspect of their identity at school. In another study, Orbe (2003) specifically engaged the experiences of African-American FGC students. This study revealed that the majority of students felt their racial identity was more salient on campus than their FGC student identity, but that the diversity of the campus as a whole strongly impacted their communicative experiences as a student. Orbe (2003) argued for more research that recognizes the diversity of communicative experiences within any social group, as opposed to research that draws upon sweeping generalizations. FGC students often do not share a communal identity with other FGC students (Wang, 2014). There are few identifying markers for first-generation status, and students choose carefully when to enact this identity on campus, often based on the extent to which they perceive negative stigma associated with the identity (Orbe, 2004). Thus, developing a sense of belonging is challenging for FGC students because they might experience outsider status in relation to their CGC student peers, and there can be considerable stigma to forming community with other FGC students. Soria and Stebleton (2012) studied this issue through the lens of social capital, arguing that stronger faculty-student interactions can mediate the lack of social capital FGC students bring to college by increasing their sense of belonging. Similarly, in a study of memorable messages FGC students receive from on-campus mentors, Wang (2012) concluded that faculty mentors play a strong role in students’ academic and social integration. The burgeoning research on FGC students offers evidence to suggest that individual faculty can increase students’ sense of belonging, academic engagement, and social integration through intentional interactions (Wang, 2012, 2014; Wirt & Jaeger, 2014). These insights are important for understanding the significance of classroom interactions beyond teaching effectiveness. Although much effort has been exerted on improving student success for FGC students, Orbe (2004) asserted that “the impact of these support services on the larger cultural framework of most

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universities is questionable” (p. 146). One way scholars can deepen the understanding of the relationship between social class and instructional communication is by continuing the focus on the diversity of college student experiences. Researchers can add nuance to their understanding of social class, in particular, by broadening the focus of experience to include pre-, during, and post-college communicative interactions about and within higher education. For example, Polley and Norander (2015) showed how rural high school students create college access narratives shaped by the intermingling of their socioeconomic status and rural location. More research on the communicative interactions students have prior to entering college could lead to a deeper, more nuanced understanding of how students negotiate identities, as well as to practical implications for how to implement college access and affordability policies. Moreover, study of students’ post-college experiences could further inform the types of learning experiences and interactions teachers can facilitate to support the increasingly diverse range of college student identities.

Sexual Orientation The student-instructor relationship is built upon trust and openness; it can be further strengthened by disclosures of personal information. An example of this type of disclosure is sexual orientation: students who identify as gay/lesbian, bisexual, transgender, or queer (LGBTQ) often navigate the difficulties that come with disclosing their sexual orientation, so having an instructor with whom they share that social identity can be very helpful (Hendrix, Jackson, & Warren, 2003; Johnson & Bhatt, 2003). Yet for LGBTQ instructors, the decision to disclose their sexual orientation to students can be a tricky process, especially depending on the environment in which they teach. For instructors in general, there also lies the problem of how to address sexual orientation in the classroom when they do not know how many (if any) of their students identify as LGBTQ. Thus, we examine factors that contribute to whether or not LGBTQ instructors disclose their sexual orientation, the different ways in which the disclosure may occur, and how instructors may approach sexual orientation with students while promoting a respectful classroom environment that combats homophobic behavior.

LGBTQ Instructor Decisions to Disclose One of the most difficult decisions for LGBTQ instructors is whether or not to “out” themselves to their students: do they remain “closeted” and hide a crucial aspect of their identity, or reveal their sexual orientation and risk judgment or discrimina-

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tion? Both options carry potential risks. For example, LGBTQ instructors who choose not to disclose their sexual orientation may alienate themselves from LGBTQ students. Johnson (2009) described when a (gay, male) student came to her office accusing her of “lying about who she was” in class: “Why had I allowed students to believe that I had a husband? Was I ashamed? Was I afraid? At that point, I was afraid. Having only taught for four years, I was still untenured and vulnerable” (p. 187). In facing this tension, many LGBTQ instructors feel that remaining “closeted” is the only option. Some instructors anticipate that revealing their sexual orientation would receive backlash from their students and undermine their authority and credibility as an instructor (Pope & Chapa, 2008; Russ, Simonds, & Hunt, 2002; Turner, 2010), while others believe that it is either inappropriate or irrelevant for them to talk about their sexual orientation with their students, especially if the course subject does not warrant an obvious connection with sexual orientation (Fletcher & Russell, 2001; McKenna-Buchanan, Munz, & Rudnick, 2015). Similarly, many LGBTQ instructors believe that the environment in which they teach is a largely heteronormative space where different sexual orientations will be judged (Bettinger, Timmins, & Tisdell, 2006), and is therefore not a safe space in which to disclose their own sexual orientation (Elliot, 1996; Turner, 2010). Although disclosing their sexual orientation could make them more relatable, some LGBTQ instructors feel the potential rewards are not worth the potential risks. For LGBTQ instructors who choose to come out to their students, the outcomes vary. LGBTQ instructors may experience censure or condemnation (whether from students, other instructors, or the institution where they instruct; DeJean, 2004; Evans, 2002), as well as risk lower student evaluations that could jeopardize their chances at tenure (Johnson, 2009; Liddle, 1997). Concomitantly, LGBTQ instructors may find that coming out has more positive results, such as helping their students expand their horizons and consider perspectives and viewpoints they previously had not (Alexander, 1997; Liddle, 2009; Nowlan, 2001). LGBTQ instructors can “come out” in a variety of ways, including low-key disclosure (i.e., casually mentioning it when introducing themselves to students), having a frank and open dialogue with their students, or by incorporating material (such as a book or movie) that helps the students relate to the instructor’s experiences (Cummings, 2009; Fletcher & Russell, 2001; Temple, 2005).

LGBTQ Student Issues Promoting an educational setting where LGBTQ students feel safe and respected is important, as the classroom climate can have a significant impact on their mental well-being and academic performance (Goodenow, Szalacha, & Westheimer, 2006; Poteat, Mereish, DiGiovanni, & Koenig, 2011). Instructors who turn a blind eye to any instances of bullying or prejudice are more likely to deal with instances of

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homophobic behavior (Poteat, DiGiovanni, & Scheer, 2012) than are instructors who promote a classroom environment that is encompassing and respectful of all members. One way that instructors can better promote a respectful classroom (and decrease the chances of homophobic behavior) is to have an understanding of how the concept of sexual orientation can influence the behavior of heterosexual students. For some heterosexual students, engaging in homophobic behavior may be an effective way to make their sexual orientation clear, especially if they live in an environment where an individual may be treated differently because of his or her sexual orientation (Phoenix, Frosh, & Pattman, 2003). Other heterosexual students may engage in homophobic behavior because they wish to mirror the behavior and attitudes of their parents (Poteat et al., 2012), similarly to how some students may emulate their parents’ racial prejudice through racist behavior (Fishbein, 2000; Sinclair, Dunn, & Lowery, 2005). On the other hand, some heterosexual students may be less likely to engage in homophobic behavior if they are friends with LGBTQ students (Poteat et al., 2012), or are exposed to media images that portray LBGTQ individuals in a positive light (Levina, Waldo, & Fitzgerald, 2000; Riggle, Ellis, & Crawford, 1996). According to Kitchen and Bellini (2012), instructors can combat homophobic behavior by letting students know what types of comments are not tolerated (i.e., “that’s so gay”), watching the language or slang they use in the classroom, and incorporating more gender neutral or inclusive language when interacting with students. Instructors could also make the classroom more friendly by incorporating more LGBTQ examples into the curriculum or hanging up posters that instill a sense of diversity and acceptance (Kitchen & Bellini, 2012). By understanding how sexual orientation may influence student behavior, along with knowing different ways to prevent and address homophobia, instructors can become better equipped to not only promote a respectful classroom environment, but also to anticipate and combat homophobic behavior before it happens (Miller Marsh, 2002).

Disability An additional salient category of social identity that merits mention surrounds issues of disability, because persons with disabilities are often treated differently from persons without disabilities (Frymier & Wanzer, 2003). Frymier and Wanzer noted that disabilities can be both visible (noticeable to others, such as physical deformities, use of a wheelchair, deafness, or blindness) and invisible (hidden and go unnoticed except under unusual circumstances or when disclosed, such as learning disabilities, arthritis, and diabetes). Literature related to disability and the classroom addresses (a) how students negotiate identity in relation to their

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disability(s), (b) the interface of students with disabilities and their instructors, and (c) how mental health (as a disability) impacts learning.

How Students Negotiate their Own Disability(s) For students with disabilities (especially invisible ones), the classroom is often a site for identity negotiation (e.g., Lindemann, 2011). Consequently, a number of communication scholars have examined how, when, and why students disclose that they have a learning disability, as well as their instructors’ communication competence in responding to the disclosure. Kranke, Jackson, Taylor, AndersonFye, and Floersch (2013) performed a qualitative study across two years that examined 17 college students’ use of disability services. They found students decided to disclose and request accommodations under three conditions: (a) the fear that their disability will greatly limit functioning critical to academic achievement, (b) the stability of their non-apparent disability, and (c) stigma. Blockmans (2015) examined the disability-disclosure experiences of 13 students in Belgium with physical impairments and found the nuances of disclosure and topic avoidance decisions differ by disclosure target (i.e., disability-disclosure is mainly a balancing act between fulfilling physical needs and maintaining a normal, positive identity). Goddard and Torres (2009) utilized qualitative interviewing to demonstrate the significance of face-negotiation theory for understanding how six students with disabilities handle facework during conflict situations with able-bodied individuals. The most significant themes revolved around identity/image and how disability impacted their friends and family; while it was clear that many of the participants highly valued their own image, it was also evident that they were concerned with the face needs of those around them. The interviews and focus groups revealed that students employed face restoration, face saving, face assertion, and face giving strategies in situations surrounding their disabilities; overall Goddard and Torres (2009) found characteristics of both individualistic and collectivistic cultures in the way face strategies were used to handle conflict situations within their family and on campus.

The Interface of Students with Disabilities and their Instructors Centering on how instructors treat students with visible disabilities, Hart and Williams (1995) illustrated four roles of how able-bodied instructors communicate (differently) with students with physical disabilities than with able-bodied students. The first role is the avoider: these instructors “displayed communication avoidance and generally nervous behavior in the presence of a [disabled] student … manifested as physical separation from the student or in eschewing discussions on … disabilities [or] when the instructor chose to completely ignore the disabled student”

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(p. 144). Instructors who performed the role of guardian were overly protective of students with disabilities: “whenever they sought to establish emotional, physical, or intellectual protection, some instructors tended to lower standards and separate students with disabilities from the rest of the class” (p. 145). Some instructors (the rejecters) “rejected the ability of disabled students to be productive members of the class … perhaps because of their own fears or uncertainties, rejecters treated students with disabilities differently than they did able-bodied students … [they] ignore or verbally abused them” (p. 147). Finally, there was (only) one instructor who performed the role of nurturer; she was more at ease and “facilitated an environment in which students with disabilities are supported and encouraged … so that learning for all students is facilitated” (p. 149). Knowing that instructors (may) treat students with disabilities differently, Frymier and Wanzer (2003) compared the perceptions of 79 “able-bodied” students with those of 57 students with disabilities (34 with a learning disability and 23 with a physical disability). Results indicated that students with learning and physical disabilities perceived their professors as less competent, less appropriate, and less effective communicators than did the able-bodied students. However, students with learning disabilities perceived their professors as less appropriate and effective communicators than did both students with physical disabilities and students without disabilities. The disabled students also felt they were dissimilar to their professors and felt less supported and understood by their professors than did “able-bodied” students. However, all students (with and without disabilities) seemed reluctant to communicate with their professors. For over a year, Cornett-DeVito and Worley (2005; Worley & Cornett-DeVito, 2007) examined the experiences of college students with learning disabilities (SWLD) through in-depth interviews and focus groups. The authors identified five ways SWLD define instructors as “communicatively competent,” including when they: (a) willingly provide individualized instruction that meets students’ needs, (b) build rapport and listen empathically, (c) demonstrate knowledge about learning disabilities and accommodation, (d) are alert to alternatives to assist student learning, and (e) are accessible outside the classroom. The authors also identified five ways SWLD define instructors as “communicatively incompetent,” including when they: (a) demonstrate a lack of knowledge about learning disabilities and accommodations, (b) actively resist accommodations, (c) maintain rigid instructional styles, (d) question students’ ability to succeed, and (e) disregard student privacy. Nonetheless, SWLD reported generally positive experiences with instructor power, finding that most instructors showed respect, actively listened, were accessible, trustworthy, and friendly. In these situations, they typically felt that they could be themselves and not have to hide their learning disability – which often resulted in positive relationships with the instructors. Students’ negative experiences with instructor power commonly included instructors who looked away from

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or ignored them, resisted accommodations, and displayed disrespectful facial expressions (such as eye rolling). In these situations, students most often responded to negative instructor power experiences by asserting that they should not be treated less because of their learning disability.

Mental Health (as a Disability) and Learning A newly emerging area of scholarship surrounding disability relates to the increased frequency of mental health issues in higher education. As noted at a 2013 conference of the American Psychological Association, increasing numbers of college students are arriving on campus with psychological issues or developing problems once they are in school (Clay, 2013). The Center for Collegiate Mental Health (2014) surveyed more than 100,00 students across 140 institutions and found that about half had attended counseling for mental health concerns, one-third had taken medication for mental health concerns, and one in ten had been hospitalized for mental health concerns. Data from the 2013 National College Health Assessment II indicated that about one-third of college students across the United States had problems functioning because of depression in the last 12 months, and almost half said they had felt overwhelming anxiety in the last year; four of the top five “substantial obstacles to their academic success” offered by students were sleep difficulties, stress, anxiety, and depression (American College Health Association, 2013). Douce and Keeling (2014) illustrate how mental and behavioral health problems are therefore also learning problems: “Stress, anxiety, depression, and harmful health behaviors such as substance abuse can impair the quality and quantity of learning. They decrease students’ intellectual and emotional flexibility, weaken their creativity, and undermine their interest in new knowledge, ideas, and experiences” (p. 3). To investigate the effects of mental health issues in the teachinglearning process, Carton and Goodboy (2015) examined the relationship between students’ psychological well-being and their interaction involvement in class. They found that while depression and stress were both related negatively to attentiveness and responsiveness, anxiety was related negatively only to students’ attentiveness in class. Certainly, as more attention is paid to issues of mental health, more research is needed on removing barriers to learning. Overall, the emerging research on issues of visible and invisible disabilities indicates that instructors have much to learn in making all students comfortable in the classroom. As noted by Carton and Goodboy (2015), instructors should consider students’ psychological states in the classroom and possibly adjust their communication behaviors in order to keep students with mental health issues involved in the learning process. This echoes the broader hopes of Hart and Williams (1995) that “through increased research, and increases in training programs and in-services for instructors at all levels, attitudes toward people with disabilities can be

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positively changed … [and] instructors … will have an opportunity for positive professional growth,” leading to classrooms where “all students [would] be treated alike instead of differently” (p. 152).

Critical Reflections and Future Research Although scholars have called for more work dealing with issues of social identity in the classroom (e.g., Bell & Golombisky, 2004), much instructional research continues “to perpetuate an image of the American professor as either genderless or white male, unconsciously sending messages to readers and potential contributors regarding subject matter and methodologies deemed legitimate for publication” (Hendrix & Wilson, 2014, p. 414). Just as Covarrubias (2008) argued that masked and discriminatory silence in the classroom perpetuates dominant culture and marginalizes particular people, this lack of substantive research on social identity in major outlets for instructional research also marginalizes the experiences of many. In this final section of the chapter, we identify changes of attitudes, perspectives, and methodology as strategies to correct the perceived insufficiencies of current instructional communication research. One way to expand and strengthen the body of research on social identity in the classroom is to include the development or application of theory in every project. Many social identity scholars have set a positive precedent in this regard by framing their work in expectancy violations theory (Houser, 2005, 2006), media richness theory (Turman & Schrodt, 2005), theory of identity (Wadsworth et al., 2008), social identity theory (Edwards & Harwood, 2003; Miller & Pearson, 2013), critical whiteness theories (Covarrubias, 2008), relational dialectics (Simmons et al., 2013), social interactionism (Pearson et al., 2011), social presence theory (Turman & Schrodt, 2005), structuration theory (Li et al., 2011), standpoint and muted group (Hendrix & Wilson, 2014), and theory of planned behavior (Wheeless et al., 2011). To build on this strong foundation, scholars should continue to use communication theories to frame projects, analyze data, and interpret findings. In terms of research methodologies employed by social identity scholars, a considerable portion of this body of work is based on quantitative analysis of empirical data. We argue a need for more interpretive and/or critical research to deepen our understanding of how students and instructors experience each of the six types of social identity discussed in this chapter. In the area of sex/gender research, for example, a strong precedent has been set by Goodboy (2011) who investigated the importance of the sex composition of a teacher-student dyad by exploring their interaction through qualitative research methods using open-ended survey questions. Similarly, while there is research that compares differences between students and instructors based on race/ethnicity, more work needs to be done to explore how people manage this aspect of their social identity when interacting in the

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classroom and on campuses (see Simmons et al., 2013 for a good example from a student perspective and Hendrix, Hebbani, & Johnson, 2007 for a good example from a professor perspective). Related to age, future work should address Day et al.’s (2011) call to examine faculty perceptions of teaching in a mixed-age, higher education classroom in both face-to-face and online courses. In the realm of social class, Wang (2014) suggests the use of methods such as a diary for FGC students to track their memorable messages in their transition to college – such an approach could transcend identity categories. Research on sexual orientation in the classroom should branch out into other sections of the LGBTQ spectrum: little research focuses specifically on the experiences of bisexual, transgender, or queer students/ instructors, which means that their perspectives are missing from the conversation. As previously noted, increasing numbers of students facing mental health issues constitute a call for broader research related to disability. Finally, because of the multidimensional nature of these various social identities, a great need exists for researchers to examine in greater detail the intersectionality of sex/gender, race/ ethnicity, age, social class, sexual orientation, and disability. As we move this important body of research into the future, there is a pressing need for further critical reflection. Instructional communication scholars face a moment of urgency related to social identity research, as well as diversity and inclusion efforts in higher education (Hendrix & Wilson, 2014; Simmons & Wahl, 2016). To take research and theoretical application to a new level of praxis, higher education administrators must admit that current levels of diversity and inclusion efforts often fail for lack of authenticity in all areas of social identity reviewed in this chapter. To augment these well-intentioned but largely ineffective efforts, instructional communication researchers are strategically positioned to become advocates of the following principles: 1. Academia must implement curricular and administrative changes to foster a more positive university experience related to all aspects of social identity. 2. Communication scholars must publish and apply their research findings to inform relational partnerships with diverse groups, thus creating a more intellectually and culturally rich experience for students, faculty, administrators, and community members. 3. Instructional communication researchers must challenge educational communities to jointly develop multicultural programs to improve understanding across all forms of social identity. 4. Colleges and universities must make a commitment to provide instructors with training on cultural diversity and inclusivity related to all underrepresented and relegated groups reviewed in this chapter. 5. Instructional communication researchers must hold journal editors and their academic colleagues accountable for advancing an informed climate of inclusion relevant to all forms of social identity. These efforts will result in more ethically centered and inclusive partnerships exemplified in research journals and educational contexts (Hendrix & Wilson, 2014; Simmons & Wahl, 2016).

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Finally, although considerable attention has been paid to understanding how students of varying social identity categories experience college, less attention has been paid to incorporating dialogue about these social identity categories effectively into pedagogy. We advocate that instructors utilize critical communication pedagogy to interrogate these social identity categories in the classroom, “easing” into it as it is can be difficult to teach about the ways that difference is (re)constructed in everyday life (Allen, 2011a; Kirby, 2011). Indeed, discussing differences can make students angry on both sides because students are often resistant to having their “assumptive worlds” challenged (see Johnson & Bhatt, 2003). Allen (2011a) suggests that by incorporating critical communication pedagogy into the classroom, faculty can prepare students to address the complexity and fluidity of social identities and differences in a variety of contexts. At the same time, such pedagogy involves faculty and students in questioning the structures of power and privilege that perpetuate marginalization (Fassett & Warren, 2007). In conclusion, investigating the ways we engage and enact social identities in the classroom, and connecting them to the ways we do so in our institutions and society, can inform both critical instructional communication and pedagogy; and ultimately, such inquiry and practice can help create a more just and unprejudiced society.

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Ann Bainbridge Frymier

15 Students’ Motivation to Learn Abstract: Increasing students’ motivation is central to improving students’ learning in the classroom. This chapter’s major premise is that instructors at all levels impact students’ motivation to learn through the communication choices they make in their teaching. Four instructor communication behaviors are discussed and include nonverbal immediacy, affinity-seeking, clarity, and confirmation behaviors. These behaviors have consistently been linked to greater levels of student motivation and learning. Research on the relationships between these instructor communication behaviors and motivation and learning is discussed, along with the development of the motivation model as an explanation. The motivation model poses motivation as a mediating variable between instructor communication behavior and student learning. This model is compared to competing models, namely the affective learning model. Instructional scholars have taken different approaches to motivation to explain the impact of teacher communication behavior on student learning. Expectancy-value theory and self-determination theory are explained and discussed. This discussion culminates in a revised motivation model that explains the relationship between instructors’ communication behavior and students’ learning and provides directions for future research. Keywords: motivation, immediacy, affinity-seeking, clarity, confirmation, expectancy-value theory, self-determination theory, motivation model of instructional communication Why are students motivated to learn, or not motivated? Is motivation a characteristic of good students, and some people are just better students than others? When faced with a room full of unmotivated students, some teachers blame the students. They believe that if they had a class of “good students,” motivation would not be a problem. Other teachers have a different perspective. When faced with a room full of unmotivated students, they believe they need to teach differently. In other words, they believe they can influence student motivation. It is this view of motivation as something that teachers can influence that is the focus of this chapter. More specifically, the purpose of this chapter is to examine the role of teacher communication behavior in the motivation-learning relationship. The concept of motivation has been studied in numerous contexts, predominantly in education. Motivation is often viewed as important to learning, particularly for learning that requires sustained effort. Motivation is the energy that drives performance and has been studied in Psychology since the late 19th century. Early learning theories such as behaviorism (Skinner, 1974) and drive theory (Hull, 1943) emphasized rewards and needs respectively, as the means to motivating desired

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behaviors. The concept of rewards is prominent in several theories of motivation such as expectancy-value theory (Atkinson, 1957) and social learning theory (Bandura, 1963). Needs, as the source of motivation, have not been as prominent as rewards, but needs are central to Maslow’s (1970) need hierarchy and Deci and Ryan’s (2000) self-determination theory. These explanations of motivation help us understand why students engage in learning; therefore to understand learning, one must understand motivation. Communication scholars seek to understand the relationship between teacher communication and learning, and they have often turned to motivation theory for answers. In the 1970s communication scholars began to view teaching as a communication phenomenon. Hurt, Scott, and McCroskey (1978) stated that teaching and communication were synonymous with one another and to understand effective teaching, one needed to understand effective communication. This was a turning point in communication education that led to the development of the research area of instructional communication. Instructional scholars recognized that teachers were the source of the majority of the communication that occurs in any given classroom. The basic hypothesis was that how teachers communicated impacted learning as much as the content they presented (Preiss & Wheeless, 2014). Over the past four decades research on teacher communication behaviors has been very consistent: Teacher use of constructive communication behaviors is positively associated with desirable student outcomes. These behaviors, including verbal and nonverbal immediacy, clarity, relevance, affinity-seeking, behavior alteration techniques, humor, confirmation, and feedback, have led to a general profile of effective teacher communication. Effective teachers engage in immediate behaviors, communicate clearly, make content and assignments relevant, provide constructive feedback while confirming students, respect students, and facilitate enjoyment in their classrooms with humor. Many of these behaviors are inter-related; four of them have received substantial research in relation to student motivation and learning and will be the focus of the following section.

Effective Teacher Communication Numerous criteria can be used to judge effective teaching, but the facilitation of learning is clearly the most central. Effective teacher communication consists of communication behaviors that facilitate learning. Instructional communication research has consistently found positive relationships between student learning and teacher use of immediacy, affinity-seeking, clarity, and confirmation behaviors. These four behavioral domains are not all-inclusive of effective teacher communication and are not independent of one another. However, research indicates that the enactment of these behaviors often results in effective teaching. Additionally, these four constructs are behaviorally based. For example, teacher credibility has

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received substantial study, but credibility is a perception students have and not a set of teacher behaviors. Thus, effective teachers are likely to be credible, but the perception of credibility is an outcome of teacher behavior, not a behavior itself. Teacher immediacy has received a great deal of attention (see Chapter 7 in this volume and Richmond, Lane, & McCroskey, 2006), with results consistently indicating that students respond positively to teacher use of immediacy behaviors across cultures (McCroskey, Fayer, Richmond, Sallinen, & Barraclough, 1996; McCroskey, Sallinen, Fayer, Richmond, & Barraclough, 1996). Immediacy is a perception of physical and/or psychological closeness (Mehrabian, 1971) and is generated primarily by nonverbal behaviors such as eye contact, smiling, physical closeness, appropriate touch, relaxed body position, and vocal variety (Richmond et al., 2006). Using meta-analysis, Witt, Wheeless, and Allen (2006) found significant support for a substantial positive relationship between teacher immediacy and student affective learning, and a lesser relationship with cognitive learning. Affinity-seeking behaviors used by teachers were examined during the same period as immediacy behaviors. Affinity-seeking is a broader, more comprehensive set of behaviors and subsumes immediacy behaviors. Bell and Daly (1984) defined affinity-seeking as “the active social communicative process by which individuals attempt to get others to like and feel positive toward them” (p. 91) and identified 25 affinity-seeking strategies. Richmond (1990) found that teacher affinity-seeking was significantly and moderately correlated with both perceived affective and cognitive learning. Affinity-seeking was also positively related to students’ motivation to study (Frymier & Thompson, 1992; Richmond, 1990). Ellis (2000) took the interpersonal construct of confirmation and identified teacher behaviors that led to students feeling confirmed. Confirming communication consists of behaviors that recognize, acknowledge, and endorse a person (Cissna & Sieburg, 1981) and consist of both verbal and nonverbal behaviors. In contrast, disconfirmation involves indifference, imperviousness, and disqualification (Cissna & Sieburg, 1981). In short, confirming communication sends the message that a person is worthy of one’s time and attention. Disconfirming communication sends messages of disregard and insignificance. Ellis (2000) reported that teacher confirmation was predictive of affective learning, cognitive learning, and motivation (Ellis, 2004). The clarity with which teachers communicate is another teacher behavior that has a positive impact on students (see Chapter 5 in this volume). This construct has been studied from a variety of perspectives and has been defined as, “a cluster of teacher behaviors that contributes to the fidelity of instructional messages” (Chesebro & Wanzer, 2006, p. 95). Teacher clarity involves messages about assignments and course requirements as well as how content is delivered (Chesebro & McCroskey, 1998). Chesebro and McCroskey (2001) examined teacher clarity in relation to receiver apprehension, student motivation, affective learning, and cognitive learning. Teacher clarity and immediacy were negatively associated with students’

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receiver apprehension, and receiver apprehension was negatively associated with students’ motivation to study. These results suggest that students are more relaxed with clear and immediate teachers, and that such teachers create an environment that facilitates student motivation. Zhang and Zhang (2005) replicated Chesebro and McCroskey’s (2001) results among Chinese college students, providing further support for the relationship between teacher clarity and motivation. There is significant research support for the teacher communication behaviors of immediacy, clarity, confirmation, and affinity-seeking. These behaviors represent different constructs but are interrelated and are often observed occurring simultaneously in effective teachers. Of course, the question that arises is, why are these behaviors effective? Why are these teacher behaviors associated with student learning? Is motivation the answer?

Seeking an Explanation During the 1980s research on teacher immediacy and affinity-seeking was often met with skepticism. Skeptics viewed the use of immediacy and affinity-seeking behaviors as simply a “Dr. Fox effect.” The Dr. Fox effect refers to a dynamic, charismatic teacher who teaches little content and with little rigor, but whom students love and rate highly (Naftulin, Ware, & Donnelly, 1973; Perry, Abrami, & Leventhal, 1979). Many viewed immediate teaching as the antithesis of rigorous teaching. Real teaching did not require being liked, and the standard motto of the day for teachers was, “Don’t smile until Christmas.” This criticism and skepticism drove instructional scholars to provide an explanation for why immediacy and affinity-seeking were important to learning and not just a means to being popular. Scholars began conducting research to explain why the use of immediacy behaviors influenced learning and for further evidence of the proposed causal relationship. Early on, motivation was identified as a likely mediating variable and explanation for the relationship. Richmond (1990) was one of the first to examine students’ motivation and included it as an outcome variable in her study on compliance-gaining and power. Richmond was interested in identifying behavior alteration techniques that resulted in students being motivated to engage in learning activities as opposed to performing activities as a result of coercion. She reported that both teacher compliance-gaining behavior and affinity-seeking were related to students’ motivation to study. During this same period, Christophel (1990) examined the impact of teacher immediacy on students’ trait and state motivation. She viewed motivation as part of the learning process and hypothesized that “teacher immediacy may impact levels of learning by modifying student classroom motivation” (Christophel, 1990, p. 325). Results indicated that immediacy was positively associated with state motivation to learn, which in turn was associated with affective and (self-reported) cognitive learning. On the heels of this finding, Frymier (1994a) proposed the moti-

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TMot1

.11 (.11)

.23*

NVerb2

.78*

SMot3

(.23*)

(.72*)

Affect3 (Learn3)

.32* (.35*)

Verb2

Figure 1: Frymier’s (1994) Motivation Model (*p < .05; path coefficients in parentheses are for the Motivation Model with cognitive learning as the endogenous variable).

.21*

TMot1

SMot3 (.24*) .74* (.75*)

NVerb2

-.03 (-.18)

Affect3 (Learn3)

.13*

Verb2

(.11)

Figure 2: Frymier’s (1994) Learning Model (*p < .05; path coefficients in parentheses are for the Learning Model with cognitive learning as the endogenous variable).

vation model of immediacy to explain why teacher immediacy behaviors were positively associated with student learning (see Figure 1). The motivation model hypothesized that teacher verbal and nonverbal immediacy, along with students’ trait motivation, modified students’ state motivation to learn, which directly impacted students’ cognitive and affective learning. Frymier compared the motivation model of immediacy with a learning model that hypothesized state motivation along with teacher immediacy directly impacted student learning (see Figure 2). Using a repeated measures design and path analysis, Frymier (1994a) confirmed Christophel’s (1990) hypothesis that teacher immediacy modified state motivation to

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learn, which in turn influenced student learning. Frymier (1994b) extended the motivation model to teachers’ use of affinity-seeking. She hypothesized that affinity-seeking and immediacy functioned similarly in the classroom and used path analysis to test the relationships. This model was identical to the motivation model of immediacy, with motivation mediating the relationship between teacher affinityseeking behavior and learning. Support was found for the motivation model of affinity-seeking over a direct effects model (Frymier, 1994b). Frymier’s (1994a) and Christophel’s (1990) work provided a reasonable explanation for why immediacy was positively related to students’ self-reported learning and helped solidify teacher immediacy as an important instructional construct. One observation from this research was that students’ motivation to study and affective learning were highly correlated, indicating overlap. Rodriguez, Plax, and Kearney (1996) argued that motivation was subsumed by affective learning and proposed an alternate explanation for the relationship between immediacy and student learning. Rodriguez et al. proposed that affective learning mediated the relationship between teacher immediacy and cognitive learning. Using path analysis, Rodriguez et al. tested two models to determine which best fit the data. They compared Frymier’s (1994a) motivation model with cognitive learning as the outcome variable with their affective learning model using both Frymier’s data and data collected for their study (see Figure 3). Rodriguez et al. reported that both models fit the data, but that the affective learning model had smaller residuals than the motivation model (although the difference was not significant). Rodriguez et al. argued that the affective learning model was more parsimonious than the motivation model and therefore the better model. Overall, Frymier’s and Rodriguez et al.’s models were quite similar, with both proposing a mediated relationship between teacher immediacy and student learning. Questions remained about the relationship between motivation and affective learning and which construct provided the most robust explanation.

Teacher Nonverbal Immediacy

.66 (.73)

Affective Learning

.68

Cognitive Learning

(.69)

Figure 3: Rodriguez, Plax, & Kearney’s (1996) Affective Learning Model (path coefficients corrected for attenuation due to error of measurement are in parentheses).

Using confirmatory factor analysis, Zhang and Oetzel (2006) concluded that motivation and affective learning were separate constructs. Affective learning refers to the valuing and liking of content. Motivation refers to the energy and effort one is willing to expend. Using data collected from students in China, Zhang and Oetzel (2006) compared the three existing models of immediacy: the learning

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Affective Learning .59*

.44* .12*

Immediacy .20*

Motivation .27*

Cognitive Learning

Figure 4: Zhang & Oetzel’s (2006) Integrating Model (standardized regression weights; *p < .05).

model proposed by Andersen (1979), the motivation model proposed by Christophel (1990) and Frymier (1994a), and the affective learning model proposed by Rodriguez et al. (1996). Using structural equation modeling, Zhang and Oetzel found that the affective learning model had acceptable fit, whereas the learning and motivation models had poor fit with the data. In response to these results, Zhang and Oetzel proposed the “integrating model” that hypothesized that immediacy had a direct effect on affective learning and cognitive learning, and that motivation mediated the relationship between affective learning and cognitive learning (see Figure 4). These findings were contrary to previous research and may have been a result of the translated measures and cultural differences between American and Chinese college students. However, this model does provide some support for the notion that the relationship between teacher communication behavior and learning is mediated. In trying to understand the relationships among teacher confirmation behaviors and student learning outcomes, Ellis (2004) conducted an exploratory study. She posited that teacher use of confirming behaviors would reduce students’ receiver apprehension and found strong support for this hypothesis. Ellis then used structural equation modeling to examine the direct and indirect relationships among teacher confirmation, receiver apprehension, student motivation, affective learning, and cognitive learning. The resulting model that provided the best fit to the data was labeled the “learning model” (see Figure 5). The learning model consisted of teacher confirmation having a direct effect on student receiver apprehension, such that teacher use of confirmation behaviors reduced students’ receiver apprehension. Receiver apprehension had a direct effect on motivation and cognitive learning, and motivation had a direct effect on affective learning, which in turn had a direct effect on cognitive learning. Thus, affective learning mediated the relationship between motivation and cognitive learning. This relationship between motivation and affective learning was the opposite of what Zhang and Oetzel (2006) proposed, suggesting that the relationship between affective learning and motivation may be reciprocal. The more motivated a student, the more he or she likes the content; and greater affect generated for the content results in greater

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Receiver Apprehension -.86*

Teacher Confirmation

Affective Learning

-.84*

-.99*

.99*

.96*

Motivation

Cognitive Learning

Figure 5: Ellis’ (2004) Learning Model (abbreviated version; standardized parameter estimates; *p < .01).

motivation. A reciprocal relationship both makes sense conceptually and explains the variation in research results. In a sense Ellis’ (2004) study provided support both for Frymier’s (1994a) motivation model and Rodriguez et al.’s (1996) affective learning model. Affective learning mediated the relationship between motivation and cognitive learning, indicating that both motivation and affective learning were mediating variables. The introduction of receiver apprehension into the model expanded scholars’ understanding of how teacher communication functions in the classroom. Reducing receiver apprehension may “set the stage” for motivation and learning to occur. This is consistent with Frymier’s (1993) finding that highly apprehensive students were more motivated to study when they had a highly immediate teacher. Thus, effective teacher communication behavior may enhance motivation in part by reducing student anxiety and apprehension. In 2006, Allen, Witt, and Wheeless conducted a meta-analysis of research on immediacy, cognitive learning, affective learning, and motivation. They noted the overlap in motivation and affective learning and essentially combined Frymier’s motivation model and Rodriguez’s affective learning model for the meta-analysis. Allen et al.’s results confirmed the model that motivation/affect mediated the relationship between teacher immediacy and students’ cognitive learning. Returning to the original question of why teacher communication behavior is associated with student learning: motivation theory provides a more robust explanation than affective learning. Affective learning is the development of appreciation for and valuing of content (Krathwohl, Bloom, & Masia, 1964) and is clearly related to motivation; however, the explanation is limited. An affective learning explanation emphasizes the enjoyment and liking generated by teacher communication behaviors. Yet teachers know intuitively that emphasizing fun does not necessarily result in learn-

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ing. This explanation also separates affective and cognitive components, which is counter to contemporary views of learning. Anderson et al. (2001) noted that “nearly every cognitive objective has an affective component” (p. 300), and Claxton (2015) argued that current work in neuroscience indicates that emotion and cognition are inseparable. Although the correlation and regression coefficients provide some support for an affective learning explanation, there is little theoretical justification for such an approach. Alternatively, there are several theories of motivation that provide rich and nuanced explanations of learning. Four approaches to motivation have influenced communication scholars and can help explain how and why teacher communication behavior impacts students’ learning.

Theories of Learner Motivation Motivation is generally defined as the energy one brings to a task. Where that energy derives from is the focus of most theories of motivation. Brophy (1987) stated, “Student motivation to learn is a student tendency to find academic activities meaningful and worthwhile and to try to derive the intended academic benefits from them” (p. 205). A unique aspect of Brophy’s approach to motivation was his identification of two types of motivation: trait and state. Trait motivation to learn is an enduring disposition to strive for learning and mastery that crosses situation and time. State motivation to learn is specific to a situation and relates to mastering the knowledge and skill being taught in that situation (Brophy, 1987). Brophy’s approach hypothesized that students’ level of motivation could vary by class, such that a student may have high motivation in one class and low motivation in another. This conceptualization of motivation placed the source of trait motivation within the student, and the source of state motivation in situational variables such as the task or teaching approach. This perspective is similar to the more commonly used intrinsic and extrinsic types of motivation. Several theories of motivation include the concept of rewards, with rewards often being described as intrinsic or extrinsic. Extrinsic motivators are derived from the environment, other people, or the task itself. Completing an assignment to receive points, a teacher’s praise, or a privilege are all examples of extrinsic rewards. Extrinsic motivation is similar to Brophy’s state motivation; however, extrinsic motivation focuses on the reward or punishment associated with a task, whereas state motivation focuses on the situation. On the other hand, intrinsic motivation is similar to Brophy’s trait motivation. Intrinsic motivation is considered internal to a person. Both intrinsic and trait motivation consider the individual as the source of the energy and drive that makes one motivated. Intrinsic and trait motivation are viewed as relatively constant across situations. Instructional communication scholars have drawn heavily on Brophy’s approach to motivation, particularly the distinction between state and trait motiva-

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tion. Both Christophel (1990) and Frymier (1994) measured state and trait motivation and both found that trait motivation had a negligible relationship with student learning; however, state motivation was positively correlated with immediacy and with perceived affective and cognitive learning. The concept of state motivation fit well with instructional communication scholars’ view that teachers motivated students through their communication choices. Instructional communication scholars viewed teacher communication as the driving force of learning in the classroom and that student responses were strongly influenced by the teacher; or in other words, teachers created a situation that was motivating for students. Research results on state motivation supported the proposition that teacher communication behavior created energy in students to learn. Brophy’s (1987) work on state and trait motivation was rooted in expectancy-value theory, and a closer look at this theory helps explain how teacher communication behaviors likely function in the classroom.

Expectancy-Value Theory Expectancy-value theory posits that people will expend effort on a task to the extent that they expect to be able to perform the task successfully, and that they value the rewards received for their performance (Wigfield, Tonks, & Klauda, 2009). Expectations for success and the value of the task being performed are the two key components of this theory, and the relationship between these two components is multiplicative. If either is missing, motivation to perform the task is substantially reduced (Brophy, 1987). To motivate students, teachers must make activities enjoyable and help students appreciate the tasks to develop value, and they need to help students succeed so that they develop success expectations. Expectancy-value theory is rooted in Atkinson’s (1957) work on achievement motives, expectancies for success, and incentive values. Eccles (2005) further developed expectancy-value theory by developing broader definitions of key concepts. Expectations and values are a result of one’s experience and abilities, the cultural milieu, and others’ expectations for them (Wigfield et al., 2009). More specifically, expectancies for success are individuals’ beliefs about how well they will do on a task. Expectancies for success are conceptually different from beliefs about competence or ability. I could perceive myself as having the competence and ability to complete a math problem, but might expect to do poorly because of the time constraints imposed. Thus, expectancies are based on multiple factors and are always evolving. Value refers to the qualities of the task that influence a person’s desire to perform the task. Task value is a perception or set of beliefs a person has about a particular task. Eccles (2005) describes four components of task value: attainment value, intrinsic value, utility value, and cost. Attainment value is related to one’s identity. Tasks have high attainment value when they are central to one’s sense of self. For example, a young woman who defines herself as an honors stu-

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dent may view the task of taking calculus as having value because completing the class would confirm her identity of honors student. Intrinsic value refers to the enjoyment one gains from performing a task. A person might spend hours shooting baskets because of the enjoyment derived from the task. When you are so engaged in an activity that you lose track of time, the task likely has intrinsic value for you. Utility value refers to the usefulness of the task with regard to future plans. For instance, getting good grades may allow a student to play on the school’s basketball team. In this case the task has value because it is viewed as necessary for completing some other valued task. The final value, cost refers to what an individual has to give up to perform the task and how much effort will be required. A task might be perceived as costly in time, as being difficult, or as requiring a lot of work. The more costly, the more valued the task. Tasks that are easy or quick have less value. Expectancy-value theory predicts that individuals will be motivated to perform a given behavior to the extent that they expect a reasonable level of success and the behavior has value (Wigfield et al., 2009). It is fairly logical that students put forth more effort on tasks that they value and for which they are likely to succeed or obtain some valued reward. If students do not understand the purpose of an activity or do not think the outcome is of value, their motivation will likely wane. Similarly, if students expect to fail at a task or see little opportunity for success, their motivation will likely decline. Expectancy-value theory is useful in explaining the relationship between motivation and teacher communication behaviors in the classroom. To feel motivated, students must value and appreciate the tasks they are being asked to perform. When a teacher approaches the learning tasks with immediacy and other positive communication behaviors, students are likely to perceive the tasks as having value. Immediate teachers implicitly send the message that the tasks at hand are important and of value: perhaps increasing attainment value. Clarity behaviors may help students understand the utility of the task, further enhancing value. Teachers engaging in positive communication behaviors also help develop expectations for success among students. Behaviors such as immediacy, affinity-seeking, caring, and confirmation create an environment that is encouraging and supportive. Success seems much more likely when we feel supported and cared about. Additionally, teachers who engage in positive behaviors are better liked, which makes their praise and attention more valuable rewards for students. Thus, because they value the learning tasks and expect to succeed, students develop motivation to learn when they have teachers who communicate effectively.

ARCS Model Another theoretical approach to motivation that has influenced communication scholars is Keller’s (1983) ARCS model of motivation. The ARCS model consists of

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four major components: Attention, Relevance, Confidence, and Satisfaction (Keller, 1983, 1987b) and is rooted in expectancy-value theory. The ARCS model was created to provide a link between theory and practice. Attention is the first step in the motivation process and indicates that teachers must gain the interest of their students. If students are not paying attention, they will not understand the task, thus reducing its value. The second step of relevance is “the learner’s perceptions of personal need satisfaction in relation to the instruction, or whether a highly desired goal is perceived to be related to the instructional activity” (Keller, 1983, p. 395). To be a motivated learner, a student must perceive the learning situation as meeting personal needs, or in other words, perceive the work as relevant to his or her life. The third step of the ARCS model, confidence, refers to the expectations a student holds concerning the course material and learning tasks (Keller, 1983). Students who believe they have the ability to receive high marks on an assignment, for example, will be more motivated to learn the content than students who do not believe they can succeed. The final step, satisfaction, recognizes that the outcome of the situation will influence whether the student will want to repeat the behavior in the future (Keller, 1987a). The attention and relevance steps are closely linked to the task value component in expectancy-value theory. Making content interesting and relevant build task value. The confidence and satisfaction components are aligned with the expectancy component of expectancy-value theory. Frymier (1994a) used Keller’s ARCS model to explain why teacher immediacy had a positive impact on student learning. She argued that the positive nature of teacher immediacy creates positive expectations in students, creating confidence, and therefore motivation. Frymier also argued that immediate teachers garnered students’ attention, consistent with Kelley and Gorham’s (1988) attention-arousal perspective. Students are also more satisfied with classroom communication when they have an immediate teacher (Myers, Goodboy, Members of COMM 600, 2014). As a result, immediate teachers are thought to enhance motivation because they gain students’ attention, build confidence, and create satisfaction. Frymier (1994a) speculated that teacher immediacy did not enhance students’ perceptions of relevance, but later research demonstrated a positive relationship between immediacy and relevance, as well as between relevance and motivation (Frymier & Shulman, 1995). Therefore, the ARCS model, which is rooted in expectancy-value theory, explains why teacher communication behavior impacts students’ learning, further supporting a motivation model of teacher communication.

Self-Determination Theory Early research on learning and motivation by Hull (1943) and Murray (1938) identified needs as important factors in motivation, but a focus on rewards tended to dominate motivation research for a number of years. The development of self-determination theory brought needs back into the spotlight. Deci and Ryan (2000) differ-

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entiated “basic” human needs from goals, motives, and desires. For example, the need for achievement is viewed as more situational and related to the basic needs, but is not in itself a basic need. Self-determination theory posits that basic psychological needs are the primary driver in human motivation (Deci & Ryan, 2000) and defines basic needs as “innate, organismic necessities” (p. 229). There are three basic psychological needs that must be met for a person to be intrinsically motivated. These needs are competence, relatedness, and autonomy (Deci & Ryan, 2000). When these needs are nurtured and satisfied, healthy development occurs, which allows for intrinsic motivation to occur. If the needs are impeded and unsatisfied, intrinsic motivation decreases and individuals will compensate with less functional responses such as ego-defensiveness or withdrawal. Additionally, all three needs must be nurtured for optimal functioning (Deci & Ryan, 2000). In other words, extra nurturing of one need does not make up for neglecting another. The nurturing of needs may be quite direct, such as seeking out friendship to satisfy the need for relatedness. However, behavior may not be explicitly linked to the basic needs when the needs are satisfied; rather individuals will do what they find interesting and important (Deci & Ryan, 2000). Although satisfaction of all three needs (autonomy, relatedness, and competence) is important, autonomy seems to be particularly important. Autonomy refers to volition and the freedom of choice. Being able to organize an activity as desired satisfies the need for autonomy. Ryan and Deci (2009) summarize research indicating that greater control by teachers (less student autonomy) is linked with less intrinsic motivation and less learning. Autonomy needs are satisfied when students have greater choice and feel volition over their activities. For example, being able to decide what topics to include in this chapter and how to organize them, satisfies my need for autonomy. Competence reflects the need for mastery and feeling able to do things. When we feel able to perform a task effectively, we feel competent. Relatedness refers to having a secure relational base. We need to have close, secure relationships with others in order for our need for relatedness to be satisfied. In the learning context, these important interpersonal connections may be forged with the teacher and/or other students. Self-determination theory posits that in a given situation, experiencing satisfaction of all three basic needs results in greater intrinsic motivation (Ryan & Deci, 2009). If need satisfaction is thwarted, intrinsic motivation declines. Intrinsic motivation is defined as activities individuals find interesting and would engage in regardless of any external rewards (Deci & Ryan, 2000). Intrinsic motivation is driven by need satisfaction and not by personality or other individual characteristics. Behaviors driven by intrinsic motivation do not need to be rewarded (Deci & Ryan, 2000). In fact, rewarding behaviors that are intrinsically motivated can reduce motivation (Ryan & Deci, 2009). For example, if a child who is intrinsically motivated to read because it satisfies her needs for autonomy, competence, and relatedness is offered extrinsic rewards such as stickers and prizes for reading, the child’s intrinsic motivation for reading may actually decline.

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When teachers rely on extrinsic rewards to motivate students, intrinsic motivation is undermined because autonomy is undermined. However, it is possible for extrinsically motivated behaviors to be internalized (Deci & Ryan, 2000; Ryan & Deci, 2009). Deci and Ryan (2000) described internalization as similar to intrinsic motivation and defined it as “an active, natural process in which individuals attempt to transform socially sanctioned mores or requests into personally endorsed values and self-regulations” (pp. 235–236). These two forms of motivation are similar, but intrinsic motivation is rooted in interest (engage in behavior because of interest in the activity) while internalization is rooted in value (engage in the behavior because it is important; Ryan & Deci, 2009). Internalization of extrinsically motivated behavior occurs on a continuum that ranges from external regulation to integration (Ryan & Deci, 2009). External regulation involves behavior that is controlled by some type of external rewards or punishments. A student who reads a chapter only to earn points is an example. Next on the continuum is introjection, which is partial internalization. Engaging in a behavior to avoid guilt, embarrassment, or anxiety would be an example of introjection (Ryan & Deci, 2009), such as reading a chapter to avoid being humiliated in class. The next step on the continuum is identified as regulation, which is when an individual identifies with the value of the behavior. A student who reads the chapter because he believes the content is important has identified with the value of the behavior. The most autonomous form of extrinsic motivation is integration (Ryan & Deci, 2009). With integration a person has identified with the behavior and integrated it into her values and sense of self. Both intrinsically motivated and integrated behavior are performed without external rewards. Students who approach learning tasks with intrinsic or integrated motivation will work independently and put forth effort to complete the task. Self-determination theory is useful in explaining why teacher communication behaviors positively impact student motivation, and in turn, student learning. Teacher clarity reduces barriers to learning. When students understand what is going on in the classroom, their feelings of competence and autonomy increase. Feeling confused and uncertain about what is expected or what to do makes a person feel unable to perform, thus thwarting satisfaction of competence and autonomy needs. In addition, a lack of clarity increases the likelihood students will fail simply because they do not understand, which further reduces feelings of competence. Teacher immediacy, affinity-seeking, and confirmation facilitate the development of positive student-teacher relationships, which help satisfy relatedness needs. When students feel supported and safe in the classroom, communication between themselves and the teacher increases, meeting relatedness needs. Teacher confirmation also helps satisfy competence needs. Being acknowledged, endorsed, and recognized (the three confirmation behaviors) builds students’ feelings of competence and perhaps their sense of autonomy. Thus, teachers who engage in effective communication behaviors create learning environments where students’ needs

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for autonomy, competence, and relatedness are met, opening the door for students to develop intrinsic motivation for learning. Using path analysis, Goldman, Goodboy, and Weber (2015) provided support for this thinking. They found that students’ need satisfaction mediated the relationship between instructors’ communication behavior (accessibility, course-related practices, and interpersonal competence) and students’ intrinsic motivation. Effective teacher communication also likely increases motivation by encouraging integration. Students are more likely to identify with clear, immediate, confirming teachers and integrate the lessons into their values and sense of self. Self-determination theory provides a robust explanation for why teacher communication behavior positively impacts student-learning outcomes via motivation. The usefulness of self-determination theory in both predicting and explaining the impact of teacher behavior on students was demonstrated by Kerssen-Griep, Hess, and Trees’ (2003) study of instructor feedback. These scholars examined three types of facework during feedback that aligned with the basic needs identified in self-determination theory. Solidarity facework refers to affiliation and collaboration. A teacher who engages in solidarity facework while providing feedback communicates to the student that “we’re in this together.” This form of facework aligns with the relatedness need. Approbation facework addresses students’ need for competence by casting their abilities in a positive light. Tact facework is tentative in nature so as not to reduce one’s autonomy. Kerssen-Griep et al. found all three types of facework to be associated with intrinsic motivation, and solidarity facework was the most consistent predictor. From a self-determination perspective, solidarity facework may meet needs for relatedness as well as confidence needs. The support communicated by solidarity builds confidence and therefore motivation. Self-determination theory provides a rich yet succinct explanation for why teacher communication behaviors are positively associated with student learning outcomes.

Future Directions and Conclusions In the 1990s, Christophel (1990) and Frymier (1994a, 1994b) proposed the motivation model to explain the relationship between teacher immediacy and affinityseeking and student learning. Since that time, substantial evidence has been accumulated to support the proposition that teacher communication behavior impacts students’ motivation which in turn influences learning. Given what is known today, Frymier’s (1994) motivation model of immediacy can be revised and reintroduced as the motivation model of teacher communication behavior. Expectancy-value theory and self-determination theory both explain why teachers who engage in immediacy, affinity-seeking, clarity, and confirming behaviors positively impact students. These theories also provide the conceptual infra-

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Receiver Apprehension Effective Teaching Behaviors

Students’ basic needs of autonomy, competence, & relatedness are met

Student Learning Motivation to Learn

Figure 6: Revised Motivation Model.

structure to make predictions about which teacher behaviors will and will not enhance student motivation and lead to learning. For example, the teacher behavior of listening has not been studied in instructional communication. The motivation model predicts that listening behaviors that support autonomy and relatedness needs will enhance motivation and learning. Therefore, listening for the purpose of critically evaluating a student’s participation would not likely enhance motivation, but listening to understand would. Motivation theory also provides guidance on how to communicate with students. Both self-determination and expectancyvalue theories can be applied to all levels of instruction to guide teachers on specific communication behaviors such as listening, feedback, providing directions, responding to requests, and many others. Specifically, teachers need to design instructional activities and communicate in a way that supports students’ basic needs, demonstrates the value of learning tasks, and develops positive expectations. Adding receiver apprehension to the motivation model further strengthens it. As indicated by Ellis (2004), teacher communication behaviors can increase or decrease student apprehension. Anxiety and apprehension act as a barrier to motivation and learning, which is well documented by research on communication apprehension (see McCroskey & Richmond, 2006 for a review). Confirmation (Ellis, 2004) and clarity (Chesebro & McCroskey, 2001) are negatively related to receiver apprehension. Including apprehension enhances both the explanatory and predictive power of the model. However, not all students suffer from apprehension; therefore, effective teacher communication behaviors would likely impact both receiver apprehension and student motivation by meeting students’ basic needs as shown in Figure 6. The motivation model of teacher communication behavior maintains motivation as a mediator between instructor communication behavior and learning consistent with Christophel and Frymier’s original motivation model, but expands it to include more than teacher immediacy and is theoretically more robust. Before the revised motivation model can be tested, the relationship between motivation and affective learning must be more thoroughly understood. The primary challenge to the motivation model has been the role of affective learning in the model. Two issues arise. First, involves the conceptual relationship between motivation and learning. These constructs may be opposite sides of the same coin and have a reciprocal relationship. Little conceptual work exists for affective learning. Perhaps the two constructs are not separate, but simply two interpretations of

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the same phenomenon. Affective learning is the appreciation and valuing of content. Motivation to learn is more complex, but valuing content is clearly a component of motivation, particularly from an expectancy-value perspective. The second issue involves the measurement of affective learning and motivation. Communication scholars have most often used either Christophel’s (1990) 12item student motivation scale or Richmond’s (1990) 5-item motivation scale. Both scales ask participants to use bipolar adjectives to assess their motivation to study for a specific class using adjectives such as motivated-unmotivated, excited-bored, and involved-uninvolved. Affective learning is typically measured using Mottet and Richmond’s (1998) scales, which also use bipolar adjectives. Affective learning subscales assess participants’ evaluation (good-bad) of the content and teacher and the likelihood (likely-unlikely) of using the content or taking another class with the teacher. The motivation scales ask participants to assess their motivation, interest, and excitement for studying the content of the course. Hence, these scales are quite similar. Additionally, a self-report survey methodology has dominated research examining the relationship between affective learning and motivation, which may account for some of the relationship. At this point, it is impossible to untangle the impact of measurement and research design on the observed relationship between motivation and affective learning. Both motivation and affective learning clearly involve an element of emotion; both are correlated with teacher behavior and cognitive learning. Goldman et al. (2015) have taken initial steps to address this concern by developing an intrinsic motivation to learn measure. Using confirmatory factor analysis, Goldman et al. determined that their measure of intrinsic motivation and Christophel’s (1990) 12-item measure were distinct, but highly correlated. They argue that their measure is more closely aligned with motivation theory, particularly self-determination theory. One thing is clear from the research; behaviors such as immediacy, clarity, affinity-seeking, and confirmation are much more than a means to popularity. Teachers who engage in these behaviors are not seducing students to think they have learned when they have not, as early critics argued. Rather these teachers’ communication choices facilitate student engagement in learning. A revised motivation model of instructor communication both explains the existing research and provides a path forward for instructional communication scholars.

References Allen, M., Witt, P. L., & Wheeless, L. R. (2006). The role of teacher immediacy as a motivational factor in student learning: Using meta-analysis to test a causal model. Communication Education, 55, 21–31. doi:10.1080/03634520500343368 Andersen, J. F. (1979). Teacher immediacy as a predictor of teaching effectiveness. In B. D. Ruben (Ed.), Communication Yearbook 3 (pp. 543–559). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books.

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Anderson, L. W., Krathwohl, D. R., Airasian, P. W., Cruikshank, K. A., Mayer, R. E., Pintrich, P. R., Raths, J., & Wittrock, M. C. (Eds.). (2001). A taxonomy for learning, teaching, and assessing. New York, NY: Addison Wesley Longman, Inc. Atkinson, J. W. (1957). Motivational determinants of risk taking behavior. Psychological Review, 64, 359–372. doi:10.1037/h0043445 Bandura, A. (1963). Social learning and personality development. New York, NY: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston. Bell, R. A., & Daly, J. A. (1984). The affinity-seeking function of communication. Communication Monographs, 51, 91–115. doi:10.1080/03637758409390188 Brophy, J. (1987). On motivating students. In D. C. Berliner & B. V. Rosenshine (Eds.), Talks to teachers (pp. 201–245). New York, NY: Random House. Chesebro, J. L., & McCroskey, J. C. (1998). The relationship between teacher clarity and immediacy and students experiences of state receiver apprehension when listening to teachers. Communication Quarterly, 46, 446–455. doi:10.1080/03634520109379232 Chesebro, J. L., & McCroskey, J. C. (2001). The relationship of teacher clarity and immediacy with student state receiver apprehension, affect, and cognitive learning. Communication Education, 50, 59–68. doi:10.1080/03634520109379232 Chesebro, J. L., & Wanzer, M. B. (2006). Instructional message variables. In T. P. Mottet, V. P. Richmond, & J. C. McCroskey (Eds.), Handbook of instructional communication: Rhetorical and relational perspectives (pp. 89–116). Boston, MA: Pearson, Allyn & Bacon. Christophel, D. M. (1990). The relationships among teacher immediacy behaviors, student motivation, and learning. Communication Education, 39, 323–340. doi:10.1080/03634529009378813 Cissna, K. N., & Sieburg, E. (1981). Patterns of interactional confirmation and disconfirmation. In C. Wilder-Mott & J. H. Weakland (Eds.), Rigor and imagination: Essays from the legacy of Gregory Bateson (pp. 253–282). New York, NY: Praeger. Claxton, G. (2015). Intelligence in the flesh: Why your mind needs your body much more than it thinks. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Deci, E. L., & Ryan, R. M. (2000). The “what” and “why” of goal pursuits: Human needs and the self-determination of behavior. Psychological Inquiry, 11, 227–268. doi:10.1207/S15327965PLI1104_01 Eccles, J. (2005). Subjective task value and the Eccles et al. model of achievement-related choices. In A. J. Elliot & C. S. Dweck (Eds.), Handbook of competence and motivation (pp. 105–121). New York, NY: Guilford Press. Ellis, K. (2000). Perceived teacher confirmation: The development and validation of an instrument and two studies of the relationship to cognitive and affective learning. Human Communication Research, 26, 264–291. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2958.2000.tb00758.x Ellis, K. (2004). The impact of perceived teacher confirmation on receiver apprehension, motivation, and learning. Communication Education, 53, 1–20. doi:10.10/0363452032000135742 Frymier, A. B. (1993). The relationship among communication apprehension, immediacy and motivation to study. Communication Reports, 6, 8–17. doi:10.1080/08934219309367556 Frymier, A. B. (1994a). A model of immediacy in the classroom. Communication Quarterly, 42, 133–144. doi:10.1080/01463379409369922 Frymier, A. B. (1994b). The use of affinity-seeking in producing liking and learning in the classroom. Journal of Applied Communication Research, 22, 87–105. doi:10.1080/00909889409365391 Frymier, A. B., & Shulman, G. M. (1995). “What’s in it for me?”: Increasing content relevance to enhance students’ motivation. Communication Education, 44, 40–50. doi:10.1080/03634529509378996

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Frymier, A. B., & Thompson, C. A. (1992). Perceived teacher affinity-seeking in relation to perceived teacher credibility. Communication Education, 41, 388–399. doi:10.1080/03634529209378900 Goldman, Z. W., Goodboy, A. K., & Weber, K. (2015, November). The measurement of college students’ psychological needs and intrinsic motivation to learn. Paper presented at the annual convention of National Communication Association, Las Vegas, NV. Hull, C. L. (1943). Principles of behavior: An introduction to behavior theory. New York, NY: Appleton-Century-Crofts. Hurt, H. T., Scott, M. D., & McCroskey, J. C. (1978). Communication in the classroom. Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley. Keller, J. M. (1983). Motivational design of instruction. In C. M. Reogeluth (Ed.), Instructional design theories: An overview of their current status (pp. 383–434). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Keller, J. M. (1987a). Development and use of the ARCS model of instructional design. Journal of Instructional Development, 10, 2–10. doi:10.1007/BF02905780 Keller, J. M. (1987b). Strategies for stimulating the motivation to learn. Performance and Instruction, 26, 1–7. doi:10.1002/pfi.4160260802 Kelley, D. H., & Gorham, J. (1988). Effects of immediacy on recall of information. Communication Education, 37, 198–207. doi:10.1080/03634528809378719 Kerssen-Griep, J., Hess, J. A., & Trees, A. R. (2003). Sustaining the desire to learn: Dimensions of perceived instructional facework related to student involvement and motivation to learn. Western Journal of Communication, 67, 357–381. doi:10.1080/10570310309374779 Krathwohl, D. R., Bloom, B. S., & Masia, B. B. (1964). Taxonomy of educational objectives: Handbook II: Affective domain. New York, NY: McKay. Maslow, A. (1970). Motivation and personality (2 nd ed.). New York, NY: Harper & Row. McCroskey, J. C., Fayer, J. M., Richmond, V. P., Sallinen, A., & Barraclough, R. A. (1996). Nonverbal immediacy and cognitive learning: A cross-cultural investigation. Communication Education, 45, 200–211. doi:10.1080/03634529609379049 McCroskey, J. C., & Richmond, V. P. (2006). Understanding the audience: Students’ communication traits. In T. P. Mottet, V. P. Richmond, & J. C. McCroskey (Eds.), Handbook of instructional communication: Rhetorical and relational perspectives (pp. 51–66). Boston, MA: Pearson, Allyn & Bacon. McCroskey, J. C., Sallinen, A., Fayer, J. M., Richmond, V. P., & Barraclough, R. A. (1996). A multicultural examination of the relationship between nonverbal immediacy and affective learning. Communication Quarterly, 44, 297–307. doi:10.1080/01463379609370019 Mehrabian, A. (1971). Silent messages. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. Murray, H. A. (1938). Explorations in personality. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Myers, S. A., Goodboy, A. K., & Members of COMM 600 (2014). College student learning, motivation, and satisfaction as a function of effective instructor communication behaviors. Southern Communication Journal, 79, 14–26. doi:10.1080/1041794X.2013.815266 Naftulin, D. H., Ware, J. E., & Donnelly, F. A. (1973). The Doctor Fox lecture: A paradigm of educational seduction. Journal of Medical Education, 48, 630–635. Perry, R. P., Abrami, P. C., & Leventhal, L. (1979). Educational seduction: The effect of instructor expressiveness and lecture content on student ratings and achievement. Journal of Educational Psychology, 71, 107–116. doi:10.1037/0022-0663.71.1.107 Preiss, R. W., & Wheeless, L. R. (2014). Perspectives on instructional communication’s historical path to the future. Communication Education, 63, 308–328. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.910605 Richmond, V. P. (1990). Communication in the classroom: Power and motivation. Communication Education, 39, 182–195. doi:10.1080/03634529009378801

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Chris R. Sawyer

16 Communication Apprehension and Public Speaking Instruction Abstract: Since McCroskey’s seminal article in 1977, communication apprehension (CA) has remained one of the most often studied topics in the field of communication studies. Defined by McCroskey as an individual’s “level of fear or anxiety associated with either real or anticipated communication with another person or persons,” CA impedes the formation of oral communication competence especially by novice public speakers. This chapter presents an integrated summary of research on CA conducted by communication scholars and other social scientists. It examines the trait and state aspects of the construct, theories accounting for the development of CA among children and adults, strategies for measuring CA, and methods designed to help students manage public speaking apprehension. The chapter concludes with a discussion of future directions for CA research and pedagogy. Keywords: communication apprehension, public speaking, communibiology paradigm, comparator theory, skills training, systematic desensitization, visualization, exposure therapy, McCroskey

Teachers of public speaking encounter the effects of communication apprehension among their students in an array of commonplace situations. Consider the firstyear community college instructor who feels inundated with requests by her students to postpone giving their presentations. She accommodates as many as she can but is further surprised by the number who fail to attend the class meetings when their speeches were re-scheduled. A university faculty member, who directs the basic course for the Communication Studies Department, notices a spike in the number of students dropping the course around the time of the first major speaking assignment. Lab instructors who grade speeches for this professor detect a recurring pattern of errors or problems with speech delivery among their students including poor eye contact, monotone vocal delivery, deadpan facial expressions, and rigid or non-existent gestures. Many others also display filled pauses, hesitations, and other disfluencies, despite preparing and appearing to read from extensive notes or manuscripts. The majority of students fail to achieve the minimum speaking time set for their speech assignments. During academic advising sessions, another professor is appalled to learn that his advisees use terms like upsetting, nerve-wracking, or terrifying to describe their experiences with public speaking. Many of them report feeling uncomfortable, physical sensations while speaking, ranging from butterflies or knots in their stomachs to rapid heart rate, chest pres-

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sure, and trouble breathing. These scenarios represent just a few of the ways that communication apprehension impacts public speaking instruction. Communication apprehension (CA) refers to the physiological, psychological, and behavioral symptoms associated with the fear of real or imagined public speaking situations. Within the field of communication, CA has been studied as both a state and as a trait. State CA can be observed in the moment-by-moment reactions of speakers before, during, and after giving their public speeches. By contrast, trait CA reflects differences among individuals that remain stable over time and are resistant to change due to maturation or learning. Within the context of public speaking instruction, CA continues to be an evolving construct. Beginning with its roots in social learning theory, CA was first attributed to issues in upbringing such as excessive punishment for speaking that suppressed the development of oral communication competence. When combined with poor modeling of social skills in the home, the resultant effect was the “quiet child” in the classroom who shrinks from the notice of teachers, preferring silence to embarrassment and humiliation by peers. With few skills and little encouragement to develop more and better ones, anxiousness about speaking simply compounds with time. Consequently, students and workers with this background suffer, while their less anxious counterparts enjoy greater success at school and in professional life. With time, social learning explanations gave way to advances in the biological sciences, including the work of neurophysiologists and behavior geneticists. At first, these new explanations for traits augmented and then later supplanted the more traditional ones upon which the modern field of communication science was based. Although these advances improved theories of CA by making them more economical and powerful, the practical concerns of how to treat students with high CA still remain. This chapter presents an integrated summary of research on the issue of communication apprehension conducted by communication scholars and other social scientists over the past 50 years. It examines theories accounting for the prevalence of CA among children and adults, strategies for measuring trait and state CA, and methods designed to help students manage or reduce public speaking apprehension. The chapter concludes with a discussion of future directions for CA research and pedagogy.

Theories Accounting for the Prevalence of CA Estimates for the incidence of trait CA average approximately 20 % for the general population (Sawyer & Richmond, 2015), while between 24.4 % and 9.1 % of college students report high to severe CA, respectively (Bruneau, Cambra, & Klopf, 1980). These figures are consistent with other forms of social phobia, which constitute the most common emotional disorders in the industrialized world (Davidson, 2006).

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Furthermore, public speaking is regarded as the greatest fear among contemporary Americans. More than 60 % of adults in the United States rank giving a public speech as the situation they dread most (Dwyer & Davidson, 2012). In the field of communication, several explanations have been advanced to explain the prevalence of CA, including social learning processes, lapses in skills development, and neurobiological susceptibility.

Social Learning Perspectives Bandura’s (1977, 1986) social learning theory provides a comprehensive explanation of behavior in which humans are seen as thoughtful, self-regulating organisms that are the products of the social structures they themselves create. According to this perspective, which is also known as social cognitive theory (Bandura, 1986), the chief characteristic of human nature is plasticity or the dual capacity of acting upon one’s environment and adapting to it. This is facilitated by the construction of social structures, the use of symbols, and self-critical or reflective thought to modify personal conduct. According to Bandura (2001), plasticity depends upon neurophysiological mechanisms and structures that have evolved over time. These advanced neural systems specialized for processing, retaining, and using coded information provide the capacity for the very capabilities that are distinctively human: generative symbolization, forethought, evaluative self-consciousness, and symbolic communication. (p. 266)

Social learning theory has proved influential in studies of mass communication (Bandura, 2001; Waite, 2009), aggression (Bandura, 1978; Check, Malamuth, & McLaughlin, 1986), and family communication (Ledbetter, 2010; Schrodt et al., 2009). From his earlier writings it is clear that McCroskey (1977, 1984) believed CA was a function of social learning. At that time, he believed that children developed CA through the dual pathways of punishment and modeling. According to this perspective, children learn their communication skills by modeling after their parents and other adults. Children who are exposed to poor exemplars of communication in their formative years are more likely to develop inadequate communication skills. Often, they are discouraged from communicating in the home, which further restricts their development of speaking and listening competence. Upon entering school, these children receive punishment for speaking from teachers who correct them in front of their classmates and by their school peers who subsequently ridicule them for their mistakes. Consequently, CA results from a history of repeated punishment for speaking that children received from their family members, teachers, and peers. As a consequence, children learn to fear speaking. Left unchecked, this learned response carries over into adult life. Consequently, adults with high CA who enroll in their first undergraduate communication course will have experienced many incidents of negative reinforcement in the form of being silenced by

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siblings or parents, teasing from classmates for their awkward responses in class, low marks from teachers on speaking assignments, and unfavorable comments from employers about their shortcomings relating to customers and co-workers. From a social learning perspective, years of modeling and reinforcement contribute to a lack of speaking skills and an abundance of fearfulness when asked to speak.

Skills Deficits and Public Speaking CA One of the more common explanations that students give for the fear of giving a public speech is their own lack of public speaking skill (Bippus & Daly, 1999; Chesebro et al., 1992). From this perspective, fear naturally results when the level of challenge in a social situation exceeds an individual’s self-perceived communication skill (Csikszentmihalyi, 2000). Consequently, impeded development of social skills during youth, such as when so-called quiet children are not encouraged to speak in class (Marshall & Stevenson-Hinde, 2005; Standart & Le Couteur, 2003), directly contributes to the level of CA experienced during adolescence and adult life. Some family communication patterns appear to be precursors of this effect. Specifically, families that discourage conversation (Elwood & Schrader, 1998; Kelly et al., 2002) and expressiveness (Hsu, 1998) appear to diminish the likelihood that children will develop communication skills. Students with high levels of CA often evade graded speaking assignments and avoid enrolling in courses that teach public speaking skills. Consequently, high CA students rarely overcome their skills deficits, thereby perpetuating the problem. Even when enrolling in public speaking courses, other forms of avoidance, such as procrastination, impede the development of their communication skills. Students who delay preparing their speeches often perform more poorly than their classmates and receive lower grades as a direct result (Menzel & Carrell, 1994). Behnke and Sawyer (1999b) found that the tendency of students to put off preparing for their classroom speaking assignments was a function of communication apprehension and perceptions of their own speaking competence. That is, procrastination on public speaking assignments was positively correlated with the CA of students (r = .70) but was inversely related to their self-perceived communication competence (r = -.48). Behnke and Sawyer (1999b) observed that when students procrastinate, they often become dissatisfied with the inferior quality of their speeches. This emotional upset, in turn, contributes to public speaking anxiety.

The Communibiology Paradigm For more than twenty years following McCroskey’s (1977b) summary of CA research, social learning remained the preeminent explanation for the development of CA in communication literature. Coincidentally, during the same period researchers in a

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number of emerging disciplines, such as the cognitive neurosciences and behavioral genetics, were beginning to discover how individual differences in biological functioning contributed to the formation of traits such as social anxiety. Several communication scholars followed suit (e.g., Beatty, 1998; Cappella, 1991; Horvath, 1995). Knapp, Miller, and Fudge (1994) concluded that among the future trends in communication research would be greater attention to the work of geneticists in explaining interpersonal behavior. Scholarly interest in temperament research eventually coalesced in the communibiological paradigm. Entitled Why We Communicate the Ways We Do: A Communibiological Perspective, McCroskey’s (1997) Carroll C. Arnold lecture set forth five central propositions that marked a departure from conventional thinking about human communication: – Proposition 1: All psychological processes involved in social interaction depend on brain activity, making necessary a neurobiology of communication. – Proposition 2: Brain activity precedes psychological experience. – Proposition 3: The neurobiological structures underlying temperament traits and individual differences are mostly inherited. – Proposition 4: Environment or “situation” has only a negligible effect on interpersonal behavior. – Proposition 5: Differences in interpersonal behavior are principally due to individual differences in neurobiological functioning. (pp. 9–11). Combined, these propositions amount to a radical departure from social learning as a way of accounting for communication traits. The field of behavioral genetics contributed additional support to the communibiological perspective, particularly through studies of temperament and heritability. Identical or monozygotic (MZ) twins share the same genetic make-up, whereas fraternal or dizygotic (DZ) twins are no more genetically similar than any other pair of siblings. Organizations known as twins registries maintain information on MZ and DZ twins, including whether they grew up in the same households or were reared separately, such as in the case of each twin in the pair being adopted by different families. By comparing the correlation coefficients for each type of twin paring on any behavioral or personality trait, researchers can estimate the degree to which that specific trait is a function of genetics. Beatty, McCroskey, and Heisel (1998) proposed that CA is blend of two such traits, namely neurotic introversion. Twins studies of that time showed a level of heritability averaging around 48 % of the variance in neuroticism and introversion (Loehlin, McCrae, Costa, & John, 1998) with little or no effect of shared environments, such as early family life or upbringing. In their meta-analysis, Beatty, Heisel, Hall, Levine, and La France (2002) reported that 65 % of the variance in social anxiety is attributable to genetics. These scholars also found no support that family environment played a meaningful role in the development of social anxiety. Beatty, McCroskey, and Heisel’s (1998) reinterpretation of CA as temperamental expression represents perhaps the sharpest critique of social learning arising from

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the communibiology paradigm. Among the complaints presented in this paper were that only a few prior studies (Ayres, 1988; Beatty, Plax, & Kearney, 1985; Daly & Friedrich, 1981) actually tested social learning as an explanation for CA, and that the models featured in this research required as many as seven variables to yield only a modest proportion of the variance in trait CA (between 3 and 19 percent). As a result, the number of propositions needed to explain CA could be markedly reduced while simultaneously accounting for types of social anxiety disorders and personality characteristics associated with CA. Thus, compared to social learning, temperament-based explanations offered more parsimonious models of trait CA with substantially greater explanatory power (Beatty, McCroskey, & Heisel, 1998).

Gray’s Comparator Theory of Anxiety Many studies of public speaking apprehension that appeared in communication journals during the late 1990s forward were also informed by Gray’s (1982; Gray & McNaughton, 2000) general theory of anxiety known as reinforcement sensitivity theory (RST), which explains how the dual processes of approach and avoidance serve as complementary strategies for managing threats and opportunities in the environment. According to RST, the cognitive, physiological, and behavioral responses most often associated with stage fright represent activity in a particular arrangement of neurological structures within the human brain.

Environmental Triggers

Comparator

Behavioral Activation System (BAS)

Positive Emotions (Optimism & Hope)

Behavioral Inhibition System (BIS)

Negative Emotions (Anxiety & Frustration)

Fight-FlightFreeze System (FFFS)

Other Defensive Reactions

Figure 1: Diagram of Gray’s Neurophysiological Model of Positive Emotions, Negative Emotions, and Other Defensive Reactions.

Specifically, a neural circuit located in the septo-hippocampal region of the brain called the comparator assesses the level of threat in the immediate environment. Under low-threat or non-threatening conditions, the comparator gives control of on-going behavior to the behavioral approach system (BAS). Activation of the BAS is associated with purposeful, goal-directed behavior. This means that anxiousness will not impede both planned (e.g., giving a speech from prepared notes) and spon-

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Monitors the immediate environment and engages the BIS when signs of punishment, non-reward, novelty or innately feared stimuli are detected.

Behavioral Inhibition

Signals of Punishment Signals of Non-reward Novel Stimuli Innate Fear Stimuli

Comparator Circuit

Environmental Triggers

taneous communication behaviors, such as unrehearsed vocal cues and gestures. In fact, BAS activity is more often associated with positive emotions such as relief, hope, and joy. However, in situations perceived as threatening, the comparator triggers the behavior inhibition system (BIS), which suppresses motor activity while simultaneously increasing physiological arousal and defensive psychological reactions, including worry and heightened levels of vigilance. Among the environmental triggers for the BIS are punishment, frustration (non-reward), novel stimuli, and innately feared stimuli.

Accelerated Heart Rate Suppressed/Disrupted Motor Responses Increased Vigilance Rumination

Figure 2: Diagram of Gray’s Comparator and the Environmental Triggers for the Behavioral Inhibition System.

Classroom public speaking situations are replete with these stimuli, such as when students worry about getting low grades (punishment), become frustrated with assignment requirements (non-reward), are intimidated by the size of their audience (innate fear stimuli), or have seldom ever given a presentation (novelty). BIS control over behavior persists in direct proportion to the duration of these environmental triggers during exposure to the fear-arousing stimulus. Accordingly, the BIS is the most economical account for an array of defensive reactions including heightened vigilance, increased heart rate, and suppressed motor responses. Properly applied, speaker self-reports, physiological reactions, and the ratings of their speaking performances by trained observers offer measures of particular aspects of the trait and state CA.

Strategies for Measuring Communication Apprehension Beginning with the earliest empirical studies in the discipline of communication studies, research into the causes, symptoms, and remedies for speech anxiety has

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followed a familiar pattern. That is, conceptual advances and the related work of developing appropriate measurement strategies precede experimental research that, in turn, provides the basis for recommendations on how teachers can help students overcome or at least manage the fear of public speaking. Specifically, Gilkinson’s (1942, 1943) analysis of social anxiety among students enrolled in college public speaking courses was followed by Dickens’ work in the measurement of stage fright (Dickens, Gibson, & Prall, 1950; Dickens & Parker, 1951). Clevenger’s (1959) synthesis of stage fright research focused on the relationships among various operational definitions of speech anxiety in use at that time. These included speaker-reported stage fright, physiological measurements, and observations of speaker behaviors. Although each measurement strategy seemed to possess adequate reliability, the level of correlation among these variables was not sufficient to provide evidence of concurrent validity for any of them (Clevenger, 1959). Based on this empirical fact, it was unclear whether naive construct definitions or faulty measurement strategies were to blame. Within a few years, however, it became evident that previous approaches to the problem of speech anxiety shared a number of conceptual weaknesses that impeded the progress of scholars, including their failure to recognize how each type of measurement reveals unique information. Moreover, communication scholars did not have a strong understanding of important conceptual distinctions, such as the differences in traits and states.

Measuring Communication Apprehension via Student Self-Reports Appearing in the December 1969 issue of Spectra, the Ad Hoc Committee on Evaluation of the Speech Association of America (now known as the National Communication Association) published the following call: Since many problems in speech communication pedagogy may result from students’ inhibitions rather than their inability, we recommend the development of instruments to measure at various ages the extent of communication-bound anxiety. (pp. 3–4)

In response, McCroskey (1970) published his own anxiety instrument, the Personal Report of Communication Apprehension (PRCA). Citing the notorious unreliability of observer ratings and the expense of physiological equipment, McCroskey (1970) chose instead to use student self-report as a measure of public speaking and interpersonal communication anxiety. The various forms of the PRCA reported by McCroskey (1970) enjoyed good levels of internal consistency and concurrent validity. This initial foray into anxiety measurement was quickly followed by a series of studies including systematic desensitization as a means of reducing communication apprehension (CA) among undergraduate speech students (McCroskey, 1972)

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and the effects of CA on interpersonal attraction (McCroskey, Richmond, Daly, & Cox, 1976), person perception (McCroskey & Richmond, 1976), academic achievement (McCroskey & Andersen, 1976), and self-esteem (McCroskey, Daly, Richmond, & Falcione, 1977). Combined with related work of like-minded scholars, this line of studies culminated in several major papers on the CA perspective (McCroskey, 1977a, 1977b, 1983) and the eventual founding of an NCA interest group, the Communication Apprehension and Competence Division. By defining communication apprehension (CA) as the “level of fear or anxiety associated with either real or anticipated communication with another person or persons,” McCroskey (1977b, p. 78) was able to provide educators with useful information about the public speaking anxiety of their students, namely, self-reported speaker apprehension.

Trait vs. state self-reported speech anxiety Around the time that McCroskey was beginning his work with CA, Spielberger (1966, 1972) advanced the related but distinct concepts of state and trait anxiety. Basing his definitions on the factor analytic work of Cattell and Scheier (1958, 1961), Spielberger (1966, 1972) used the term state when anxiety fluctuates with time and traits when referring to measures of individual differences that are stable, such as personality characteristics. Prior to Spielberger’s work, anxiety measures were often ambiguous or excessively broad in their coverage. Self-report measures that recognize the trait-state distinction, on the other hand, either required respondents to generalize about their experiences or to respond to a specific event or moment. That is, this distinction translated down to “How do you generally feel” (trait) versus “How do you feel at a given moment in time,” usually “right now” (state). This conceptual breakthrough proved both useful and influential.1 McCroskey’s (1970) seminal article on measures of communication-bound anxiety, in which CA was described as having both trait-like and state-like characteristics, enabled communication scholars to appreciate this distinction. Taken in turn, both dispositional (trait) and situational (state) aspects of public speaking apprehension have been used by communication scholars in studies of classroom speech assignments. Appearing in more than 300 studies published in the fields of communication, education, and psychology, McCroskey’s (1982) Personal Report of Communication

1 Loo (Logan & Loo, 1979; Loo, 1991) and communication scholars such as Sawyer and Behnke (1996) have used Howarth’s (1978) mu index = (1 – (Test-Retest Reliability/Coefficient Alpha) as an empirical method of differentiating trait measures from their state counterparts. A cut score on this scale has been established for trait (mu < .375) and state (mu = .375 or greater) measures of speaker anxiety. Based on Beatty’s (1994) report of the stability and internal consistency of the PRCA-24, its mu index represents nearly perfect stability (mu = .14). Sawyer and Behnke (1996) estimated the range of the mu index for the STAI (A-State) as between .384 to .539.

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Apprehension (PRCA-24) is by far the most popular measure of trait anxiety used by scholars to study public speaking. The PRCA-24 is comprised of 24 general statements about communication such as, “While giving a speech I get so nervous that I forget facts I really know.” Respondents are asked to rate the extent to which each statement applies to them on a five-step scale ranging from strongly agree to strongly disagree. The PRCA-24 also yields subscales for conversations, meetings, small group discussion, and public speaking. Norms for low, normal, and high levels of CA have been established for each of the subscales of the PRCA-24, as well as for the total score. Excellent overall levels of internal consistency (α = .93 to .94) have been reported for the PRCA-24 (Beatty, 1994; McCroskey, Beatty, Kearney, & Plax, 1985). Moreover, its stability coefficients are high (test-retest reliability < .80). Similar indices of reliability and stability are routinely reported for the public speaking subscale. Alternatively, Spielberger’s (Spielberger, Gorsuch, & Lushene, 1970) state anxiety subscale of the State-Trait Anxiety Inventory (STAI A-State) consists of 20 items that ask respondents to describe their feelings for a particular moment. Since Lamb (1972) first used it to validate his own speech anxiety inventory, the STAI A-State has grown in popularity to become the most widely used measure of state anxiety in empirical social science research today. The STAI A-State has been used in more than 1,200 empirical studies of speech anxiety to date.

Narrowband measures of state anxiety More recently, the STAI A-State scale has been used in studies of communication to focus measurement on very specific events or moments in time called milestones. This narrowbanding principle (Behnke & Sawyer, 1998) has enabled scholars to gain new insights into how human defensiveness impacts communication, including the effects of stimulus exposure on public speaking state anxiety (Finn, Sawyer, & Schrodt, 2009), physical symptoms of discomfort (Smith, Sawyer, & Behnke, 2005; Witt et al., 2006), anxious remorse following employee interviewing (Young, Behnke, & Mann, 2004) and the relationship between anxiety and depression (Witt, Roberts, & Behnke, 2008). Four milestones have been used in studies of narrowband public speaking. Anxiety measures taken one minute prior to giving a speech are said to represent the anticipation milestone. Next, the first minute of the presentation, beginning at the moment when the speaker stands before an audience, has been called confrontation or the moment-of-truth (Sawyer & Finn, 2012). In previous research, the state anxiety of public speakers is highest during either anticipation or confrontation. As a general rule, state anxiety tends to decline progressively from peak levels. Consequently, the third milestone occurs during the final minute of a presentation and has been called adaptation. Habituation, or the rate at which speaker anxiety

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declines during performance, is usually measured by comparing the adaptation milestone to the speaker’s peak anxiety level (Craske et al., 2008). Because state anxiety for most speakers is only slightly higher after giving a speech than for baseline conditions, the fourth and final milestone is said to represent a period of psychological release. In early speech anxiety studies, speakers completed self-report surveys immediately following their presentations and were instructed to record their reactions to speech as a whole. These procedures made it difficult to tell when speakers experienced their greatest levels of stress and whether any pattern differences existed for public speaking apprehension. Researchers began to “unravel the ball of string” in an effort to determine the major anxiety-producing moments or events. This revealed an overall pattern for public speaking state anxiety. In these studies, the peak response for self-reported speaker anxiety occurred during anticipation and then declined steadily throughout the remainder of the speech. Furthermore, speakers consistently reported that their lowest levels of anxiety were during the release milestone. Once group-level patterns are established for many psychological variables, researchers often move on to teasing out component patterns that exist within overall ones. An important goal of this research strategy is to identify new categories or sub-groups so that therapists and educators will be able to more accurately diagnose and more effectively treat the underlying conditions. In the case of psychological measures of public speaking anxiety, Behnke and Sawyer (2004; Sawyer & Behnke, 1999) discovered two component patterns. Specifically, more than two-thirds of their speakers displayed the aforementioned monotonic decreasing function. The remaining participants in these studies reported inverted vshaped patterns, in which their peak anxiety levels occurred during the first minute of their presentations. Behnke and Sawyer (2004) also identified each pattern type with a particular response to acute stress. Whereas progressively diminishing levels of anxiety reflected the psychological process of habituation, a peak anxiety response during initial confrontation with the audience was said to indicate sensitization. Speakers who displayed each pattern were labeled habituators and sensitizers, respectively. In addition to adapting more slowly to public speaking situations (Behnke & Sawyer, 2004), sensitizers have more worrisome thoughts (Addison, Clay, Xie, Sawyer, & Behnke, 2003), and they report more cardiopulmonary discomfort and gastrointestinal distress (Horvath, Hunter, Weisel, Sawyer, & Behnke, 2004) than their habituator counterparts. Furthermore, sensitizers display greater psychological (Roberts, Finn, Harris, Sawyer, & Behnke, 2005) and physiological (Howard & Hughes, 2013; Roberts, Sawyer, & Behnke, 2004) reactivity than habituators, as well.

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Measuring Communication Apprehension via Speaker Physiology Heart rate as an index of speech anxiety When confronted with threat or psychological stress, changes in cardiovascular responses reflect the action of the autonomic nervous system. Consequently, these moment-by-moment fluctuations in the vascular activity of public speakers have been used as an index of their state CA. Among the first such hemodynamic variables used by communication researchers (Behnke & Carlile, 1971) was heart rate (HR), or the average number of contractions in the heart muscle or beats per minute. Among the more beneficial aspects of using HR to measure speech anxiety is that humans are unable to intentionally raise or lower their own HR. As a result, speaker HR is comparatively free from the effects of repression-sensitization. This issue is important to communication educators because sensitizers and repressors give widely differing interpretations to the anxiety symptoms they experience (Franklin, Smith, & Holmes, 2015), thereby making it difficult to determine which students actually have high levels of trait and state CA. Although most speakers will report anxiety levels that are consistent with their physiological reactions, such as heart rate, many others do not. Sawyer and Behnke (2014) found that relative to their HR during speech performance, approximately 40 % of speakers either under-reported their stress levels (repression) or over-reported their state (sensitization). In addition to scholars in the field of communication, several prominent programs of research in other fields employ HR as a physiological indicator of social anxiety. Notably, the Trier Social Stress Test (TSST; Kirschbaum, Pirke, & Hellhammer, 1993; Kudielka, Hellhammer, & Kirschbaum, 2007) uses public speaking as a stimulus to elicit state anxiety reactions. Research using the TSST has largely confirmed the empirical results of communication researchers, including that confrontation (first minute of a speech) is the most physiologically stressful moment of any speech, and that the time course of state anxiety during a speech is a monotonic decreasing function. The TSST has also provided evidence to support Porhola’s (2002) findings of individual differences in arousal styles. Previously, measuring speaker HR was time-intensive, involved expensive equipment that was complicated to operate, and required advanced training on the part of investigators. However, the current state of technology has made the collection of physiological data by educators more practical. These include self-contained physiological measuring equipment, such as systems manufactured by BioPac (www.biopac.com ) and IWorx (www.iworx.com), wearable HR monitors from Polar (www.polar.com ), and apps for the iOS and Android devices (Pappas, 2015). Due to advances in technology, measuring HR in the classroom is now simpler, cheaper, and more accessible to faculty unfamiliar with psychophysiology. Communication educators can now accurately gauge public speaking CA even when speakers are misreporting their actual levels of stress.

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Blood pressure and speaker anxiety Together with heart rate, blood pressure falls into the general class of hemodynamic variables that measure momentary fluctuations in vascular activity produced by disease or psychological factors, such as mental strain. Blood pressure is the hydraulic force exerted on the walls of arteries as oxygenated blood circulates throughout the body and is measured in terms of millimeters of mercury or mmHg2. Communication researchers and other social scientists use blood pressure as an indicator of psychological stress experienced during stressful social interactions, such as public speaking (Bodie, 2012; Gramer, 2006). For example, Dickens and Parker (1951) reported that when compared to baseline conditions the blood pressure of student speakers was elevated immediately after presenting their classroom speeches. They concluded that this global post-performance measurement represented total anxiety or some form of summation of all of the anxiety-producing elements of the presentation. More recently, Elfering and Grebner (2012) took readings of systolic (SBP) and diastolic (DBP) blood pressure of Swiss graduate students who were giving required oral presentations over their Master’s degree thesis projects to audiences composed of fellow graduate students and their faculty advisors. Among these speakers, mean levels of SBP (140.16 mmHg) and DBP (90.85 mmHg) during speech performance were higher than during rest or baseline conditions (SBP = 126.34 mmHg; DBP = 77.68 mmHg). It should be noted that although their baseline SBP and DBP measures indicated that these speakers had normal blood pressure, their average performance levels were consistent with Stage 1 hypertension (Chonanian et al., 2003). Heretofore, blood pressure has not been used extensively in communication research. Recent advances in wearable technology now permit scholars and educators to collect more precise readings of speaker blood pressure with greater economy and convenience than in the past.

Measuring Communication Apprehension via Observed Behavior Behavioral Assessment of Speech Anxiety (BASA) Throughout history many notable figures have described the physical or outward manifestations of stage fright. No less a classical scholar than Cicero once admitted in his book De Oratore (circa 55 BCE) that he would “turn pale at the outset of a speech and quake in every limb and in my soul” (p. 85). In modern communication

2 Early laboratory instruments for measuring pressure used vertical glass cylinders containing columns of mercury that were marked-off in millimeter increments. These became the standard for the natural sciences and medicine because they were considered extraordinarily precise for their day. Consequently, since that time the common scale for blood pressure is given in millimeters of mercury or mmHg.

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research, speech anxiety has been identified with trembling (Behnke, Beatty, & Kitchens, 1978), rigidity (Ayres, Hopf, & Ayres, 1994; Freeman, Sawyer, & Behnke, 1997), diminished eye contact (Hofmann, Gerlach, Wender, & Roth, 1997), vocal disruptions (Lewin, McNeil, & Lipson, 1996), and elevated vocal pitch and faster speech rates (Laukka et al., 2008). Behavioral indicators of speech anxiety have been used less frequently in communication research than either psychological or physiological measurements. Perhaps the most ambitious and successful instrument for capturing audience observations of speaker anxiety is Mulac and Sherman’s (1974) Behavioral Assessment of Speech Anxiety (BASA). Most studies employing the BASA use an 18-item version that requires observers to rate the severity of speaker vocal cues (e.g., Quivering or tense voice; Monotonous, lack of emphasis), verbal fluency (e.g., Nonfluencies, stammers, halting; Vocalized pauses), facial expressions (e.g., Deadpan facial expression) and gestures (e.g., Motionless, lack of appropriate gestures). The response format for each BASA item is anchored by four descriptors of severity positioned along a nine-point scale, as shown below:

0 Not at All

1

2

3 Slight

4

5

6 7 Moderate

8

9 Strong

Observers rate speaker behaviors for brief, well-defined moments of a speech, such as video recordings of one-minute segments. In previous communication research, scholars have reported good levels of inter-rater reliability for the teams using the BASA and four stable factors (Mulac, Wiemann, Moloney, & Marlow, 2009). Specifically, the BASA contains subscales for speaker rigidity, inhibition, disfluency, and agitation. Finn, Sawyer, and Behnke (2003) examined the patterns of audience-perceived anxiety for public speakers using the BASA. In this study, 30 students (13 males, 17 females) enrolled in introductory undergraduate communication courses presented informative speeches to audiences composed of 20–25 fellow classmates and their course instructors. All presentations were video recorded and then shown later to teams of raters who assessed the severity of each speaker’s anxiety behaviors using the 18-item BASA. All presentations were divided into four segments of 60 seconds each. Rating teams viewed every presentation segment and evaluated each speaker’s rigidity, disfluency, inhibition, and agitation. A total BASA score was also computed for each segment. Half of the rating teams viewed the speech segments in chronological order, and the remainder viewed the segments in random order. Irrespective of the order in which the speech segments were viewed by the rating teams, behavioral public speaking anxiety was highest during the first minute of these presentations and then decreased each minute thereafter. Consequently, this

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analysis of speaker behavior reveals a pattern of anxiety over time that is consistent with habituation. In sum, the levels of reliability for each of the methods for measuring CA usually range from adequate to good. Based solely on this fact, any of the measures discussed in this chapter will provide useful information about the speech anxiety of public speaking students. Each taps into a particular anxiety response system. That is, self-reported speaker apprehension represents cognition, heart rate is used as an indicator of physical stress, and observers can ascertain the degree of behavioral inhibition or disruption present during a speech. However, cost and ease of interpretation are also factors that researchers and instructors must consider when deciding on the most appropriate measure of public speaking apprehension. Compared to physiology and direct observation, by far the most economical strategy for measuring CA is to use speaker self-report instruments, such as the PRCA-24 or the STAI (A-State). Economy alone could explain why self-reported measurement dominates studies of public speaking as well as its pervasiveness in the classroom. However, measures of speaker self-reported anxiety take considerable time and effort to score, often require training to interpret, and can be difficult for students to understand. Despite being less expensive than physiological measurement, observational methods like the BASA require an extensive amount of time to score and are more difficult to analyze than traditional self-reports. This is because observation inventories summarize ratings from teams of raters who must be trained to use the instruments. Third, despite being the most costly method of measuring public speaking CA and the strategy requiring the most training to use, physiological measurement is not subject to misreporting errors that can plague self-report data.

Strategies for Treating Classroom CA Although a number of communication scholars have embraced the communibiological perspective, still others have resisted it favoring instead some version of the social learning model. Over the years, this theoretical divide has led to numerous panels at communication conferences, several public debates, and a special issue of Communication Education on the nature-nurture question. In his Editor’s Comments, which prefaced the special issue, Ayres (2000) observed: The question at issue concerns which communication activities are largely learned, which are largely ‘wired in,’ which are amenable to change and under what circumstances, which can be altered by conventional teaching strategies, which need to be addressed by non-traditional approaches, and so forth. In the essays that follow, all of these issues and others are considered in one way or another. In my judgment, these essays establish the general parameters that will guide theory, research, and intervention work for the foreseeable future. (pp. viii)

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Since its publication, communication scholars have sought to address a number of the issues raised in that special issue, including the extent to which CA impacts public speaking (Beatty & Valencic, 2000) and the instructional practices that might help students to better manage their speech anxiety (Dwyer, 2000; Kelly & Keaton, 2000). Specifically, if CA is largely a function of social learning, to what extent can students use social structures and reflective thinking to become more confident public speakers? Conversely, if CA is mainly a function of biological temperament, to what extent can students habituate to public speaking situations? The following section will discuss various interventions and instructional strategies designed to reduce speech anxiety, including some criticisms of these approaches. Following descriptions of the intervention methods, comparative rates of efficacy will be reported.

Systematic Desensitization McCroskey (1972) proposed the use of systematic desensitization as the primary means of helping undergraduates enrolled in introductory speech courses to reduce or manage their public speaking CA. Systematic desensitization (SD) makes use of Wolpe’s (1969) principle of reciprocal inhibition. That is, the bond between an environmental trigger and anxiety is weakened when anxiety-inhibiting stimuli are introduced during the exposure to the trigger. For example, laboratory animals that were fed while being exposed to a fear-arousing stimulus (such as predator stress) displayed less anxiousness than those that did not receive food. Moreover, animals that were fed in a preceding trial displayed less fear in subsequent stress trials than their unfed counterparts. The conclusion is that because feeding inhibits defensiveness, the bond between environmental triggers and the fear reaction was weakened. Applied to humans, SD is a therapy in which individuals are trained to self-induce relaxation in the presence of fear-arousing stimuli. This relaxation response inhibits fear reactions and is carried over to subsequent exposures to the stimulus. Under SD, trainees are first taught relaxation strategies including deep breathing exercises often aided by the use biofeedback equipment. Next, they construct a list of public speaking situations or events that make them fearful and then rank those in ascending order of potency. According to Lane, Cunconan, Friedrich, and Goss (2009), a typical fear hierarchy for public speaking might include reading about speeches alone in one’s room (low level), getting dressed the morning of a speech (mid level), and walking to the podium before an audience (high level). In guided sessions with a therapist or lab teacher, and in individual practice or homework assignments, trainees visualize each fear-arousing situation or stimulus in ascending order until they sense their bodies becoming tense. At that point, they use relaxation exercises until their tension subsides. The process is repeated for each step of the hierarchy.

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Cognitive Restructuring or COM Therapy A second prominent method of reducing CA in public speaking is cognitive restructuring (Fremouw & Scott, 1979; Gross & Fremouw, 1982) or cognitive orientation modification or COM therapy (Motely, 2009). Cognitions play an important role in many theories of human social anxiety, a view bolstered by numerous empirical studies (Plana, Lavoie, Battaglia, & Achim, 2014). Differing types of cognitions have been associated with certain anxiety reactions, such as worrying or rumination with apprehension and catastrophic thinking with panic disorder (Finn, Sawyer, & Behnke, 2009) Furthermore, these seem to emanate from differing areas of the nervous system (Engles et al., 2007). This evidence supports the claim that the types of cognition or self-talk that speakers have during public speaking either maintains or diminishes the human anxiety response. Currently, several methods of cognitive restructuring have been proposed for use in public speaking, including stress inoculation (Jaremko, 1980) and rationalemotive therapy (Straatmeyer & Watkins, 1974). More recently, Motley (1990, 2009) has proposed that two cognitive orientations have a direct impact on public speaking CA. In performance orientation, speakers view public speaking assignments as challenging tasks in which their presentations must impress their instructor or audiences. Students with performance orientation tend to approach giving a speech as actors might prepare to portray their roles in play or like musicians rehearsing for a concert. Practice sessions are aimed at reducing errors and making sure speech delivery is aesthetically pleasing. Conversely, under communication orientation, speakers see public speaking as a conversation in which they are trying to reach audiences with information (Motley, 2009). Practice sessions are not aimed at perfecting delivery but in making their communication more natural, as one might in everyday situations. Speakers with performance orientation experience report higher levels of CA than their communication orientation counterparts. As a result, one method for remediating public speaking CA is to help students to shift from performance-oriented cognitions to communicative ones.

Skills Training Skills training for social interaction problems, such as speech anxiety and shyness, usually involves screening students for skills deficits, followed by cognitive training, goal setting, and behavioral interventions such behavioral rehearsal and feedback. These directly attack one of the main explanations for public speaking CA, namely, that some level of communication skill is required for students to develop confidence. According to Kelly and Keaten (2009), the most comprehensive program of skills training for anxiety reduction is Phillips’ (1977) reticence program or rhetoritherapy. This program has been in place at Pennsylvania State University for many years and has been the model for similar programs across the United

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States. Applied to public speaking instruction, programs of anxiety reduction via skills training are usually augmented with systematic desensitization or some form of cognitive modification, especially in the basic course (Robinson, 1997). One of the chief advantages of using skills training for anxiety reductions is that, compared to most other methods, it can be more easily integrated into the instructional activities of courses in which public speaking is taught.

Visualization Therapy and Performance Visualization According to Ayres, Hopf, Hazel, Sonandre, and Wongprasert (2009), “Visualization refers to the nonverbal processes people use to create or recreate sensations associated with real or hypothetical experiences” (p. 375). Visualization therapy (VT) involves scripts in which trainees engage in imagined interactions with an audience during a hypothetical speaking situation. Similar to systematic desensitization, VT scripts begin with a brief period of guided deep breathing and relaxation exercises. Then, the script guides the trainee to imagine positive images related to getting ready for the day, waiting to be called on to speak, the first moments of the presentation, presenting the body of the speech, and concluding the speech successfully. The script ends as it began with a brief deep breathing and relaxation exercise. VT scripts may be presented aloud in class by a lab instructor or trainer or read alone silently by the student. Audio recordings of VT scripts are also available for use in class or by individuals as a homework assignment. VT combines aspects of other anxiety-reduction methods. An alternative method, called performance visualization, uses video recordings of effective public speeches and asks students to imagine modeling their behavior after the highly proficient speakers in the video. Studies of both approaches report that the scripted form of VT lowers CA, while performance visualization improves speaking skill (Hsu, 2009).

Evaluating Anxiety Reduction Strategies Hsu (2009) followed Cohen’s (1977) standards when reporting the effect sizes in her meta-analysis of speech anxiety reduction strategies.3 Accordingly, systematic desensitization has a medium effect on trait CA (r = .34) and a small effect on state CA (r = .17). VT has a large effect on both trait (r = .52) and state CA (r = .55), with performance visualization showing a medium effect on trait CA (r = .41) and a large effect on state CA (r = .59). Two methods have been examined only in relation to reducing trait CA and they have widely differing results. Specifically, skills training reportedly had no effect (r = .09), while COM therapy has by far the largest effect

3 That is, r = .1 is a small effect, r = .3 is a medium effect, and r = .5 is a large effect.

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of any single method for reducing trait CA (r = .82). Scholars studying the efficacy of speech anxiety treatments have reported that students appear to benefit most when several methods are combined (Allen, 1989; Allen, Hunter, & Donohue, 1989; Hopf & Ayres, 1992; Hsu, 2009). Currently, Dwyer’s (2000, 2009) multidimensional approach to reducing public speaking anxiety offers the strongest effect on trait CA (r = .88). The efficacy of speech anxiety reduction strategies have been challenged on grounds that trait CA is anchored by biological factors including heritability and temperament (Beatty, McCroskey, Heisel, 1998). Consequently, the effects reported for treating CA treatment may be subject to threats to validity that were not controlled in the research designs of previous studies. Further, Beatty et al. (1998) argued that students participating in many anxiety treatment studies were selected because they reported high levels of trait CA. Consequently, changes in trait CA could be a function of regression to the mean. Duff, Levine, Beatty, Woolbright, and Park (2007) criticized previous research into the reduction of public speaking CA on the grounds that practically no study of any method used a credible placebo condition. Consequently, the changes in CA reported by participants in many previous studies could be a simple matter of reflecting back on what anxiety researchers were hoping to find all along, namely, that their methods worked. In their followup experiment testing this speculation, Duff et al. (2007) reported that the effects of a credible placebo were similar to visualization therapy in the reduction of trait CA. Clearly, future research on treatment of public speaking CA should control for these and other potential validity threats. In summary, early attempts at developing effective treatments for speech anxiety were based on the premise that if CA was learned, then there was the possibility that it could be unlearned, or at least new responses acquired through training. Coupled with precise tools for measuring speech anxiety, a number of highly regarded treatment strategies borrowed from clinical research offered hope that communication scholars could determine the underlying causes and potential remedies for public speaking CA. However, this initial optimism was short-lived. Treatments for public speaking anxiety were scarcely as efficacious as expected. No single method of reducing CA was found to be superior, although combinations of methods were believed to be somewhat more effective. Furthermore, though several scholars attempted to put forward a global theory of anxiety for communication, none became preeminent.

Directions for CA Research and Pedagogy A long-standing pattern of instruction, particularly in introductory college communication courses, is to screen students for their levels of public speaking CA (Heuett, Hsu, & Ayres, 2003) and then implement methods designed to remediate the

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conditions (Bodie, 2010; Connell & Border, 1987). However, future efforts at improving the efficacy of CA reduction methods, such as those that were reviewed in this chapter, will be contingent on the following three issues. – To what extent are the conceptual and operational definitions of CA contained in current literature adequate representations of actual social anxiety? – Why do psychological, physiological, and behavioral measures of public speaking CA fail to correlate better than they do? – Irrespective of how one might measure CA, to what extent can students reduce their fear of giving speeches? Morevoer, if CA can be reduced, what is the best instructional strategy for helping students to overcome speech anxiety? Each of these issues is inextricably linked to the other two. Consequently, solving any single issue portends progress in the others. The remainder of this chapter will examine each in turn, pointing out directions for future research and pedagogy related to public speaking CA. First, advances in theory and conceptual refinements are always preparatory to improvements in pedagogy and treatment. Over the past 50 years, explanations for CA have evolved from social learning perspectives to biological ones. Likewise, emerging fields such as behavior genetics and social neuroscience will continue to offer advances in social anxiety theory and portend new strategies for treating the condition. Currently, researchers have begun to recognize that state anxiety is composed of at least two fear-related syndromes called anxious apprehension and anxious arousal. The former of these is synonymous with worry, and the latter with panic attack. Each emanates from its own circuitry within the human nervous system (Nitschke et al. 1999) and is supported by unique patterns of psychological and behavioral response. For example, worrying differs substantially from catastrophic thinking (Breitholtz et al., 1999). Proneness either to worry or to panic under stress appears to represent individual differences and has been detected among public speakers. For example, Finn, Sawyer, and Behnke (2009) advanced a predictive model of anxious arousal based on trait anxiety and the human startle reflex. Distinguishing which students will worry from those who will panic is the first step in developing specialized treatments for each syndrome. In turn, this knowledge could inform future pedagogy in the public speaking classroom. Future researchers should begin this project by identifying the cognitions that distinguish worry from catastrophic thinking. Additionally, conventional thinking about CA is that it is an emotional condition that can be observed in the self-reports, physiological reactions, and vocal and physical delivery of speakers. This expectation is consistent with Buck’s (Buck, 1997; Buck & Powers, 2013) readout theory of emotion. Unfortunately, attempts to correlate each of these types of emotional readouts have met with disappointing results. That is, psychological, physiological, and behavioral measures of speech anxiety usually do not correlate with one another to the extent that many scholars

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expect. This phenomenon is commonly reported by psychophysiologists in their studies of anxiety and is called the problem of response system concordance (Calvo & Miguel-Tobal, 1998). In his review of early stage fright research, Clevenger (1959) commented on a lack of interdependence among psychological measures, heart rate, and ratings of speaker behavior. More recently, Sawyer and Behnke (2014) proposed a possible solution to response system concordance by constructing a speaker profile based on individual differences in the startle reflex and psychological trait anxiety. When they controlled for these response patterns in their experiment, Sawyer and Behnke were able to improve the correlation between speaker self-reported anxiety and their peak heart rates during each of the four public speaking milestones of anticipation, confrontation, adaptation, and release. Future researchers should amend this psychophysiological profile by including types of speaker delivery behavior. Current research supports the use of exposure therapy for treating public speaking anxiety (Foa, Hupper, & Cahill, 2006). Under this treatment method, students are placed in the presence of a fear-arousing stimulus for brief periods of time, and their interactions with that stimulus are controlled so that they experience little or no harm. Habituation to the stimulus occurs as a natural function of human adaptation to the environment. This means that with repeated and prolonged exposures to audiences under controlled conditions, public speakers will naturally become less anxious and fearful. Finn, Sawyer, & Schrodt (2009) reported that students in the basic course became progressively more comfortable while practicing speeches before small audiences composed of their peers. This effect carried over during graded speech assignments before much larger groups, such as when the entire class was present. Exposure therapy for public speaking has shown clinical success, including when delivered through virtual reality (Owens & Beidel, 2015). An added benefit of exposure therapy is that teachers of public speaking can combine it with other instructional activities, such as lab exercises, practice sessions, and other skills training strategies. Instructional scholars should examine the extent to which exposure therapy can provide an overarching paradigm for future studies of anxiety reduction. Traditionally, teachers of public speaking and instructional researchers have shared a two-fold ethic, namely, that treating CA should be motivated by compassion and pragmatism. Graded speeches, which are required in many undergraduate courses besides those offered in departments of communication, provoke feelings of physical discomfort, social embarrassment, and alarm among a sizeable proportion of those who must perform those assignments. Further, social anxiety has been shown to impede the development of communication competence, thereby diminishing the prospects for personal and professional success among those affected populations (Sawyer & Richmond, 2015). Consequently, helping students to overcome their fears of giving public speeches alleviates suffering while simultaneously promoting personal effectiveness. However, for instructional communica-

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tion scholars and educators to achieve continued progress toward this goal, they must embrace advances in theory, measurement, and treatment of social anxiety.

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Owens, M. E., & Beidel, D. C. (2015). Can virtual reality effectively elicit distress associated with social anxiety disorder? Journal of Psychopathology and Behavioral Assessment, 37, 296– 305. doi:10.1007/s10862-014-9454-x Pappas, S. (January, 2015). Best heart rate monitor apps. Retrieved from http://www.livescience. com/49653-best-heart-rate-monitor-apps.html. Paul, G. L. (1966). Insight vs. desensitization in psychotherapy: An experiment in anxiety reduction. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Phillips, G. M. (1977). Rhetoritherapy versus the medical model: Dealing with reticence. Communication Education, 26, 34–43. Plana, I., Lavoie, M. A., Battaglia, M., & Achim, A. M. (2014). A meta-analysis and scoping review of social cognition performance in social phobia, posttraumatic stress disorder and other anxiety disorders. Journal of Anxiety Disorders, 28, 169–177. doi:10.1013/janxdis.2013.09.005 Porhola, M. (2002). Arousal styles during public speaking. Communication Education, 51, 420– 438. Roberts, J. B., Finn, A. N., Harris, K. B., Sawyer, C. R., & Behnke, R. R. (2005). Public speaking state anxiety as a function of trait anxiety and reactivity mechanisms. Southern Communication Journal, 70, 162–167. Roberts, J. B., Sawyer, C. R., & Behnke, R. R. (2004). A neurological representation of speech state anxiety: Mapping salivary cortisol levels of public speakers. Western Journal of Communication, 68, 219–231. doi:10.1080/105703104093747971 Robinson, T. E. (1997). Communication apprehension and the basic public speaking course. A National survey of in-class treatment techniques. Communication Education, 46, 188–197. Roever, J. E. (December, 1969). Research notes. Spectra, 5(6). 3–5. Sawyer, C. R., & Behnke, R. R. (1996). Public speaking anxiety and the communication of emotion. World Communication, 25, 21–30. Sawyer, C. R., & Behnke, R. R. (1999). State anxiety patterns for public speaking and the behavior inhibition system. Communication Reports, 12, 33–41. doi:10.1080/08934219909367706 Sawyer, C. R., & Behnke, R. R. (2009). Communication state anxiety. In J. A. Daly, J. C. McCroskey, J. Ayres, T. Hopf, & D. M. Ayres, (Eds.), Avoiding communication: Shyness, reticence, and communication apprehension, (3 rd ed., pp. 85 − 96). Cresskill, NJ: Hampton Press. Sawyer, C. R., & Behnke, R. R. (2014). Profiles of response specificity and specificity for public speaking. In J. M. Honeycutt, C. R. Sawyer, & S. A. Keaton (Eds.), The influence of Communication on physiology and health (pp. 55–72). New York, NY: Peter Lang. Sawyer, C. R., & Finn, A. N. (2012). Learning to cope with speech anxiety the natural way. In A. K. Goodboy & K. Shultz (Eds.), Introduction to communication studies: Translating scholarship into meaningful practice (pp. 235–241). Dubuque, IA: Kendall Hunt. Sawyer, C. R., & Richmond, V. P. (2015). Motivational factors and communication competence. In A. Hannawa & B. Spitzberg (Eds.), Communication competence (pp. 193–212). Berlin, Germany: De Gruyter Mouton. Schrodt, P., Ledbetter, A. M., Jernberg, K. A., Larson, L., Brown, N., & Glonek, K. (2009). Family communication patterns as mediators of communication competence in the parent-child relationship. Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, 26, 853–874. doi:10.1177/0265407509345649 Smith, C. D., Sawyer, C. R., & Behnke, R. R. (2005). Physical symptoms of discomfort associated with worry about giving a public speech. Communication Reports, 18, 31–41. Spielberger, C. D. (1966). Anxiety and behavior. New York, NY: Academic Press. Spielberger, C. D. (1972). Anxiety as an emotional state. In C. D. Spielberger, (Ed.), Anxiety: Current trends in theory and research (Vol. 1). New York, NY: Academic Press. Spielberger, C. D. (1983). State-Trait Anxiety Inventory for Adults (Form Y). Redwood City, CA: Mind Garden.

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17 Social Perspectives on Student Learning Abstract: “Social identities influence who we are, how we see ourselves, and how we relate to others” (Torres, 2011, p. 203). Family members, mentors, teachers, and peers shape students’ identity development through childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood as students learn the norms, customs, and ideologies that will shape how they engage with other people and the community/society they are a part of. The contemporary student population is not homogenous. Students represent high levels of diversity differing in age, gender, race/ethnicity, socioeconomic status, sexual orientation, and disability. Understanding different types of social identity is salient to understanding student perspectives on student learning and identifying the ways that instructors can best support and serve a highly diverse student population. To further this understanding, this chapter will conceptually and operationally define key terms related to social identity (e.g., at-risk students, family, and social identity), summarize relevant theories and models of identity (e.g., racial identity development, ethnic identity development, sexual identity development, and gender identity development), review essential findings on student characteristics (e.g., first-generation students, students with disabilities, minority students, international students, and nontraditional students) and supportive relationships (e.g., parents and peers), and suggest directions for advancing research focused on social perspectives on student learning. Keywords: social identity, racial/ethnic identity, sexual identity, gender identity, social support, first-generation college students, at-risk students, international students, nontraditional students Students who engage in the learning process represent high levels of diversity differing in age, gender, race/ethnicity, socioeconomic status, sexual orientation, and disability. Throughout childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood, students learn norms, customs, and ideologies from family members, mentors, teachers, and peers who shape students’ identity development and the ways students engage with other people and the community/society they are a part of. This chapter outlines conceptual and operational definitions for at-risk students, family, and social identity; summarizes relevant theories and models of identity including racial, ethnic, sexual, and gender identities; reviews essential research findings on student characteristics and supportive relationships; and concludes with suggestions for advancing research focused on social perspectives on student learning.

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Conceptual and Operational Definitions At-risk Students Global initiatives In a September 2012 statement, United Nations Secretary-General Ban Ki-Moon stated that education is the “driving force for human development” that “empowers people with the knowledge, skills, and values they need to build a better world” (Global Education First Initiative, 2012a, para. 1). Although many researchers and practitioners agree that education is important, many at-risk students do not have access to the learning environments, textbooks, parental support, transportation to school, and teacher training needed for a quality education (Global Education First Initiative, 2012a). To push the global educational movement forward, Ban KiMoon launched the Global Education First Initiative (GEFI) in September 2012. The GEFI has three priority areas that focus on helping at-risk students: put every child in school, improve the quality of learning, and foster global citizenship (Global Education First Initiative, 2012b). Through education that is accessible to all students, communities can drive social, economic, and political progress, and students can take advantage of enhanced prospects for health and prosperity (Global Education First Initiative, 2012c). Thus, Priority #1: Put every child in school focuses on removing the barriers to school enrollment and completion that include unaffordable costs (e.g., uniforms, textbooks, teacher salaries, school maintenance, and formal fees) that keep parents from sending their children to schools; a shortage of classrooms that results in overcrowding, large class sizes, long travel distances for children living in rural areas, and dilapidated classrooms; humanitarian emergencies in conflictafflicted countries and natural disaster-stricken areas that force millions of children out of school; gender discrimination that occurs when countries undervalue girls’ education resulting in child marriage, early pregnancy, domestic labor, and high drop-out and illiteracy rates; and child labor that occurs when children are pushed out of school and into the labor market prematurely, often placing their physical, mental, and emotional well-being at risk (Global Education First Initiative, 2012c). Although many students have access to an education, not all students have access to a quality education. This can be problematic when millions of children lack basic literacy and numeracy skills because teachers and schools are illequipped to facilitate the learning process (Global Education First Initiative, 2012d). Hence, Priority #2: Improve the quality of learning focuses on removing barriers to quality learning that include a shortage of qualified teachers; a lack of learning materials (e.g., textbooks, workbooks, exercise sheets, readers, core materials, lesson preparation materials, and information and communication technolo-

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gies); a weak foundation for early learning that occurs when children lack the cognitive development, preparedness, and reading and writing skills needed to progress to higher educational levels; challenging family environments that occur when families are less able to reinforce and facilitate learning; language barriers that occur when children are unable to learn in their mother tongue; hunger and poor nutrition that result in lack of concentration and growth stunting; and ineffective systems to evaluate the performance of students that fail to measure how well students are learning (Global Education First Initiative, 2012d). Once students are able to attend school and attain a quality education, countries can focus on ensuring that education remains relevant in addressing global questions and challenges so that people can “forge more peaceful, tolerant and inclusive societies” who have the “understanding, skills and values they need to cooperate in resolving the interconnected challenges of the 21st century” (Global Education First Initiative, 2012e, para. 1). Thus, Priority #3: Foster global citizenship focuses on removing barriers to global citizenship that include the legacy of the current education system that focuses on preparing students for exams rather than life; the outmoded curricula and learning materials that are not developed through a participatory process of all groups; the lack of teacher capacity that occurs when teachers lack the training, confidence, and resources they need to teach curriculum that facilitates global citizenship; an inadequate focus on values that replicates social inequalities and reinforces social pathologies rather than empowering students to learn and thrive; and a lack of leadership on global citizenship that regularly assesses progress made to help students develop 21st century skills (Global Education First Initiative, 2012e). By urging countries to join together to push the global educational movement forward through these three priorities, the GEFI works to help children in all countries have access to a quality education.

National initiatives In response to the GEFI and other global initiatives, some countries and governmental/nonprofit organizations have partnered to develop direct service programs to help at-risk students receive access to a quality education. Some examples include African Education Program’s Amos Youth Centre, Canadian Education Agency’s “Innovation that Sticks” School District Case Study Program, Education Africa’s Edu-Bike Africa, Education International’s Global Campaign for Education, Rural China Education Foundation’s Rural Education Innovators Program, World Bank Group’s Systems Approach for Better Education Results (SABER) Country Reports, and Worldfund’s STEM Brasil. The U.S. Department of Education’s TRIO Programs are an example of a national initiative that helps at-risk students, “low-income individuals, first-generation college students, and individuals with disabilities,” receive access to a quality edu-

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cation (U.S. Department of Education, 2014, para. 2). The TRIO Programs include seven programs that provide direct services to students. Three programs were designed to foster increased educational opportunity and attainment: Upward Bound, Talent Search, and Student Support Services (U.S. Department of Education, 2014). Post-1968, four programs were added to provide a wider range of services to students: Educational Opportunity Centers “to help adults select a postsecondary education program and obtain financial aid,” Ronald E. McNair Postbaccalaureate Achievement “to foster doctoral degree attainment by students from underrepresented segments of society,” Upward Bound Math and Science “to address the need for specific instruction in the fields of mathematics and science,” and Veterans Upward Bound “to serve returning…veterans” (U.S. Department of Education, 2014, p. 3). In 2014, TRIO Programs allocated $ 828,616,131 to fund 2,787 projects that served 759,094 participants (U.S. Department of Education, 2015). These funded projects provided services for at-risk students allowing them to progress from middle school to postbaccalaureate programs helping many students achieve the GEFI and U.S. Department of Education’s goal of a quality education for all students.

Family Although global and national initiatives help promote student success, support often begins in the home with the family. As families become more discoursedependent and construct and reconstruct their definitions of family over the lifespan, structural definitions no longer fully capture the changing nature of family (Galvin, 2006). A more inclusive definition of family is especially important for communication scholars who study less traditional family forms (e.g., stepfamilies, gay and lesbian families, etc.), because how communication scholars define family has implications for teaching, research, and public policy. Ideally, this definition should be broad enough to include a wide range of traditional and less traditional family forms, yet narrow enough to distinguish families from other groups of people. Floyd, Mikkelson, and Judd (2006) discussed three lenses communication scholars use to study family: role, sociolegal, and biogenetic. The role lens is a broad, inclusive, and widely accepted lens many communication scholars use to define family. This lens focuses on how families define themselves. If a person believes that his or her family constitutes a family and function in ways that families do, communication scholars consider these people to be a family. This lens centers communication processes and emotions rather than laws or genetics. The sociolegal lens is a narrower lens than the role lens. This lens focuses on families who are recognized by common or statutory law and suggests that societies create laws to protect societies. Although this lens is narrower than the role lens, the sociolegal lens does account for changes in laws that occur over time as societies change laws to reflect societal changes. The biogenetic lens is the narrowest lens

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of the three lenses. This lens focuses on reproduction and genetics. Although it is tempting to take the broadest lens possible and adopt a role lens that includes almost any family form, Floyd et al. wisely urged communication scholars to also consider lenses that include objective, external criteria (e.g., sociolegal or biogenetic) as well as subjective, internal criteria (e.g., role) to ensure that the family definition is narrow enough to distinguish families from other interpersonal relationships. Braithwaite and Baxter’s (2006) definition of family as “a social group of two or more people characterized by ongoing interdependence with long-term commitments that stem from blood, law, or affection” (p. 3) provides a broad, inclusive definition that considers both external and internal criteria. This definition captures both external (blood and law) and internal (affection) criteria and clearly distinguishes between familial and nonfamilial forms (families are characterized by ongoing interdependence and long-term commitments). The external and internal criteria closely align with Floyd et al.’s (2006) three lenses outlined above (blood = biogenetic, law = sociolegal, and affection = role) and recognize the importance of each type of tie. The added characteristics of ongoing interdependence and longterm commitments recognize what makes family forms distinct from nonfamily forms. Ongoing interdependence could include living together or engaging in behaviors that rely on other family members. Long-term commitments indicate that there is an expectation for endurance: something that may not be present with close friends who people do not consider to be family.

Social Identity Families often provide the first socializing influence that shapes students’ social identities. “Social identities influence who we are, how we see ourselves and how we relate to others” (Torres, 2011, p. 203). Four types of identity are particularly salient to understanding social perspectives on student learning: racial, ethnic, sexual, and gender identity. Racial identity refers to “a sense of group or collective identity based on one’s perception that he or she shares a common racial heritage with a particular racial group” (Helms, 1990, p. 3), making race more socio-politically than culturally constructed (Helms, 1995). Ethnic identity “concerns one’s attachment to, sense of belonging to, and identification with one’s ethnic culture” (Sodowsky, Kwan, & Pannu, 1995, p. 133). Sexual identity is a historically and culturally specific aspect of social identity rooted in a person’s culture of origin that relates to the development and affirmation of sexual orientation (Broido, 2000; Rust, 1996). Gender identity includes “personal and societal beliefs, stereotypes, and ingrained views about the fundamental nature of women and men” (Gilbert & Rader, 2002, p. 567). Researchers have developed relevant communication and interdisciplinary theories and models that illuminate how students develop their racial, ethnic, sexual, and gender identity. In the next section, I will outline several

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theories and models that are salient to understanding social perspectives on student learning.

Relevant Theories and Models Communication Theory of Identity Hecht’s (1993) communication theory of identity (CTI) examines identity negotiation among different cultural groups from a communication lens. Hecht, Jackson, and Ribeau (2003) stated that identity is “inherently a communication process and must be understood as a transaction in which messages and values are exchanged” (p. 230). CTI researchers locate identity within four different frames: personal, enacted, relational, and communal (Golden, Niles, & Hecht, 2002; Hecht et al., 2003). Because these frames are not static or linear, they can be studied simultaneously, be competing and/or complementary, and capture the complex and multidimensional nature of identity (Golden et al., 2002; Hecht et al., 2003). The first frame, the personal frame, is derived from a person’s self-cognitions, self-concept, and sense of well-being (Golden et al., 2002). The second frame, the enacted frame, focuses on how a person expresses and/or reveals his/her identity to others through direct and indirect messages. The third frame, the relational frame, describes how identity emerges through relationships and how relationships construct shared group identities (Golden et al., 2002; Hecht et al., 2003). The fourth frame, the communal frame, illustrates how a community identity becomes a shared identity of all members of the community (Hecht et al., 2003). Understanding identity as multilayered and interpenetrating from a CTI perspective provides insight into how students’ racial, ethnic, sexual, and gender identities are similarly interconnected. Several student development models are highlighted next to illustrate how interdisciplinary researchers have examined student identity development processes.

Racial Identity Models Researchers have developed several models focused on African, Latino, Asian, Native American, and White racial identities. Helms and Cook (1999) developed the six-status racial identity development model – consisting of People of Color (POC) or African, Latino, Asian, and Native American (ALANA) – to describe how these groups of people “overcome or abandon socialized negative racial-group conceptions (that is, internalized racism) … in order to develop a realistic self-affirming collective identity” (p. 86). In Status 1: Conformity, POC/ALANA adapt to and internalize White society’s perspectives of their racial group (Helms & Cook, 1999). In

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Status 2: Dissonance, POC/ALANA realize that they are not a full part of White society and experience ambivalence and anxiety (Helms & Cook, 1999). In Status 3: Immersion, POC/ALANA replace their negative information or lack of information about their own racial group with positive information and begin to identify with and idealize their own racial group rejecting White society (Helms & Cook, 1999). In Status 4: Emersion, POC/ALANA feel a sense of solidarity, comfort, and joy with people from their own racial group (Helms & Cook, 1999). In Status 5: Internalization, POC/ALANA make a positive commitment to and identify with their own racial group, fostering a sense of pride and fulfillment (Helms & Cook, 1999). In Status 6: Integrated awareness, POC/ALANA are able to have positive views of their racial group and racial self (Helms & Cook, 1999). In addition to Helms and Cook’s (1999) racial identity development model that focuses on POC/ALANA in general, other researchers have focused on developing models that are specific to a single racial identity. Ferdman and Gallegos’ (2001) Latino and Latina racial identity orientations model includes six orientations: white-identified, undifferentiated/denial, Latino as other, subgroup identified, Latino-identified (racial/raza), and Latino-integrated. These six orientations represent how Latino/Latina people move from identifying with White culture to integrating with Latino/Latina culture. Kim’s (2001) Asian American identity development stages closely parallel Ferdman and Gallegos’ (2001) model. Kim’s (2001) five stages include ethnic awareness, white identification (active and passive), awakening to social political consciousness, redirection to Asian American consciousness, and incorporation. Horse’s (2001) paradigm of American Indian identity includes five ways consciousness of Indian identity is influenced: through grounding in native language and culture, genealogical heritage, worldview derived in Indian ways/ old traditions, idea of self as an Indian person, and official recognition as a tribe member. In addition to developing a racial identity development model that focused on POC/ALANA, Helms (1990) developed the two-phase model of White racial identity development. Phase 1: Abandonment of racism includes three statuses. In Status 1: Contact, a White person encounters people from other racial groups and develops positive feelings about how other racial groups are treated. In Status 2: Disintegration, a White person experiences conscious but conflicted awareness of Whiteness and recognizes potential moral dilemmas associated with being White. In Status 3: Reintegration, a White person acknowledges his/her White identity and accepts a belief in White superiority and Black inferiority. Over time, if a White person begins to question his/her definition of whiteness and justifiability of racism, Helms indicates that he/she transitions to the second phase. Phase 2: Development of a nonracist identity includes three statuses. In Status 4: Pseudo-independence, a White person begins to question whether or not Blacks are innately inferior to Whites. In Status 5: Immersion/emersion, a White person replaces myths and stereotypes of what it means to be White with accurate information about being White. In Sta-

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tus 6: Autonomy, a White person is able to develop a racially transcendent worldview; internalize a positive, nonracist White identity; and work to abolish racial oppression. Together, Helms’ six statuses represent how a White person abandons racism and develops a nonracist identity.

Ethnic Identity Development Model Phinney’s (1990) three-stage model of ethnic identity development complements the aforementioned racial identity development models. The three stages include unexamined ethnic identity, ethnic identity search (moratorium), and achieved ethnic identity (Phinney, 1990). In the first stage, unexamined ethnic identity, a person has not yet explored their ethnicity (Phinney, 1990). This can include diffuse and foreclosed subtypes. The diffuse subtype includes a person who lacks interest or concern with ethnicity, whereas the foreclosed subtype includes a person whose views of ethnicity are based on others’ opinions (Phinney, 1990). In the second stage, ethnic identity search (moratorium), a person begins to explore and seek to understand his/her ethnicity (Phinney, 1990). In the third stage, achieved ethnic identity, a person has a clear understanding of and confidence in his/her ethnicity (Phinney, 1990).

Sexual Identity Development Models In addition to racial/ethnic identity development models, researchers have also developed sexual identity development models. Cass’ (1979) six-stage homosexual identity model begins with the possibility that one is gay or lesbian and ends with a person who is certain about and comfortable with a gay or lesbian identity. In Stage 1: Identity confusion, people become consciously aware that homosexuality is relevant to themselves/their behavior. In Stage 2: Identity comparison, people accept the possibility that their identity may be homosexual. In Stage 3: Identity tolerance, people become increasingly committed that it is possible they are gay or lesbian. In Stage 4: Identity acceptance, people begin to increase their contact with other homosexuals and accept that they are homosexual. In Stage 5: Identity pride, people begin to value other homosexual people more positively. In Stage 6: Identity synthesis, people are able to see good and bad in homosexuals and heterosexuals. Building upon Cass’ (1979) early work, Fassinger and Miller (1997) and McCarn and Fassinger (1996) developed a model with two four-phase parallel branches. One branch depicts a person’s individual identity, and the other branch depicts a person’s group identity. In the awareness phase, a person becomes aware of feeling or being different and becomes aware of others who have sexual orientations that are not heterosexual. In the exploration phase, a person begins to actively explore these feelings of difference and seek knowledge of gays, lesbians, and gay/lesbian

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communities. In the deepening/commitment phase, a person begins to develop greater self-knowledge and make choices regarding his/her sexuality, develop greater knowledge and awareness about the lesbian/gay community, and develop a stronger commitment to this community. In the internalization/synthesis phase, a person internalizes same-sex feelings, practices, and relationships; synthesizes gay/lesbian identity with his/her overall identity; identifies with and internalizes the gay/lesbian community; and synthesizes the community identity with his/her individual identity. In contrast to Cass’ (1979), Fassinger and Miller’s (1997), and McCarn and Fassinger’s (1996) models, Worthington, Savoy, Dillon, and Vernaglia’s (2002) model focuses on identifying and describing how heterosexual people develop a sexual identity. Their multidimensional model of heterosexual identity development includes six biopsychosocial influences, two process components, and five identity development statuses. Six biopsychosocial influences include systematic homonegativity, sexual prejudice, and privilege; culture; microsocial context; religious orientation; gender norms and socialization; and biology. These influences shape a person’s progression through the two process components of sexual identity development. Similar to Fassinger and Miller’s and McCarn and Fassinger’s lesbian and gay identity formation model, this model includes two parallel, reciprocal process components: individual identity and social identity. The individual identity process component involves “recognition and acceptance of, and identification with, one’s sexual needs, values, sexual orientation and preferences for activities, partner characteristics, and modes of sexual expression” (Worthington et al., 2002, p. 510). The social identity process component involves “the recognition of oneself as a member of a group of individuals with similar sexual identities … and attitudes toward sexual minorities” (Worthington et al., 2002, p. 510). The individual identity and social identity process components occur within five identity development statuses: unexplored commitment, active exploration, diffusion, deepening and commitment, and synthesis (Worthington et al., 2002). In contrast to linear homosexual identity development models, these flexible, fluid statuses provide opportunities for circularity and revisiting of statuses throughout a person’s life span.

Gender Identity Development Models/Theory Finally, researchers have turned their attention to developing several gender identity development models from the perspective of women and men. Downing and Roush’s (1985) five-stage model for feminist identity development for women includes passive acceptance, revelation, embeddedness-emanation, synthesis, and active commitment. Together, these five stages help women construct a positive feminist identity. Ossana, Helms, and Leonard’s (1992) four-stage model for womanist identity development includes pre-encounter, encounter, immersion-emer-

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sion, and internalization. Together, these four stages allow women to develop through a womanist lens that may or may not be coupled with feminist beliefs. In contrast to Downing and Roush’s (1985) and Ossana et al.’s (1992) models that focus on how women develop gender identities, Edwards and Jones (2009) presented a grounded theory of men’s gender identity development. In this theory, men initially fulfill the social context, the external expectations of what it means to be a man. These external expectations include dominant society and subordinated cultural group’s expectations. Men perform masculinity according to external expectations as they move through three phases: feeling a need to put on a mask, wearing a mask, and experiencing and recognizing consequences of wearing a mask. Over time, men begin to transcend external expectations as they accept that the mask does not completely fit them, and critical influences and incidents help them transcend the performance (Edwards & Jones, 2009).

Essential Research Findings Student Characteristics As the student population continues to become more diverse and heterogeneous, communication researchers have examined a wide range of student characteristics that inform how different types of students learn best. In the next section, I will outline five lines of research that focus on specific student populations: first-generation students, students with disabilities, minority students, international students, and nontraditional students.

First-generation students The number of first-generation students enrolling in colleges and universities has been increasing since the 1920s (Billson & Terry, 1982; National Center for Education Statistics, 1998), and today approximately one in every three incoming students is a first-generation student (Ramsey & Peale, 2010). Although some firstgeneration students overlap with nontraditional, under-prepared, or disadvantaged students, first-generation students are a highly diverse group who merits research study. Much of the communication research on first-generation students has sought to expand research in other fields that has correlated first-generation student status with variables related to college success by focusing on how firstgeneration students navigate the challenges of the transition from high school to college (Orbe, 2004; Orbe & Groscurth, 2004; Wang, 2012, 2014a, 2014b) as they pursue their goal of becoming the first generation in their family to earn a fouryear college degree. Although all high school students experience some challenges

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in transitioning to college, first-generation students face the additional challenge of not having the direct parental college experience they need to prepare for, enroll in, and complete college (Orbe, 2004). This often means that first-generation students must learn academic and social rules on their own through personal experience or the direct college experience of other supportive relationships (e.g., peers, university faculty, university staff, mentors, older relatives, and older community members) and work to bridge their home/family/neighborhood life with their college life (Orbe, 2003, 2004; Orbe & Groscurth, 2004). Researching first-generation students provides insight into how a student’s identity is constructed and enacted during college and how the student characteristic of generational status impacts a student’s educational success. To shed light on this topic, Orbe (2004) asked first-generation students to describe “what it’s like to be a first-generation college student” by discussing the transition to college during the first year, the most difficult part of the adjustment, advice a first-generation student would give other first-generation students preparing to attend college, how conscious they were about being the first in their family to attend college, and specific things that made the transition to college more or less successful (p. 135). Using Hecht’s (1993) CTI as a sensitizing theoretical framework, Orbe described levels of first-generation student status among participants (high-salience, variable-salience, and nonsalient) and accounts of how the first-generation students’ personal frames of identity were enacted relationally with others (identity enactment at home, identity enactment on campus). He found that the salience of the first-generation student identity varied greatly and was influenced by the situational context and type of campus, that a student’s first-generation status became more salient when it intersected with other aspects of a first-generation student’s identity, and that first-generation students lacked a sense of community with other firstgeneration students who shared this common student characteristic. Orbe and Groscurth’s (2004) study complements Orbe’s (2004) work. They used co-cultural theory to explore the ways that first-generation students communicated on campus and at home. Orbe and Groscurth found that communicating on campus involved three orientations: nonassertive assimilation where first-generation students emphasized commonalities between themselves and continuing-generation students, assertive assimilation where first-generation students would overcompensate in aspects of their college career for the lack of opportunities they had in high school, and assertive accommodation where first-generation students would engage in intragroup networking with other first-generation students. Orbe and Groscurth also discussed how first-generation students engaged in co-cultural orientations at home as they shared their college experiences with their families. First-generation students who were oriented toward nonassertive assimilation remained silent about college at home to avoid controversy and maintain positive face with family members. First-generation students who adopted a nonassertive or assertive separation orientation chose to maintain interpersonal barriers between

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themselves and others or embrace the stereotypes of being a college student. Most first-generation students chose assimilation or separation orientations rather than accommodation orientations because accommodation orientations often led to hostile reactions at home. Building upon Orbe and Groscurth’s (2004) research that examined first-generation students’ co-cultural orientations in college and home contexts, Wang examined the memorable messages first-generation students received from on-campus mentors (2012) and parents (2014b) about college and family. In her study that focused on memorable messages from on-campus mentors, Wang (2012) identified five college memorable messages themes: pursuing academic success (e.g., finding appropriate resources, finding a balance between educational and social activities, and making intelligent decisions), valuing school (e.g., valuing the degree and college experience), increasing future potential (e.g., greater financial stability and career options), making decisions (e.g., course, major, and minor selection), and support and encouragement (e.g., motivation and solidarity). She also identified three family memorable messages themes: comparing and contrasting (e.g., wanting better family relationship than mentors’ family relationship, wanting family relationship like mentors’ family relationship, and viewing mentor as a supplement to family relationship), counting on family (e.g., parental advice and support), and recognizing the importance of family (e.g., remembering your roots, appreciating and respecting your family, and being a role model). In her study focused on memorable messages from parents, Wang (2014b) identified five memorable messages themes: remembering family, focusing on family, counting on family, not worrying about family, and setting a good example. Together, Wang’s studies provided insights into the messages first-generation students remembered, accepted, and internalized as they transitioned from high school to college. Building upon the focus on how first-generation students communicated in home and college contexts (Orbe, 2004; Orbe & Groscurth, 2004) and the messages first-generation students heard about parents and on-campus mentors (Wang, 2012, 2014b), Wang (2014a) explored the supporting relationships first-generation students formed with teachers who had the college knowledge rooted in first-hand experience that their parents did not have. Using a turning points analysis guided by Schlossberg’s (1981) transition theory, Wang (2014a) identified teacher messages and turning points that occurred in pedagogical and interpersonal student-teacher relationships. Pedagogical relationship turning point themes included helping students with course-related problems, failing to help students with course-related problems, engaging students, and misbehaving (e.g., incompetence, offensiveness, indolence; Wang, 2014a). Interpersonal relationship turning point themes included empowering students, minimizing power distance with students, and helping students with personal problems. These turning point themes provided insight into how first-generation students formed relationships that helped them during their transition from high school to college.

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Students with disabilities In addition to helping first-generation students succeed, many universities work to provide support for students with disabilities so that they can receive a quality education in the least restrictive environment without losing the support they need to be successful. As with any college student, students with disabilities who receive “high levels of support from family, educators, related service providers, classmates, and others” (Calculator & Black, 2009, p. 329) can thrive in the classroom environment, meet the demands of daily living, and enjoy a high quality of life (Calculator, 2009). In some cases, for students with severe disabilities, student, classmate, and teacher support may entail the use of augmentative and alternative communication (AAC). Calculator and Black identified and validated a list of eight evidence-based best practices that facilitate full inclusion and participation in the general education classroom and other settings outside the classroom associated with the educational setting: “promoting inclusive values; collaboration between general and special educators; collaboration between educators and related service providers; family involvement; choosing and planning what to teach; scheduling, coordinating, and delivering inclusive services; assessing and reporting student progress; and instructional strategies” (p. 336). Although Calculator and Black focused specifically on best practices for working with students with severe disabilities, they also suggested that these practices might be applicable with the students with disabilities general population. Rackensperger’s (2012) study supports Calculator and Black’s (2009) assertion that family involvement is important in helping students with disabilities succeed academically. Since students with disabilities do not graduate from high school at the same rate as their peers without disabilities, providing appropriate support for students who do transition from high school to college is particularly important in ensuring that structural and policy barriers do not inhibit these students’ potential achievement (Hamm & Mirenda, 2006). Similar to first-generation students, positive family involvement and influences in students with disabilities’ lives can combat the barriers these students face academically, particularly when families place a high importance on quality education, have high expectations of their children, and support the self-determination of their children (Furney & Salembier, 2000; Guy, Shin, Lee, & Thurlow, 2000; Millar & Mercer, 1997). Rackensperger (2012) identified five themes related to family influences on students with disabilities’ academic success: “(a) the impact of the family in seeking appropriate education, (b) homework …; (c) the family’s role in communicating the importance of education; (d) mothers as driving forces of support; and (e) family encouragement to be selfdetermined” (p. 110). Taken together, these themes underscore how parental involvement is connected with students with disabilities’ academic success. Raghavendra, Olsson, Sampson, McInerney, and Connell (2012) further highlight the importance of inclusion and participation and robust social networks in ensuring that

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students with disabilities learn and develop the skills they need to be successful. Raghavendra et al. (2012) suggest that schools should focus on building community capacity so that peers and school staff are well-equipped to provide students with disabilities with opportunities for communication and participation.

Minority students Building within the community context is also important when working with minority students. Feinauer and Whiting (2012) discussed the important role of context in promoting or hindering developmental outcomes for children and youth. Bronfenbrenner (1979) described this context as the ecological environment that consists of micro, meso, and macro layered social systems that make up the context in which human development occurs. The meso-system that “comprises the interrelations among two or more settings in which the developing person actively participates (such as … the relations among home, school, and neighborhood peer group)” (Bronfenbrenner, 1979, p. 25) is particularly salient to minority students, because this social context, particularly the school and neighborhood, is where sense of identity may be constructed (Cooper, García Coll, Bartko, Davis, & Chatman, 2005; Duncan & Raudenbush, 2001; García Coll & Szalacha, 2004; Grotevant, 1987). In some cases, the social context can promote development. Feinauer and Whiting (2012) suggested that the differences in sociolinguistic contexts in Latino communities in Chicago and Boston across neighborhoods and schools were the result of different ecological environments. Their findings suggested that these differences in sociolinguistic contexts shaped Latino students’ ethnic identity formation as well as the way these students viewed themselves in relation to their ethnic group. In other cases, the social context can hinder development. For example, Block (2012) found that minority people were influenced by class-mediated experiences when they entered established class systems. When minority people do not fit the class positionings they were afforded in their surrounding environment, they experienced additional challenges because class was linked with their minority identity. Block reported that class and minority identity also shaped how others treated the person because others often had stereotypical images associated with the minority identity. Teachers represent individuals within the school social context who can promote development and enhance minority students’ ethnic identity formation. Martin and Mottet’s (2011) study focused on how teachers could best help Latino students in light of extant literature that suggested Latino students learned best in environments that provided structure and emotional support (Griggs & Dunn, 1996), when around others (e.g., family, community members, teachers, and students; Griggs & Dunn, 1996), and where learning was cooperative and meaning

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was contextualized, concrete, and relevant rather than abstract and theoretical (Yong & Ewing, 1992). Martin and Mottet found that instructor use of nonverbal immediacy behaviors (e.g., smiling, leaning forward, pleasant tone of voice) positively influenced Hispanic students’ affective learning (e.g., increased affect for teacher and affective learning for writing), regardless of the level of verbal feedback sensitivity (e.g., direct and targeted on the task or indirect and targeted on the relationship). Martin and Mottet’s findings suggested that teachers have the potential to establish rapport and positively influence minority students’ learning process.

International students In addition to working with minority students from diverse backgrounds, teachers also work with an increasingly diverse classroom as the presence of international students increases (Wadsworth, Hecht, & Jung, 2008). Wadsworth et al. focused on examining the effects of international students’ acculturation, perceived discrimination, and identity gaps on their level of satisfaction with their experience in host country college classrooms. They found that acculturation was positively related and perceived discrimination was negatively related to educational satisfaction with the host country classroom. International students’ communication was also salient to their classroom experiences: communication that confirmed personal identities raised the quality of classroom experiences, whereas communication that disconfirmed personal identities lowered the quality of classroom experiences. Arasaratnam (2005) explored the role that another variable, international students’ sensation seeking, “the need for new and exciting stimuli” (pp. 184–185), and related variables played on international students’ satisfaction of experiences in the host country. Arasaratnam’s focus on international students in host colleges provided insight into the challenges these students might face such as “language barriers, cultural complexities, homesickness, and difficulty making friends” (p. 185). The researcher hypothesized that international students’ affinity for novelty and adventure associated with sensation seeking would lead them to interact with new people who were different from themselves, even if that interaction involved some risk. This hypothesis was based on Morgan and Arasaratnam’s (2003) study that suggested that high sensation seekers showed more positive attitudes toward pursuing intercultural friendships than low sensation seekers, and Arasaratnam’s (2004) study that suggested that sensation seeking was positively correlated with motivation to seek intercultural contact and social initiative. Arasaratnam (2005) found that sensation seeking did play a role in determining whether international students chose to socialize with students from other cultures and that international students who were motivated to interact with students from other cultures exhibited overall satisfaction with their experience in the host country.

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In addition to studying international students’ perceptions of their study abroad experience, researchers have also examined host students’ experiences, perceptions of, and interactions with international students in the classroom (Bird & Holmes, 2005). As host countries move toward increasing the number of international students and moving into the international education market, researchers have become interested in studying the impact on students studying at the host institution as well as international students traveling to the host institution to study abroad (Export Education Report, 2001). Similar to Arasaratnam’s (2005) study, researchers suggest that international students vary in their motivation levels to engage with students from other cultures at their host institution (Abe, Talbot, & Geelhoed, 1998; Burns, 1991; Nesdale & Todd, 1993; Smart, Volet, & Ang, 2000; Ward & Kennedy, 1993; Ward & Masgoret, 2004; Zimmerman, 1995). In some cases, host students might prefer low levels of interaction with international students, whereas international students prefer increased interactions with host students (Beaver & Tuck, 1998; Nesdale & Todd, 1993; Volet & Ang, 1998; Ward & Masgoret, 2004). Although host students may be reticent to engage with international students, greater contact has the potential to help host students develop intercultural competency, learn new ways of thinking (Volet & Ang, 1998), and develop future networks (Export Education Report, 2001). Based on their interviews with host students, Bird and Holmes advanced four suggestions on how universities could maximize the benefits of a campus with international students: sharing the value of interaction between host and international students, sharing the value of the intercultural classroom, maintaining a high level of quality, and educating host students about cultural differences. These four suggestions provide insight into how host universities can ensure a quality educational experience for host and international students.

Nontraditional students Another population that merits study is the nontraditional student population. Nontraditional students, those above the age of 25 “who typically work full-time, pay for their education, and have delayed higher education,” represent a student population with distinct motivations and learning orientations (Houser, 2005, p. 224). Nontraditional students are often driven by changes in life obligations and learning expectations (Neeley, Niemi, & Ehrhard, 1998). Researchers suggest that nontraditional students are intrinsically motivated and learning-oriented (Gorham, 1999; Landrum, McAdams, & Hood, 2000), more productive in experiential learning environments (Knowles, 1984), possess different expectations for instructor communication behaviors (Galbraith, 1998), and “desire for instructors to recognize them as students who take ownership of their own learning, respect their knowledge and experiences, and treat them as adults” (Houser, 2005, p. 215). Houser

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found that nontraditional students desired different instructor communication behaviors from traditional students. One primary communication variable that was different was affinity-seeking. Nontraditional students did not desire teachers who demonstrated too much liking, dynamism, care, and concern. Instead, they preferred to receive information, apply information, and move forward (Neeley et al., 1998). With regard to verbal immediacy behaviors, nontraditional students again preferred the teacher to serve as a facilitator and were more concerned with learning and applying the material than feeling close to the instructor (Houser, 2005). Despite these differences in affinity-seeking and verbal immediacy, nontraditional students shared traditional students’ desire for instructor clarity. Building on her 2005 study, Houser (2006) further compared traditional and nontraditional students’ expectations and experiences with instructor immediacy, clarity, and affinity-seeking to determine the effects on their cognitive learning and state motivation. She found that nontraditional students were more motivated to learn and more inclined to engage in learning-oriented behaviors that boosted cognitive learning. Houser’s (2006) study also confirmed her previous research findings that suggested that traditional students preferred clear, nonverbally immediate, affinity-seeking instructors, whereas nontraditional students valued clear instructors who facilitated the learning process.

Supportive Relationships Although students vary in terms of student characteristics as outlined in the previous section, Burleson, Albrecht, Goldsmith, and Sarason (1994) argued that “the presence of caring relationships and the experience of social support indisputably contribute to the quality of a person’s life” (p. xi). The communicative approach to studying social support focuses on how individuals build supportive ties, seek and obtain social support, and react to social support by examining the communicative and interactional processes individuals use to solicit and convey social support (Burleson et al., 1994). Researchers suggest that social support is important in interpersonal relationships in the learning context because social support serves as a buffering factor that helps students cope with and manage stressful situations (Jones, 2008; Mortenson, 2006; Thompson & Mazer, 2009). For students who are experiencing stressors within the learning environment, social support can buffer stress, promote personal adjustment, and mediate well-being. Consequently, students who receive social support are healthier and report less stress than students who receive little or no social support (Delistamati et al., 2006). To explore how social support can buffer stress and enhance student learning outcomes, researchers have examined helping relationships that facilitate social support including parental and peer relationships.

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Parents Communication provides the fundamental block of the family unit (Baumbach, Forward, & Hart, 2006) and provides the means by which families develop, negotiate, maintain, and modify over time (Vogl-Bauer, Kalbfleisch, & Beatty, 1999). Parents play an integral part in shaping children’s formation of social identities through setting standards, engaging in supportive behaviors, and discussing topics related to student identity development. Although setting standards that challenge students to succeed can be effective, Agliata and Renk (2009) found that when students failed to meet perceived or actual parental expectations, they reported more anger, depression, and anxiety. Frisby and Martin (2010) investigated how motives were related to purposive use of supportive behaviors. They reported that parents with affection and pleasure motives provided emotional and social support, whereas parents higher in affection and control motives provided more advice support. Forward, Sansom-Livolsi, and McGovern (2008) found that assurance, dependency, and opposite-sex parent interaction positively impacted students’ satisfaction with their family relationship, and that high levels of religiosity positively correlated with openness, assurance, and dependency. Edwards, Allen, and Hayhoe (2007) found that financial dependence on parents led to greater communication about a student’s financial situation. When students were dependent on their parents for tangible resources, they discussed the use of these resources with their parents. Edwards et al. also found sex differences in that parents provided less financial support for their sons than their daughters, and that daughters were more likely than sons to talk with their parents about their own financial situation.

Peers In addition to parents, peers can provide support to students and enhance their physical and psychological well-being. For some students who choose not to use formal university resources, support from other students and peers may be their primary or only source of support. Feng and Hyun (2012), Wright (2012), and Ye (2006) examined informal online support. Feng and Hyun assessed whether friends’ virtual presence affected people’s coping with stress and likelihood to seek support from friends. They found that the online presence of a friend resulted in higher levels of self-efficacy, greater stress decrease, and greater likelihood of seeking support from that friend. Wright examined perceptions of support providers, emotional support, and perceived stress for student Facebook users and found that perceived emotional support from other users was predictive of lower perceived stress and perceptions of potential support providers’ homophily and attraction were predictive of increased emotional support. Ye found that international students who had used online ethnic social groups and received online informational

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support experienced lower levels of acculturative stress and lower levels of acculturative stress associated with perceived hatred. With regard to offline support, the Student Academic Support Scale (SASS) developed by Thompson and Mazer (2009) and validated by Mazer and Thompson (2011) assesses the frequency, importance, and mode of communicating academic support among students and their peers by measuring nurturant and action-facilitating student academic support. Measuring informal student support provides insights into how universities can better tailor formal support services to help students and ways in which universities and researchers can partner together to increase student satisfaction, success, and retention.

Future Research Researchers interested in social perspectives on student learning have the potential to contribute to this area of inquiry in several ways. First, they should pursue scholarship that breaks stereotypes rooted within student characteristics and focus on identifying ways that people and institutions can facilitate the learning process in targeted ways that meet the needs of specific student populations. Second, researchers should work to translate their findings to practice through data-driven educational interventions for teachers and administrators. Third, they should focus on highlighting characteristics of support systems within the family that can help students prepare for college and contribute an understanding of supportive communication within the family relationship. Fourth, researchers should focus on the varying contexts in which socialization occurs including the home as well as the school. Through an understanding of social perspectives on student learning and the pursuit of further knowledge through these four potential research directions, researchers and practitioners alike have the opportunity to better understand students, the relationships and experiences that shape students’ identity formation, and the communication that facilitates and supports student learning. Through greater knowledge and understanding, researchers and practitioners can work together to ensure that all students have access to the quality education the GEFI strives for.

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Pedagogy and Classroom Management

Stephanie E. Kelly and David K. Westerman

18 New Technologies and Distributed Learning Systems Abstract: Distance learning refers to any structured learning environment in which the teacher and student are not in the same geographical location. The instructional technologies that support distance learning change constantly, but the goals of teachers and learners remain relatively constant: to transform students’ thoughts and actions through the acquisition of relevant information about the topic of study. Thus, instructional communication scholars are concerned with how the use of ever-evolving technologies can influence communication, instruction, motivation, and learning. In addition to a brief history of distance learning around the world, this chapter overviews how communicating through technology can be managed to provide effective instructional messages, create interpersonal connection between teacher and learners, and foster student engagement with course material. The chapter concludes with predictions and concerns about the future of distributed learning. Keywords: distance learning, distributed learning, online learning, communication technology, instructional technology, social presence, immediacy

If, as is said to be not unlikely in the near future, the principle of sight is applied to the telephone as well as that of sound, earth will be in truth a paradise, and distance will lose its enchantment by being abolished all together. (Arthur Strand, 1898, as quoted in Hollan & Stornetta, 1992, p. 119)

This assertion is representative of how people often view technology: as a utopian promise. The fact that the assertion was made in 1898 suggests that this utopian promise existed long before today’s advanced technologies, which do allow people to apply the principle of sight to the telephone, and also to circumvent time as well as space. In the 21st century, readily available technologies such as the Internet and video distribution systems enable educators to deliver instruction to off-site learners in a wide variety of contexts, including college courses, professional training modules, and personal instructional units such as those found at Coursera.com, to name but a few. However, when teachers transmit their instructional messages through computer-mediated communication (CMC) as opposed to face-to-face (FTF) interaction in the traditional classroom, a number of questions arise: Is CMC an effective way to teach? Do students learn as much or as well as in FTF classrooms? Should mediated instructional messages be designed differently from onsite classroom instruction? Are off-site learners satisfied with the teaching-learning experience? Are distance instructors satisfied when contact with students is limited

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to CMC alone? These and many other questions have occupied the attention of researchers and practitioners in both Education and Communication, and they are the focus of this chapter. Though instructional technologies change constantly, the goals of teachers and learners tend to remain relatively constant: to transform students’ thoughts and actions through the acquisition of relevant information about the topic of study. Therefore, instructional communication scholars are not as concerned with specifics about the technologies themselves (e.g., specifications, capabilities, or technical configurations) as with how the use of technologies can influence communication, instruction, motivation, and learning (cognitive, affective, or behavioral). In the case of distributed learning systems, this means identifying how communicating through technology can be managed to provide (1) an efficient and effective transmission of instructional messages, (2) an acceptable degree of interpersonal connection between teacher and learners, (3) a sufficient level of student engagement with essential course material, and (4) adequate assessment of learning outcomes. Thus, in this chapter we will focus more on communication functions and instructional messages than on specifications of the technologies themselves. We will provide a brief overview of the emergence of e-learning and identify the advantages and disadvantages of technology-assisted instruction. We will examine the roles of communication and instruction in the distance learning experience and discuss the theoretical goal of bridging distance between teachers and learners. Finally, we will offer some predictions and concerns about the future of distributed learning.

The Evolution of Distance Education Distance Learning in the United States In the United States, the earliest documented attempts at distance education through technology took place in the late 1980s as universities began broadcasting classes through interactive video and audio equipment to remote satellite campuses (Carrell & Menzel, 2001). The phrase distance education was coined to reflect the nature of the experience in which students were actively and synchronously being educated with peers on the main campus while being geographically separated from that main campus by a distance too far to easily travel (Bejerano, 2008). This form of distance education was a stride forward in making higher education more readily available to the public because it brought education opportunities to those who were too geographically isolated or constrained by busy schedules to otherwise participate. Although correspondence courses had also provided a distance learning option for many years, technology-assisted distance education improved on the correspondence course model because synchronous communication could

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take place between students and their instructor as well as among peers, allowing for immediate feedback (Carrell & Menzel, 2001). Although some distance learning sites began with one-way broadcast of instruction, the model quickly changed to utilize two-way cameras and microphones, making class time similar to a video conference with the exception that only the instructor was able to see students at all sites. The ability of students to see and interact with instructors provided opportunities for instructors to develop a richer rapport with students and decrease psychological distance (Hackman & Walker, 1990). Distance education evolved further in the 1990s with the Internet boom (Bejerano, 2008). Slowly, universities took advantage of larger servers and broader bandwidth, transitioning from education heavily dependent on audio-visual equipment (i.e., video cameras, recorders, transmitters, broadcast channels) to placing content on the Internet through assistance of course management systems. Distance education through the Internet, like its broadcast predecessor, was still providing education at a geographic distance. However, placing the content on the Internet provided additional advantages to learners in that courses could now be accessed anytime, anywhere (Bejerano, 2008; Moore, Dickson-Deane, & Galyen, 2011). This gave more autonomy to those learners who had busy schedules and obligations that prevented them from attending a regularly scheduled class time, instead allowing them to sign into the online course at their convenience. Thanks to the advent of Internet-assisted distance education, for-profit schools such as the University of Phoenix were also able to make a wide sweep across the education market in the 1990s (Cook & Grant-Davie, 2013). While the rise of forprofit online universities increased the popularity of online education, this phenomenon may also have damaged the reputation of distance education, as some students completed degrees at institutions without accreditation or requisite practicums needed to acquire jobs post-graduation. Despite uncertainty regarding the quality of an online education by the general public, the utility of Internet-assisted learning became increasingly clear, not only for college students but also for students in kindergarten to 12 th grade (K-12; Rice, 2006). In 2004, the U.S. Department of Education published the National Education Technology Plan, which recommended that states, districts, and schools provide every public school student access to e-learning as a way to recover credits and seek new opportunities. As a result, distance education was implemented in K-12 classrooms across the U.S. via video conferencing, audio-visual broadcasting, and Internet platforms (Rice, 2006). By 2006, distance education was categorized specifically as online learning if 80 % of the course was delivered online (Allen & Seaman, 2006). The heavy reliance on the Internet made online distance education a continuously evolving experience, as universities and K-12 systems adopted emerging media (e.g., learning management systems, social media, edugaming) to find the best delivery modes (Moore et al., 2011; Rice, 2006). By the turn of the century, online education required students to have some technological literacy to navigate learning platforms;

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because of this, some scholars began using the term distance learning to denote a learner’s skill or ability to learn through computer-mediated communication (CMC), rather than the delivery mode itself (King, Young, Drivere-Richmond, & Schrader, 2001).

Distance Learning in Other Countries Although the focus of this brief history so far has been distance education in the United States, this is truly only a small piece of the history of distance education. Distance education has spread throughout the world through similar motivations found in the United States: to meet the growing demands for education overcoming geographic and financial limitations. To meet these demands, distance education has been used on every populated continent. While this section cannot cover the entire history of distance education, it can touch on some of the most notable highlights. Great Britain began using radio to support distance education in the 1920s as a supplement to secondary education (Aggarwal, 2007). Britain replicated its model of radio-supplemented education throughout its colonies in Africa, Canada, and India. This work in distance education substantively changed the availability of education in many countries, particularly in Africa. Though Britain was a pioneer of distance education, it lagged behind the rest of the developed world by the late 1950s, in that it had not expanded into adult distance education (Young, Perraton, Jenkins, & Dodds, 2010). Today, the United Kingdom in partnership with the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland are at the forefront of distance education with The Open University, which was established in 1969 (The Open University, 2015). The Open University is an open enrollment distance learning university that uses its website, YouTube, and iTunesU to educate learners across the world. It is the most popular university in the United Kingdom, serving all students through online education. One of the most notable developments from Britain’s radio-supplemented education exists today in Kenya (Aggarwal, 2007). The Kenyan Correspondence Course Unit (CCU) was developed primarily to accommodate for a lack of qualified teachers. Beginning in 1967, CCU was established by radio through the University of Nairobi, primarily to serve adult learners (Perraton, 2012; Young et al., 2010). Through CCU, any individual could receive a Junior Certificate of Secondary Education or a teaching certificate. By 1972, over 8,000 individuals had enrolled in the program. Today, it still exists through the Department of Distance Learning, using the Internet and teleconferencing to deliver the curriculum. This CCU model was used by Nigeria, Tanzania, and Zimbabwe when they established their first teachertraining projects in the late 1970s (Perraton, 2012). Distance education also developed beyond the influence of Great Britain. In the 1920s, the Soviet Union began structuring first correspondence courses and then radio broadcasts to reach rural citizens (Aggarwal, 2007). By the 1930s the

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system was used widely to increase the quantity of trained laborers (Perraton, 2005). Unlike most countries who used distance education to reach disadvantaged groups for the benefit of individual citizens, the Soviet Union mandated distance education to build a stronger base of educated workforce for the good of the country (Aggarwal, 2007). Because of the widespread dominance and long history of distance education in this area, it is still common for students in the former Soviet Union to have all or part of their education by distance delivery. Elsewhere, in 1947, with the backing of the Roman Catholic Church, radiophonic schools were established in Columbia and soon throughout Central and Latin America to educate the poor (Aggarwal, 2007). Courses were taught so that adults and children could learn together. The courses were supplemented with printed material made available from the government (Young et al., 2010). By the turn of the millennium, distance learning began to become recognized in Latin America as not a supplement for those who needed remedial education, but rather a legitimate means through which to educate any motivated learner (Armengol, 2002). Arguably, the current pacesetter for distance education is the nation of Australia. Because Australia has some of the most geographically isolated communities in the world, predominantly composed of cattle stations, camel farms, mining camps, and tourist ventures, the Australian government was prompted to establish the Department of External Studies in 1911 to achieve educational equity (White, 1982). As a result, Australia has consistently been an adopter of technological innovations in distance education and was among the first countries to recognize it as a quality education platform rather than recovery or supplement (Stacey & Visser, 2005; Stevens, 1994). One of Australia’s most notable accomplishments is its remote schooling initiative. For example, School of the Air serves pre-school through year 9 students living in the Northern territory, some of whom live as far as 1000 km from the school’s station in Alice Springs (Alice Springs School of the Air, 2015). Using computers and live, interactive broadcasts, School of the Air allows students to have interactive learning experiences when their geographic isolation would otherwise leave them with only one option, homeschooling. Overall, distance education is a worldwide phenomenon, allowing people who would not otherwise have access to instruction receive a high-quality education. However, taking classes in the online environment often requires flexibility and self-discipline on the part of students, and special expertise on the part of faculty. In the next two sections, we discuss distance learning from the standpoint of both students and instructors.

Taking an Online Course: The Student’s Perspective Widespread Appeal As previously noted, online learning provides opportunities to several subsets of the population who (1) find it difficult to fit traditional classroom education into

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their schedule or (2) do not reside near the source of instruction (Cook & GrantDavie, 2013). Among those who are attracted to e-learning are working adults with families, traditional students who need a bit more flexibility in their schedule to accommodate for schedule conflicts, and students with disabilities (Bejerano, 2008). The flexibility of time and access points is one of the biggest appeals to online learners, many of whom need to be able to access courses during non-business hours (Kelly & Fall, 2011). Further, distance education has been particularly appealing at the K-12 level for students with special needs (Barbour, Archambault, & DiPietro, 2013). Students who would find it physically challenging to attend a classroom can access school from their own home, but still interact with classmates rather than feeling isolated. K-12 distance learning has also become increasingly popular for offering courses for which there is limited teaching staff. For example, it is becoming increasingly more common for elementary students to take foreign language instruction through synchronous distance education to accommodate for a limited supply of qualified instructors (National Council of State Supervisors for Languages, 2015). Unfortunately, not all K-12 schools can afford the technology needed for such virtual classrooms, but those who can have reported greatly benefiting from the variety of course options for students. Thus, e-learning offers educational opportunities to those who cannot attend FTF classes because of geography, health, or obligations specific to family or employment. However, this broad appeal of convenience does not mean that every student is a good fit for distance learning.

Challenges for Distance Learning Students Two student characteristics exert particular influence on the successful completion of online learning: technological expertise and self-discipline. Obviously, a certain degree of technological facility is required of e-learners, but achieving competency may pose a challenge for learners of any age (Weaver, Spratt, & Nair, 2008). Many adult learners did not grow up using computers in school (Schwartzman, 2007). Although technology use has increased in elementary schools during the last two decades, not all students enter distance education with the same level of technological exposure (Howley, Wood, & Hough, 2011). For example, the National Science Foundation (2014) found that 84 % of K-12 teachers have access to LCD or DLP projectors, 51 % have access to interactive whiteboards, and 78 % have access to digital cameras. Further, while the current generation of students may be knowledgeable about using technology for entertainment, they may not know how to use technology effectively for interactive, self-paced learning (Kelly & Autman, 2015). Although some exceptionally motivated students intuitively master the technical aspects of e-learning on their own, education providers sometimes provide training

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and orientation to assist learners who need more help such as an orientation module for the learning platform (Yang & Cornelius, 2005). Technological expertise is relatively easy to achieve compared with the second challenge faced by distance learning students: the degree of self-discipline required to successfully complete self-paced learning modules. In a traditional classroom setting, class schedules and semester dates provide the structure, while course instructors maintain sufficient focus in the classroom for learning to occur. The nature of independent, self-paced learning both allows and requires students to build their own structure and maintain their own focus (Bejerano, 2008). Thus, distance learning requires an exceptional amount of motivation and self-control on behalf of the student (Easton, 2003).

Working in Groups Online As previously noted, the majority of online distance learners are working adults with families (Bejerano, 2008; Carnoy, Rabling, Castaño‐Muñoz, Montoliu, & Sancho-Vinuesa, 2012). These individuals are ideal candidates for online learning because they tend to be self-directed learners who are motivated to go to school for their own perceived benefits, and yet this group is typically resistant to being involved in the group work needed to develop classroom cohesion (Easton, 2003). As such, monitoring, guiding, and encouraging online group work can be a challenge for distance educators. In addition to being useful for forming cohesion, many educators see online group work as real-world practice necessary for students’ success in their later careers (Oliveira, Tinoca, & Pereira, 2011). Despite its relevance, students from all demographics typically find online group assignments to be a frustrating endeavor, making work that they would much rather complete on their own more complicated and/or time-consuming than necessary (Capdeferro & Romero, 2012). Some of the common challenges involved with online group work include: 1. A high volume of text-based communication, which lacks nonverbal cues to give clarity to message meanings and build interpersonal rapport, 2. Permanent records of intellectual and social mistakes, 3. A lack of perceived urgency from group members who have different working styles (a common challenge in FTF groups, as well). Because of these innate frustrations with online group work, many students choose to work cooperatively rather than collaboratively (Curtis & Lawson, 2001). Collaborative group work entails group members approaching a problem or task together and synchronously working on a project through completion. Cooperative work, however, involves dividing the work into smaller pieces, with each group member being responsible for his or her individual piece that will be brought together to devise a whole project in the end. As most educators have observed, the problem

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with cooperative work is that the final product is often a patchwork quilt that simply does not flow together. As such, successful group work is more likely to happen when groups collaborate rather than cooperate, but this is quite a challenge to an online group. In Capdeferro and Romero’s (2012) case study, the authors cited the largest cause of students’ frustration with collaborating online to be an imbalance of commitment, followed by unshared goals and communication difficulties. The first two frustrations, imbalance of commitment and unshared goals, can likely be explained by lack of awareness regarding how successful teamwork differs from successful individual work. Many students enter group collaborations by forcing into the group context the work style they use individually (Snyder, 2009). This technique is rarely effective. For example, some students are motivated to get class work finished as soon as possible to manage anxiety, whereas others intentionally wait until the last minute because they perceive that they work best under pressure. Such incompatible working styles must be compromised for successful group work to happen. A successful compromise of these work styles is hard to reach without clear communication (Snyder, 2009). In fact, the ultimate success of an online work group hinges on clear communication (Oliveira et al., 2011). Students must be prepared to discuss ideas openly and clearly, as well as have candid discussions about project goals and working styles in order to make collaboration possible. When group members have a sense of one another’s personality, working styles, and abilities, the better they can collaborate by utilizing one another’s strengths and adjusting their expectations to the abilities and schedules of all group members. The best practices of online group work may also be explained by social information processing theory (SIPT; Walther, 1992). In general, SIPT assumes that online communicators share the same goals as FTF group members, and that these goals can, in fact, be accomplished using computer-mediated channels. A successful outcome depends to some extent on communicators’ beliefs that the group goals can be accomplished (Utz, 2000) and that they are willing to work to overcome the inherent limitations of CMC (Walther, 1994), such as a lack of nonverbal cues. Another limitation is that online interactions typically take a longer amount of time for group relationships to coalesce and for the group task to be achieved (Walther, Anderson, & Park, 1994). SIPT and Walther’s program of research support the assertion that nonverbal cues common to FTF interaction can be replaced with text-only messages, given sufficient time and communication skill among group members (Walther, Loh, & Granka, 2005). Overall, then, SIPT posits that effective computer-mediated communication is capable of supporting group relationships and enabling work groups to achieve their goals. To this end, Walther and Bunz (2005) offer six rules of virtual groups (pp. 833–835): 1. Get started right away. 2. Communicate frequently.

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Multitask getting organized and doing substantive work simultaneously. Overtly acknowledge that you have read one another’s messages. Be explicit about what you are thinking and doing. Set deadlines and stick to them.

These strategies encourage clear and frequent interaction, paramount for successful online learning experiences. Although these rules are probably useful for any group to follow, they are especially applicable for virtual groups.

The Crucial Role of Interactivity Though attractive to many students, distance learning programs have historically had a high attrition rate at the university level compared to traditional FTF learning (Wheeler, 2007). Researchers report that dropout rates for distance learners is typically 10–20 % higher than that of on-campus learners (Street, 2010). Among the factors that contribute to this attrition among online learners is the inherent absence of classroom interaction. Though earlier audio-visual broadcasted forms of distance learning emphasized the autonomy of learners to choose involvement with or separation from the main campus, some current distance course designs provide an active learning experience that stresses socialization and group interaction (Bejarano, 2008). Internet-based courses that incorporate the use of video conferencing, instant messaging, audio chat, and discussion boards provide learners and instructors the opportunity to create their own unique meaning and understanding of course content through dialog (McGreal & Elliott, 2011). Because interactivity is one of the keys to success in online learning (Aragon, 2010; Rovai & Barnum, 2007; Wheeler, 2007), the degree and nature of student involvement have received careful examination from communication researchers. For example, Petrides (2002) found that students were able to think more deeply about content when they were allowed to discuss content through writing in their online courses rather than simply voicing their initial thoughts in a face-to-face classroom. Song, Singleton, Hill, and Koh (2004) found that a lack of sense of community, that which is formed by classroom dialog and comradery, demotivated online learners. Davies and Graff (2005) found that the students who interact least are also typically the students who fail online classes, perhaps because they never became a part of Song et al.’s (2004) online community. So and Brush (2008) identified three types of interaction that must be present in online classes to optimize learning. First, learner-content interaction must take place. Effective online learning is less likely if an instructor front-loads quizzes and assigns grades strictly on rote memory. Rather, students must have active practice with the content for the material to become meaningful and useful beyond the classroom. The most effective online course designs include collaborative learning and cooperative problem-solving (Boud, Cohen, & Sampson, 2014; Palloff & Pratt,

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2007; Smith, Sheppard, Johnson, & Johnson, 2005). With cognitive engagement comes the second type of interaction: learner-instructor. Learners need continuous feedback from instructors throughout the semester to gain better understanding of the material, as well as to develop a comfortable relationship with the instructor in which they feel free to seek additional help when needed. In online course designs, student-teacher communication occurs through email, discussion board, and assignment feedback applications. Finally, So and Brush (2008) posited that learners also need to interact with other learners. Learner-learner interaction helps to bridge the communicative gaps that make the classroom feel far away and less real, making the experience feel more like FTF learning. In the same way that social interaction and peer conversation contribute to overall learning in the traditional classroom (Bruffee, 1999; Wentzel & Watkins, 2002), it is beneficial for online learners to have similar opportunities for studentto-student interaction related to the course content and the e-learning experience. For example, it is well documented that first-year students need interaction with peers to integrate into a campus community (Allen, 2006). Freshmen enter campus with preconceived notions of what college will be like and are typically confronted with an experience unlike their expectations. Interactions with peers are what help students reconcile their preconceived notions of college with their actual experience so that they can effectively adapt to college life (Allen, 2006). First-time distance learners, too, need peer interaction to understand and create meaning for their online college experience. In fact, they may have an even greater need for peer interaction, given the psychological distance inherent in off-site learning contexts. Though it is more difficult for online students to develop the same sense of belonging and sense of communal support experienced by on-campus students (Aragon, 2010; Carr, Zube, Dickens, Hayter, & Barterian, 2013), high interaction with peers and instructors can help them overcome a sense of being disconnected from school, with the ultimate result that they are more likely to complete their degree (So & Brush, 2008). Finally, the most important result of student interaction is that the various forms of interactivity are associated with higher levels of learning. Russo and Koesten (2005) performed social network maps of online college courses and found that both centrality (the ability to touch or initiate interaction with others in the class) and prestige (the degree to which other learners touch or initiate interaction with the individual) were statistically significant predictors of classroom performance. Swan (2002) reported that clear and consistent feedback from instructors as well as active, valued discussion with peers contributed to online students’ learning and satisfaction with the course. So and Brush (2008) observed that distance learners need both synchronous and asynchronous tools for engaging with peers to be optimally successful in online courses. In short, online learning works best when all parties are involved and interacting with one another.

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Teaching an Online Course: The Instructor’s Perspective It is true that online teaching provides more autonomy in terms of time and place for instructors as well as students, but designing and conducting online courses is often more challenging and time-consuming than teaching traditional FTF courses (Easton, 2003; Gaytan, 2008). Effective distance course delivery occurs only after creative instructional design, mastery of technological possibilities and limitations, careful preparation and delivery of instructional messages, and successful operation of the selected distribution system. Professional instructors do not merely record lectures, set up automatic grading criteria, stand by while students download the instruction, and then report grades at the end of the semester. When e-learning occurs in this way, students report low levels of satisfaction with the course and teacher, as well as lower levels of learning compared with more active classes (Easton, 2003). The rewards of teaching online are substantial, but the challenges of effective distance teaching are not easily overcome. Consider the following factors: – Communication Frequency. In course designs where students are working on assignments at different times, they will need help from the instructor at different times. Therefore, online instructors must constantly check emails or other communication channels utilized by the class, and reply to those messages in a timely manner so that students can make progress during their individual working schedules (Aragon, 2010; Easton, 2003). To meet the guidance needs of typical college distance learners, including working adults with families, this means being available after 5 p.m. weekdays and on weekends. – Communication Efficacy: It takes extra time to write effective messages to distance learners because of the limited cues available in messages and because these students do not know their instructors as well as FTF students (Easton, 2003). In the FTF classroom, students become familiar with the professor’s personality and voice as a product of interaction. This is not as easily established in online courses, especially those that are asynchronous. Therefore, instructors must be especially careful about how they word messages to avoid misunderstandings in content and tone. – Negotiated Involvement in Discussions. When discussions take place in online classes, especially text-based classes, students want to know that their instructor is actively involved and reading the students’ comments (Aragon, 2010). However, instructors must avoid the perception that they are monopolizing or controlling the discussion, so they have to carefully manage their participation and feedback. If students perceive that they have limited freedom to express their opinions as they respond to their peers, effective interaction that promotes learning will be replaced by meaningless participation that merely fulfills a course requirement.

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Instructor Feedback. Because distance learning students are not getting immediate feedback on practice during class time, they need more detailed, frequent feedback on assignments than FTF students (Bouhnik & Marcus, 2006). In fact, distance learning students need more than just feedback; they need feed-forward that explains what they need to do to improve the quality of future assignments (Moore & Wallace, 2012). As such, it is not sufficient to simply mark mistakes or cite corrections to students’ work when grading for an online class. Instructors must actively explain how students can improve, so that they are not left with a sensation of floundering from lack of guidance. Monitoring Student Participation. The posting of students’ opinions and comments during online discussions requires constant monitoring, which can be quite time-consuming (Easton, 2003). One of the benefits of distance learning is that the mediated interaction empowers students to share ideas that they may not have been comfortable sharing in person (Bouhnik & Marcus, 2006). This also means that they may not put as much time into creating tactful answers as they would in the FTF classroom where they will perceive more facethreat. Research has shown that self-monitoring is often reduced in online contexts (Agger-Gupta, 2010), though this effect is more pronounced in anonymous interaction where personal accountability is absent. Designing Instructional Messages. The design and construction of course material will probably require the distance instructor to think in new ways and exercise creativity in packaging the relevant course content for distance delivery. If a professional instructional design team is not available, then the instructor must become familiar with the technology and invest a great deal of forethought before the course begins. Unlike the FTF classroom where course material can be created as the class progresses, much of the work in building an online classroom must be completed before the semester begins, thus meeting students’ expectations that they can work at their own pace (Aragon, 2010). Providing clear direction and structure to the course from the onset reduces cognitive dissonance toward the class and instructor, with the result that students can more easily and comfortably navigate their learning experience.

Feeling Present: Social Presence in Mediated Contexts Given today’s technological capabilities of virtual classrooms, sophisticated course designs, and readily available desktop video conferencing interfaces, the literal term distance learning is becoming outdated. Though learners are still geographically separated from instructors, today’s technology often allows them to feel as though they are present (Wheeler, 2007). Achieving the perception of social pres-

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ence has been a goal of distance education from the beginning, but scholars and practitioners differ in their perspectives about how to achieve the goal. One perspective involves replicating FTF interaction by de-emphasizing the function of technology to mediate instructional messages. These educators judge the effectiveness of a technologically mediated experience by how much it feels like FTF communication (Kehrwald, 2010; Kumar & Benbasat, 2002). For example, telepresence has been called “the illusion (perception) of nonmediation” (Lombard & Ditton, 1997, Presence Explicated section, para. 1; Tamborini & Skalski, 2006). This perspective suggests that the core experience of any perception of presence is to not perceive the technology. Lee (2004) describes this perspective as “a psychological state in which virtual social actors are experienced as actual social actors” (p. 45). Essentially, this conceptualization suggests that social presence occurs when technologically mediated interaction feels like FTF interaction, or when students feel the same as if they were physically present with the instructor. The second perspective toward achieving social presence is less a comparison to FTF interaction and more the experience of being with someone “psychologically.” Short, Williams, and Christie (1976) offered the classic definition of social presence as “the degree of salience of the other person in the interaction and the consequent salience of the interpersonal relationship,” adding that it is “a quality of the medium itself” (p. 65). From this perspective, social presence is an awareness of or sense of connection with another person, but the ability to achieve this experience is an inherent characteristic of the applied technology. This view was reiterated by Gunawardena and Zittle (1997), who suggested that social presence is about how much interpersonal contact two people have (or perceive they have). This perspective emphasizes the feeling of connection through an interface and/or a mutual awareness of another person, or being with someone “psychologically” (Biocca, Harms, & Burgoon, 2003). These two perspectives, though different, are not contradictory. For example, it is reasonable to assume that if students do not notice the technology being used, they will have an increased perception of interpersonal connection with the online instructor. Focusing attention on the mode of communication (especially when it breaks down or has glitches, for example) might take away from focusing attention on the instructor and the content of the instructional message. However, it is also possible that a genuine feeling of interpersonal connection can be achieved even if students are aware of the mediated nature of the interaction. The tenets of SIPT posit that similar perceptions of interpersonal closeness and effectiveness of interaction can be achieved through skillful use of CMC (Walther, 1992; Walther & Bazarova, 2008), and might explain how social presence can be felt (Westerman & Skalski, 2010). In fact, the hyperpersonal perspective of SIPT suggests the possibility that even greater closeness can be achieved through CMC than in FTF contexts (Walther, 1996). This interpersonal dynamic is made possible by certain characteristics of the medium, particularly the ability for communicators to take their time to create and edit effective textual messages.

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Bridging the Distance Related to social presence are the constructs of electronic propinquity and perceived immediacy. Propinquity refers to the physical and/or psychological distance between two people (Festinger, Schachter, & Back, 1950). As an extension, electronic propinquity refers to how close one person feels to another when communicating through electronic media (Korzenny, 1978), thus focusing on the psychological distance aspect of propinquity. In the context of distance education, students and instructors gauge how close they feel to one another during CMC to assess the electronic propinquity of communication. As previously noted, the goal of CMC is for the geographical distance to be bridged by perceptions of psychological closeness (Walther & Bazarova, 2008). Similarly, perceived immediacy has been defined as the perceived psychological distance between individuals (Kelly & Westerman, 2014). Immediate behaviors typically used by classroom instructors are smiling, eye contact, inclusive language, gestures, movement, humor, addressing students by name, and using vocal variety (Christophel, 1990). When students observe their classroom instructors using these communication cues, they report higher levels of affective learning, motivation, and satisfaction with the course and instructor (Witt, Wheeless, & Allen, 2004) because students’ perceptions of psychological closeness, perceived immediacy, have increased (Kelly, 2012; Kelly, Rice, Wyatt, Ducking, & Denton, 2015). Perceived immediacy has also been referenced as generalized immediacy (Andersen, Andersen, & Jensen, 1979), psychological response to immediacy (Kelly et al., 2015), and when achieved using electronic technologies, mediated immediacy (O’Sullivan, Hunt, & Lippert, 2004). Mediated immediacy has been defined as “communicative cues in mediated channels that can shape perceptions of psychological closeness between interactants” (O’Sullivan et al., 2004, p. 471). However, Hughes (2014) suggested that immediate behaviors are often equated with the experience of closeness/immediacy, when in actuality they should be separated, as Kelly (2012) has also pointed out. Various studies have examined immediacy behaviors in non-FTF channels, including television (Hackman & Walker, 1990), distance learning networks (Comeaux, 1995), text messaging, social networks (Kelly & Autman, 2015), and online courses (Baker, 2010; Kelly & Fall, 2011) Mediated immediacy is expected in distance education courses, albeit less than in face-to-face courses (Witt & Wheeless, 1999), and can be felt in distance and online classrooms (e.g., Hughes, 2014; LaRose, Gregg, & Eastin, 1998; LaRose & Whitten, 2000; O’Sullivan et al., 2004). Immediacy in online classes comes from some of the same cues as offline, such as approachability and regard for others (O’Sullivan et al., 2004) and humor and informality (Comeaux, 1995); however, some are different (Kelly & Fall, 2011; LaRose & Whitten, 2000), suggesting again that behaviors are not equal to the experience of immediacy. Some of these newer cues for increasing immediacy online include synchronicity (Pelowski, Frissell,

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Cabral, & Yu, 2005) or text-based cues such as presentational and linguistic immediacy (O’Sullivan et al., 2004). Walther et al. (2005) found evidence for the use and transferability of verbal cues substituting for missing nonverbal cues online in regard to the experience of immediacy, also finding that motivation for interaction (affiliation vs. not) explained more immediacy than did channel. This is also consistent with O’Sullivan et al.’s (2004) suggestion that mediated immediacy is a “language of affiliation” (p. 471). Overall, feeling a degree of interpersonal connection with the instructor serves as motivation for students to enroll in, like, perform better, and complete a distance course (Hughes, 2014; O’Sullivan et al., 2004; So & Brush, 2008; Tu, 2000; Witt & Wheeless, 1999). For example, Richardson and Swan (2003) reported that students who perceive they are interacting with a computer rather than a real instructor find it hard to stay motivated to learn. They concluded that mediated instruction works best when students sense their professor’s personality on the other side of the keyboard, rather than feel as though they are working with a machine. At the very least, they need to feel that the machine is displaying human qualities (Reeves & Nass, 1996). Social presence helps distance learners feel their professor is a real person, someone who will care about their learning experience, and this perception helps make classroom interactions appealing and engaging (Rourke, Anderson, Garrison, & Archer, 1999). Cumulative research findings indicate a positive association between perceptions of social presence and students’ satisfaction with the course and instructor, perceived cognitive learning, affective learning, and retention (Richardson & Swan, 2003; Russo & Benson, 2005; Swan & Shih, 2005). It is clear to see that the development of social presence is crucial for student engagement and learning when instruction is delivered through technology.

Student Perceptions versus Instructor Behaviors Kelly and Fall (2011) identified a number of instructor communication cues that typically lead to students’ perceptions of social presence: – Making class content relevant, – Encouraging students to ask questions, – Sending prompt replies to asynchronous student messages, – Using informal language in correspondence, – Being friendly/positive when responding to student questions. However, the display of such behaviors does not guarantee students will feel close or connected to the instructor. Students’ expectations going into the distance learning course also play a role in shaping their perceptions of the instructor and course (Witt & Wheeless, 1999). For example, an instructor’s perspective on what constitutes a timely response to an email or friendly correspondence might differ drastically from a student’s expectations. Thus, at the end of the day what the instructor

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is doing is less important than what the students think the instructor is doing; the meeting of expectations is often what leads to presence (Petty, Bracken, Rubenking, Buncher, & Gress, 2010). For this reason, instructors should set realistic, attainable expectations in students’ minds; for example, the syllabus could contain information about the promptness of replies to asynchronous messages such as e-mail. If, on occasion, these expectations cannot be met (as in the case of the instructor travelling to a conference or having limited e-mail access), a simple advance notification to students helps maintain positive regard and student satisfaction with the course and instructor.

Looking Forward: The Future of Distance Education The focus of this chapter has been on distance education, and we have suggested that one of the goals of such is to bridge the gap between instructor and learners. As we turn our attention to the future of global education, an engaging question presents itself: Will all education in the future be “distance” education? In Ready Player One, author Ernest Cline (2011) tells the story of the dystopian world of 2044 where the physical world is broken and many people live for the OASIS, a virtual world similar to today’s Second Life. The OASIS is the fertile spot in the desert of physical reality, but it is not a mirage, as much of the reality of everyday life takes place in the virtual OASIS. Even education is experienced virtually, as schooling exists by logging in and attending class on Ludus, the planet designed for education, while being physically somewhere else, like the back of a van as the main character is during his classes. Will we have to wait until 2044 to see this kind of distance education in our own world? Or is this future already here? Future technologies are likely to be ones that help people accomplish goals they have set for themselves, such as connecting to others and learning. Three current technologies that are likely to see increased usage for distance education in the (near) future are virtual worlds, avatars, and robots.

Virtual Worlds Perhaps the ultimate vision of distance education is participation in a virtual space designed to function as the classroom, and 3-D virtual environments hold great promise for education. A virtual world can be defined as “a computer-generated display that allows or compels the user (or users) to have a sense of being present in an environment other than the one they are actually in, and to interact with that environment” (Schroeder, 1996, p. 25). Participating in a virtual environment involves interaction between self and others, so virtual worlds are spaces where

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users can feel socially present, or telepresent. Indeed, this kind of social presence is paramount for education in virtual worlds, and the goal will be for both teacher and student to “be in” a learning space where successful teaching and learning will take place (Garrison & Anderson, 2003). The concept of virtual worlds dates back to the early 1980s (Warburton, 2009), but the 3-D worlds of today (and tomorrow) are considerably more advanced than the text-based, multi-user dungeons (MUDs) of that bygone era. For example, virtual worlds can (1) help students achieve learning-related tasks that are difficult or impossible to do offline, (2) provide persistent, continuing social interaction, and (3) adapt to the specific learning needs of individual students (Antonacci et al., 2008). Virtual classrooms will allow for experiential learning that is both real and relevant (Prensky, 2010), as user-generated content can challenge teachers and students to create and communicate in synergistic ways that enhance the overall educational experience. Baker, Wentz, and Woods (2009) speak of virtual worlds as Second Life (SL) spaces to meet with students informally, increasing engagement with content and with other users. SL enables students to customize their educational experience, transporting them to virtual locations such as the Sistine Chapel, providing meaningful learning experiences they might never have offline. “Within SL, it is possible to create simulated environments or situations and observe the behavior of avatars within these contexts” (Baker et al., 2008, p. 61). Although these authors are writing about the use of virtual worlds for psychology classrooms, the same can be said about teaching communication, as these can be used to help set up simulations and experience communication in action, including that which might be difficult or dangerous to experience offline. Although virtual worlds have potential to become a powerful tool for distance learning, a great deal of time is required in order to master the technology, and inherent technical issues can sometimes hinder effective education (Baker et al., 2008; Warburton, 2009). However, the benefits are strong and the potential is limitless as the technology becomes more user-friendly and all-encompassing (e.g., glasses and haptic gloves, haptic suits, and smell-o-vision-like attachments). Virtual classrooms can provide increased access to those who are differently abled, bypassing, for example, a keyboard interface that is difficult for some people (Kamel Boulos, Hetherington, & Wheeler, 2007). In fact, engaging in virtual learning worlds with more “naturally-mapped” controls (Skalski, Tamborini, Shelton, Buncher, & Lindmark, 2011) might be more beneficial for all distance learners. Only the future holds the answer to how elaborate and realistic the virtual classroom will become.

Avatars To participate in various virtual worlds, learners rely upon avatars. The word avatar derives from Sanskrit, and means “God’s appearance on Earth” (Damer, 1998).

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In computer settings, an avatar can be defined as a user’s graphical representation in a virtual environment (Nowak, 2000). These representations can be a variety of things, from static images and icons to more complicated dynamic characters that respond in a virtual environment as their use does in the physical environment (Bailenson & Blascovich, 2004). The potential uses of avatars in education are numerous and might help distance education overcome certain limitations of FTF classrooms. For example, eye contact is a way to increase engagement and social presence/immediacy that is limited in FTF classrooms because teachers can only look one student in the eye at a time (Bailenson, Yee, Blascovich, & Guadagno, 2008). Therefore, if a teacher is looking at one student, it means he/she cannot be looking at others. However, in distributed systems, Bailenson and colleagues have experimented with what they call “augmented gaze.” They use avatars in which the teachers can maintain eye contact with each student at the same time. This is one example of the possibilities of technology to increase social presence beyond that achieved in traditional classrooms, and to help increase engagement and student motivation in virtual worlds, as avatars can (Falloon, 2010). This notion of customizing avatars so each student sees a different teacher avatar has other possibilities as well. Similar to creating an avatar that looks at every student, avatars could be customized to resemble the student, or represent the student in any other way the student desires. Though customizing avatars to represent teacher, student, and co-learners, there is a downside to this type of customization: it could create a type of echo chamber for students by allowing them to create interactants like themselves instead of getting them to experience avatars of different races, ethnicities, and sexes. It is as yet unclear whether this dimension of virtual experience would affect the effectiveness of the teachinglearning process.

Robots Another technology that may see increased usage in distance education is the telepresence robot. Rather than an avatar, which is a representation of a person, a robot is more like an agent, which is a more autonomous computer entity (Bailenson et al., 2004). Currently, robots are being used in various communicative roles, including education (Carey & Markoff, 2010). In situations where distance impedes a human teacher from being physically present (a limitation of FTF interaction), robots might be better than computer-based tutors because they can inhabit the same space as the learner, potentially increasing engagement and ease of interaction (Saerbeck, Schut, Bartneck, & Janse, 2010) As this chapter has suggested, it is likely that robots will need to establish feelings of social presence, especially psychological feelings of being with another person. Scholars have examined people’s expectations of interacting with robots

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and found, not surprisingly, that they expect to feel less socially present when they know they will interact with a robot rather than a human (Edwards, Edwards, Westerman, & Spence, 2016; Spence, Westerman, Edwards, & Edwards, 2014). This comprises part of a “human-human interaction script,” (Edwards et al., 2016; Spence et al., 2014), the idea that people have cognitively stored scripts to serve as defaults when interacting with others. However, given the basic tenets of SIPT (Walther, 1992), future research can examine whether or not it is possible that actual interaction with a robot might help overcome these initial expectations also found in other forms of CMC (Westerman, 2007), and if so, how this increases the distance education potential of robots.

Conclusion We began this chapter with a quotation suggesting a utopian promise commonly associated with communication technology: that the ability to connect interpersonally across time and space will lead to a paradise of communication and interconnectedness. Perhaps we should acknowledge, by contrast, the dystopian idea that technology will break down meaningful interpersonal relationships and bring the downfall of society. In this chapter, we have espoused neither of these extreme arguments but have posited that technology, though not a panacea, is a powerful tool with great potential for delivering instruction without geographic or temporal limitations. As future technologies come and go, instructors and students will gravitate toward the ones that function easily and reliably to facilitate effective connection with course content and each other, and maybe even open up possibilities never before imagined for either distance learning or classroom instruction. Lane and Shelton (2001) observed that an often-present attitude among educators and students is, “Look, it’s cool technology, Let’s use it.” They went on to advise discretion, however, admonishing educators to modify their perspective to reflect, instead, “Look it’s cool technology, Let’s use it appropriately” (p. 253–254). In this era of rapidly changing systems and technological innovation, the wisdom of these words speaks to the use of technology in the online distance learning classroom. The integration of new technologies will not assist students if they are not used effectively, and for online educators, much of that effectiveness is a product of skillful, strategic instructional communication.

References Agger-Gupta, D. (2010). Uncertain frontiers: Exploring ethical dimensions of online learning. In K. E. Rudestram & J. Schoenholtz-Read (Eds.), Handbook of online learning (pp. 226–250). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

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Alice Springs School of the Air. (2015). Education over the airwaves to Australia’s most remote students. Retrieved from http://www.assoa.nt.edu.au/the-school/ Allen, I. E., & Seaman, J. (2006). Making the grade: Online education in the United States. Needham, MA: Sloan Consortium. Allen, T. H. (2006). Is the rush to provide on-line instruction setting our students up for failure? Communication Education, 55, 122–126. doi:10.1080/03634520500343418 Aggarwal, D. D. (2007). History & scope of distance education. New Delhi, India: Sarup & Sons. Andersen, J. F., Andersen, P. A., & Jensen, A. D. (1979). The measurement of nonverbal immediacy. Journal of Applied Communication Research, 7, 153–180. doi:10.1080/00909887909365204 Antonacci, D., DiBartolo, S., Edwards, N., Fritch, K., McMullen, B., & Murch-Shafer, R. (2008). The power of virtual worlds in education: A second life primer and resource for exploring the potential of virtual worlds to impact teaching and learning. Report from the ANGEL Learning Isle Steering Committee. Available at http://www.angellearning.com/products/secondlife/ downloads/The%20Power%20of%20Virtual%20Worlds%20in%20Education_0708.pdf Aragon, S. R. (2010). Creating social presence in online environments. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, 100, 57–68. doi:10.1002/ace.119 Armengol, M. C. (2002). Global and critical visions of distance universities and programs in Latin America. The International Review of Research in Open and Distributed Learning, 3, n.p. Retrieved from http://www.irrodl.org/index.php/irrodl/article/view/111/383 Bailenson, J., & Blascovich, J. (2004). Avatars. In W. S. Bainbridge (Ed.), Encyclopedia of humancomputer interaction (pp. 64–68). Great Barrington, MA: Berkshire Publishing Group. Bailenson, J. N., Yee, N., Blascovich, J., & Guadagno. R. E. (2008). Transformed social interaction in mediated interpersonal communication. In E. A. Konjin, S. Utz, M. Tanis, & S. B. Barnes (Eds.), Mediated interpersonal communication (pp. 77–99). New York, NY: Routledge. Baker, C. (2010). The impact of instructor immediacy and presence for online student affective learning, cognition, and motivation. The Journal of Educators Online, 7, 1–30. Baker, S. C., Wentz, R. K., & Woods, M. M. (2009). Using virtual worlds in education: Second Life as an educational tool. Teaching of Psychology, 36, 59–64. doi:10.1080/00986280802529079 Barbour, M., Archambault, L., & DiPietro, M. (2013). K–12 online distance education: Issues and frameworks. American Journal of Distance Education, 27, 1–3. doi:10.1080/08923647.2013.759452 Bejerano, A. R. (2008). The genesis and evolution of online degree programs: Who are they for and what have we lost along the way? Communication Education, 57, 408–414. doi:10.1080/03634520801993697 Biocca, F., Harms, C., & Burgoon, J. K. (2003). Toward a more robust theory and measure of social presence: Review and suggested criteria. Presence, 12, 456–480. doi:10.1162/105474603322761270 Boud, D., Cohen, R., & Sampson, J. (Eds.). (2014). Peer learning in higher education: Learning from and with each other. London, UK: Routledge. Bouhnik, D., & Marcus, T. (2006). Interaction in distance‐learning courses. Journal of the American Society for Information Science and Technology, 57, 299–305. doi:10.1002/asi.20277 Bruffee, K. (1999). Collaborative learning: Higher education, interdependence, and the authority of knowledge. Baltimore, MA: Johns Hopkins University Press. Capdeferro, N., & Romero, M. (2012). Are online learners frustrated with collaborative learning experiences? The International Review of Research in Open and Distributed Learning, 13, 26– 44. Carey, B., & Markoff, J. (2010, July 10). Students, meet your new teacher, Mr. Robot. Retrieved from http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/11/science/11robots.html?pagewanted=&_r=0

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Amber N. Finn and Andrew M. Ledbetter

19 Instructor and Student Technology Use in the College Classroom Abstract: Technology has become commonplace in the college classroom, offering both opportunities and challenges for instructors. We begin this chapter by examining students’ expectations for instructors’ use of technology for teaching purposes, reviewing some of the most prevalent technologies utilized by instructors currently (i.e., PowerPoint and audience response systems), and identifying best practices for effectively incorporating instructional technologies in the classroom. We then turn our attention to students’ use of their own technological devices (i.e., smartphones, tablets, and laptops) and highlight three contradictions (i.e., social, task, and theoretical) that characterize current research and praxis. Finally, we summarize current research on teachers’ technology policies, pointing out that students desire choice, social regulation, and clarity. Keywords: instructional technology, teacher technology policies, technology expectations, social influence model, smartphones, tablets, PowerPoint, audience response systems

In this chapter, we review research regarding instructional technology in the classroom. Even a cursory glance at the literature reveals this is no small task. Although smartphones and tablets are relatively new, scholars have long considered how technology influences student learning, including research on instructional uses of television (Guba & Snyder, 1965), overhead projection of transparencies (Boswell, 1980), and graphing calculators (Quesada & Maxwell, 1994), to name just a few technologies of scholarly interest. Nevertheless, the last decade has witnessed widespread proliferation of mobile technologies that students bring into the classroom of their own initiative (Ledbetter & Finn, 2016). This change complicates the technological environment of the classroom considerably and has, understandably, heightened instructors’ concerns about the proper role of technology, especially given evidence that some technologies may distract students and inhibit their learning (Kuznekoff & Titsworth, 2013). To provide focus, we limit the scope of this review using three criteria. First, this chapter focuses on technologies that enjoy widespread use at the time of writing (i.e., the middle of the 2010s), such as tablets, cell phones, laptops, Power Point, and audience response systems. Although we believe studies of earlier technologies still possess value for both historical and theoretical reasons, clearly newer technologies are of greater interest to most instructors. Second, we focus on research regarding technology use in the college classroom. The robust body of

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literature on technology use in primary and secondary education is important, but comparing and contrasting it with studies of the college classroom is not the goal of this chapter. Third, despite the growing importance of distance education (Moore, 2013), here we focus on technology use that occurs in traditional face-toface instruction. Guided by these criteria, the first section of this chapter will consider technology utilized by the instructor, and then we will turn attention to technology use initiated by the student.

Instructors’ Use of Technology In an effort to increase student learning, college and university instructors have incorporated a wide variety of technologies into classroom instruction. For example, in recent years, instructors have employed YouTube videos (Fleck, Beckman, Sterns, & Hussey, 2014), Twitter (Young, 2009), Skype (Garner & Buckner, 2013), and 3D animation (Perry, Cunningham, & Gamage, 2012), to name but a few. In this section, we will begin by reviewing students’ expectations for instructors’ use of technology in the college classroom. Then, we will review two popular technologies currently being utilized by instructors, namely computer-generated slides (i.e., PowerPoint) and audience response systems (ARS or AR systems). Finally, we will discuss a few practical implications for instructor use of technology based on our current understanding of PowerPoint and AR systems in the college classroom.

Students’ Expectations: Do Students Expect College Instructors To Use Technology? College students like and expect their instructors to use technology. This can perhaps best be exemplified by looking at a series of studies conducted by Schrodt and his colleagues (Schrodt & Turman, 2005; Schrodt & Witt, 2006; Turman & Schrodt, 2005; Witt & Schrodt, 2006) in which they explored the influence of instructors’ technology use on students’ perceptions of the course and the instructor. They utilized an experimental design with hypothetical scenarios in which they manipulated the amount of technology used by the instructor – no technology, minimal technology, moderate technology, and complete technology. In the no technology condition, the instructor did not use technology in (e.g., no PowerPoint) or outside (e.g., no email) the classroom. In the minimal technology condition, the instructor utilized a limited number of overheads and video clips during class (no PowerPoint) and emailed with students once a day outside of class. The moderate technology condition involved the instructor using PowerPoint, video clips and web resources in class, and the instructor frequently used e-mail, had virtual office hours, used an online chat room, and required students to turn in assignments via

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e-mail. Finally, in the complete technology condition, the instructor explained that the first day would be the only face-to-face meeting. The course would be delivered over the Web via recorded video lectures, online handouts, online exams and assignments, chat rooms and other web resources. The scholars consistently found that students expected their instructors to use minimal to moderate amounts of technology. When they did, students perceived them to be more credible and students reported higher affect for the course and instructor (Schrodt & Witt, 2006; Witt & Schrodt, 2006). Further, immediacy interacted with technology use such that highly immediate instructors who used minimal to moderate amounts of technology received the highest ratings on teacher credibility and affect (Schrodt & Witt, 2006; Witt & Schrodt, 2006). Although it is unclear from this line of research how technology utilized during class vs. outside the classroom differentially impacted students’ perceptions, it does clearly suggest that students enter the classroom wanting and expecting their instructors to use at least some form of technology to enhance teaching and learning.

Types of Technology: What Types of Technology Are Instructors Currently Using? Given students’ desire and expectation for technology, the question then becomes – what types of technology are instructors currently employing in the classroom? As previously noted, instructors are incorporating a variety of technologies into the learning process. However, as we surveyed the literature, computer-generated slides (i.e., PowerPoint) and audience response (AR) systems appeared to be the most widely utilized and generally accepted technologies being implemented in the classroom today. Although there is an extensive body of literature pertaining to each type, below we highlight student perceptions of the technologies and associated learning outcomes.

PowerPoint Since its introduction in 1987, PowerPoint has gained prominence in the academy, and it is conceivably the most common type of technology currently being utilized by instructors in the college classroom. An extensive body of research conducted in the United States, the Netherlands, and the United Kingdom indicates that students have a strong preference for, value, and expect their instructors to use Power Point when teaching (Atkins-Sayre, Hopkins, Mohundro, & Sayre, 1998; Bartsch & Cobern, 2003; Beets & Lobingier, 2001; Blokzijl & Naeff, 2004; Daniels, 1999; Hill, Arford, Lubitow, & Smollin, 2012; Levasseur & Sawyer, 2006; Savoy, Proctor, & Salvendy, 2009; Susskind, 2005, 2008; Szabo & Hastings, 2000). More specifically, students prefer PowerPoint to traditional lectures utilizing overhead transparencies

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(Perry & Perry, 1998; Susskind, 2008; Szabo & Hastings, 2000) and the chalk or whiteboard (Beets & Lobingier, 2001; Perry & Perry, 1998; Susskind, 2005) and perceive PowerPoint to be more attention-grabbing, interesting, motivating, and beneficial to learning (Szabo & Hastings, 2000). Students report that their notes are more organized, easier to understand, and useful for studying (Susskind, 2008). They believe PowerPoint improves learning and their overall experience in the classroom by aiding in exam preparation, enhancing comprehension of course material, improving attention in class, and making class more interesting (Hill et al., 2012). Further, when PowerPoint is used, students have enhanced perceptions of the teacher and report being more motivated to attend class, leaving Susskind (2008) to conclude, “Computer-mediated presentations may create an overall positive impression that students rely upon when forming impressions of the instructor and course-related issues” (p. 1235). Despite students’ overwhelmingly positive affect for computer-generated lecture slides, students and instructors have acknowledged some of the drawbacks of PowerPoint. For example, Hill et al. (2012), using survey data from faculty and students at a private university in New England, raised three dilemmas or tensions associated with instructional use of PowerPoint. First, they suggested a tension between clarification and oversimplification. That is, instructors and students both liked PowerPoint’s ability to organize and simplify course material, but instructors were concerned that synthesizing complex information into bulleted lists diluted knowledge and hampered learning. The second dilemma they identified was between entertaining and education. Students reported that PowerPoint captured their interest and helped them pay more attention; however, students and instructors indicated that the technology resulted in mindless copying of notes and kept students from participating in the class discussion. Instructors were particularly concerned that PowerPoint inhibited interactive teaching, fostered passivity among students, and distanced them from their students. Finally, the scholars highlighted a tension between career pragmatism and pedagogical commitment. Although the instructors in the study questioned the pedagogical merit of PowerPoint, they reported continued use because students liked and expected it, and they were concerned about their own teaching evaluations being negatively impacted if they chose not to use it. Other research has pointed to similar concerns (James, Burke, & Hutchins, 2006; Szabo & Hastings, 2000). Additionally, it is unclear how, if at all, instructors’ use of PowerPoint impacts student cognitive learning. In Levasseur and Sawyer’s (2006) comprehensive review of the effects of PowerPoint in the classroom, they concluded, “The majority of extant studies have found no significant change in learning outcomes when instructors augment their lectures with computer-generated slides” (p. 111). They go on to explain that two of the studies showing enhanced cognitive learning (Jensen & Sandlin, 1992; Szabo & Hastings, 2000, study II) had serious methodological limitations, and the four others that found moderate increases in learning (Lowry,

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1999; Mantei, 2000; Weinraub, 1998; Wilmoth & Wybraniec, 1998) provided students copies of the course PowerPoint slides. They thus posited that the contradiction in the literature could be a result of some students having “copies of a thorough and organized set of class notes” (Levasseur & Sawyer, 2006, p. 112). However, in a follow-up study almost ten years later, Worthington and Levasseur (2015) found that access to instructor-provided (IP) lecture slides did not lead to enhanced learning, and in fact, bringing course slides to class to use during lecture resulted in less rather than more learning. Consequently, they argued that “Slides are actually altering students’ in-class experience in some meaningful way. More specifically, when IP slides become a part of the note taking process, students may simply become … more passive in the learning process” (Worthington & Levasseur, 2015, p. 21). This leads to the question, “What explains the current discrepancy between studies that result in enhanced cognitive learning and those that do not?” Although additional research is still needed, Levasseur and Sawyer (2006) speculated that how educators utilize the technology, individual student differences (e.g., learning styles), and slide construction may help explain the divergent results. Consequently, they pointed to previous research such as Bartsch and Cobern’s (2003) study, which examined three types of PowerPoint slides – text only, text and relevant picture, and text with non-relevant picture. In their study, students liked and recalled more from the text only and text with related graphics conditions than they did the text with unrelated graphics conditions. Further, the scholars found that graphics were not needed for teaching simple declarative information, but suggested it may be beneficial when difficult, complex, or abstract concepts are being taught. Surprisingly though, besides the few studies such as this that have begun to examine slide construction, little research has focused on how instructors are using PowerPoint (i.e., method or pedagogy) or on how teacher communication behaviors influence the relationship between use of the technology (i.e., Power Point) and learning outcomes. Clark (1983) argues that scholars must look to the instructional method, not the media, to determine differences in learning performance, and Schrodt and Witt (2006) suggest that scholars need to consider instructor communication behaviors and instructional technology use concurrently to fully understand the role of technology in the learning process. Thus, to determine the relationship between instructional use of PowerPoint and learning outcomes, especially cognitive learning, as Susskind (2005) so aptly stated, “It may be time to conduct more fine-grained analyses rather than only assessing whether the presence or absence of multimedia influences performance” (p. 212). Overall then, students have positive affect for PowerPoint in the classroom. However, instructors, and to a lesser extent students, have expressed some concern with instructors’ use of PowerPoint, including the notion that PowerPoint may hinder learning. Additional research is needed to determine the exact relationship between PowerPoint and cognitive learning.

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Audience response (AR) systems Dating back to the 1960s, college and university instructors have utilized AR systems in the classroom, but marked technological advancements and pedagogical shifts have incited their use in recent years, making them one of the most prevalent technologies employed by instructors today (Caldwell, 2007; Judson & Sawada, 2002; Kay & LeSage, 2009). AR systems allow instructors to project questions, usually multiple-choice questions, onto a screen and students respond to the questions using an electronic handheld device, thus allowing instructors to get instant feedback from students regarding students’ understanding of course content. Upon last count, over 26 different labels have been used to identify these systems (Kay & LeSage, 2009), including electronic response system (ERS), personal response systems (PRS), student response systems (SRS), personal voting systems (PVS), and clickers, to name but a few. Therefore, from here on, we will use AR system or ARS to refer to this technology. Additionally, there are numerous comprehensive literature reviews on the topic (Caldwell, 2007; Judson & Sawada, 2002; Kay & LeSage, 2009; Simpson & Oliver, 2007), which we will refer to throughout this section. Our intention is not to repeat them, but rather to use them to aid in our discussion of student perceptions of AR systems and associated learning outcomes. AR systems are typically comprised of four elements: (1) a handheld remote device for each student (or sometimes groups of students), (2) a receiver to capture responses, (3) software for embedding and displaying questions, and (4) hardware to present the questions and answers, which is usually a computer and projector (Jefferies, Cubric, & Russell, 2013). Over the years, technological advancements have led to portable and wireless systems, advanced administrative record-keeping capabilities, and rapid tabulation and display, usually in the form of a histogram, of all students’ answers (Judson & Sawada, 2002). Additionally, in line with the BYOD (Bring Your Own Device) movement in higher education (Johnson, AdamsBecker, Estrada, & Freeman, 2015), emergent technologies now allow students to use their own mobile devices (e.g., phone, laptop, tablet) to respond to the instructor’s questions. Recent research conducted by Stowell (2015) indicates that AR systems (i.e., clickers) and mobile devices can be used concurrently in the classroom, but mobile devices can sometimes be less reliable than AR systems that do not depend on internet-based technology. However, the type of technology (i.e., mobile device or ARS device) students choose to use does not seem to impact students’ overall course performance (Stowell, 2015). Additionally, Wang’s (2015) research shows how students can use their own devices to participate in game-based student response systems. As we previously observed with PowerPoint, students in the United States, Hong Kong, and Canada have consistently reported overwhelmingly positive perceptions when instructors implement AR systems in the classroom (Caldwell, 2007; Denker, 2013; Han & Finkelstein, 2013; Judson & Sawada, 2002). In an extensive

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review, Caldwell (2007) concluded that students find AR systems to be “stimulating, revealing, motivating, and – as an added benefit – just plain fun” (p. 19). Similarly, in a more recent study, Denker (2013) notes that when AR systems are used, students report enhanced enjoyment, engagement, motivation, participation, and affect for the course and instructor. Most recently, Stowell (2015) found that students reported enhanced involvement, stimulation, and enjoyment when AR systems were employed, regardless of the type of technological device students chose to use to respond to the instructor’s questions, and in Wang’s (2015) study, students in Norway reported being engaged and motivated when a game-based student response system was implemented in the course, even when the instructor used it during every lecture. However, it should be noted that AR systems are not without critique. Some students have reported minimal dissatisfaction with the technology. Common complaints include the cost of purchasing the device or a polling subscription (when mobile devices are used), reliability of internet-based technology, technical problems, and clarity of questions (Caldwell, 2007; Kay & LeSage, 2009; Stowell, 2015). Nonetheless, students by and large report positive affect for AR systems, and instructors seem to have similar positive perceptions (Caldwell, 2007; Judson & Sawada, 2002; Kay & LeSage, 2009). Research conducted by Denker (2013) indicates that both instructor communication behaviors and student traits impact students’ perceptions of AR systems. Specifically, highly empowered students reported being more engaged and learning more from AR systems than did less empowered students. Additionally, when students perceived their instructor to be immediate, they reported increased learning and engagement from AR systems. Denker concluded, “This reinforces the fact that technology is a tool in the service of pedagogy and not pedagogy in and of itself … instructors’ performance is very important in shaping how students will perceive their engagement and learning, even if it is mediated” (p. 61). On a related note, Han and Finkelstein (2013) found a positive relationship between the amount of AR system training an instructor received and students’ perceived engagement and learning. In addition to students enjoying and valuing instructors’ use of AR systems in the classroom, AR systems are associated with several other positive learning outcomes. In their comprehensive review, Kay and LeSage (2009) identified three categories of benefits supported by empirical research – classroom environment benefits, learning benefits, and assessment benefits. Classroom environment benefits included improved attendance, especially when grades were associated with ARS use, enhanced student attentiveness during class, and increased student participation during class due to the anonymity of responses. Learning benefits involved frequent and positive student-to-student interactions, increased quantity and quality of discussion, more contingent teaching, improved learning performance, especially in comparison to traditional lectures, and enhanced depth of

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learning. Finally, assessment benefits included improvements in the feedback process and enhanced effectiveness of formative feedback. In terms of the learning performance benefits referred to by Kay and LeSage (2009), research suggests that AR systems enhance cognitive learning when used in conjunction with constructivist pedagogy. In their extensive review, Judson and Sawada (2002) explained that when AR systems were first implemented in the college classroom in the 1960s and 1970s, instructors operated under a behaviorist pedagogy in which the instructor projected a multiple-choice question, students responded, and the instructor assessed understanding. If needed, the instructor provided additional information before moving on with the lecture. When AR systems were used in this way, scholars found no gains in student achievement measured by standard exams. Judson and Sawada went on to explain that although some instructors still utilize the stimulus-response style employed in early research, most instructors and scholars now work under a constructivist pedagogy and promote student interaction and collaborative discourse. They described one method of doing this, referred to as Classtalk, which involved the instructor displaying a question and students having collaborative discussion with other students prior to submitting their answer via their handheld device. Then, the instructor displayed a histogram of responses, which served as a catalyst for additional collaborative discourse. Judson and Sawada indicated that when instructors operated under a constructivist pedagogy, scholars found significant gains in academic achievement. Accordingly, it is the pedagogical practices of the instructor, not the presence or absence of the technology, that helps explain the relationship between AR systems and cognitive learning. Recently, in an effort to better understand the positive association between AR systems and learning, Blasco-Arcas, Buil, Hernandez-Ortega, and Sese (2013) examined a model in which they proposed that the amount of interactivity with peers and with the teacher while using AR systems influences students’ perceived active collaborative learning and perceived engagement, which in turn, impacts perceived learning performance. They empirically tested the model using survey data from undergraduate students enrolled in business classes in Spain. They found strong support for their framework. Overall then, students and instructors have overwhelmingly positive affect for AR systems. AR systems are well received by students, and if used correctly, they can lead to numerous positive learning outcomes. Most notably, AR systems have the potential to enhance cognitive learning when instructors operate under constructivist pedagogy and allow students to participate in collaborative discourse while using the AR system.

Practical Implications for Instructor Use of Technology Although PowerPoint and AR systems are only two of the countless number of technologies instructors can implement in the classroom, research on these tools

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provides important practical implications for those interested in effectively incorporating any type of technology into the higher education classroom. 1. When possible, instructors should incorporate technology into classroom instruction, but they should be mindful of their desired learning outcomes. Students expect and value instructors’ use of technology in the classroom, thus incorporating technology into the learning process can create a more enjoyable and meaningful learning experience for students. However, it is imperative that instructors not lose sight of their learning outcomes (Lane & Shelton, 2001). 2. Instructors should consider pedagogy first and technology second. Although students will like and appreciate instructors’ use of technology, regardless of the underlying pedagogy, it is the pedagogy and not the technology itself that will enhance learning outcomes. 3. Scholars should recognize the novelty effect of technology. Clark (1983) cautions that performance gains are often the result of the novelty of the new medium, and the gains often diminish when the newness wears off. 4. If instructors are going to allow students to use their own devices for instructional purposes during class (e.g., mobile device to respond to polling questions), they should provide clear technology policies and enforce them (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013; Ledbetter & Finn, 2013). On this point, we turn our attention toward such student-initiated use of technology in the college classroom.

Student-Initiated Use of Technology In decades past, if electronic/digital technology appeared in the classroom, it was provided by the teacher. However, especially since the widespread adoption of laptop computers, cell phones, and tablets in the early 21st century, students increasingly bring their own devices into the classroom. Although some students may use such technology for instructional purposes, students frequently employ it for offtask purposes (Baker, Lusk, & Neuhauser, 2012; Williams et al., 2011); even well-intentioned students may lack the self-regulation needed to resist the temptation to check social networking sites, play video games, or text with friends (Zhang, 2015). In this section, we will consider student-initiated use of technology. As with the rest of this chapter, we will confine our discussion to use that occurs (a) in the college classroom (versus outside it), (b) in the present day (versus an historical approach), and (c) using the specific wireless technologies that are currently popular yet controversial (i.e., laptops, tablets, and cell phones). As we survey the literature, we observe three contradictions that characterize research and praxis regarding students’ classroom use of communication technology. First, we note a social contradiction, such that students feel social pressure to use technology for nonrelevant purposes in class, even though they also believe such use is socially

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inappropriate. Second, students want access to technology to aid their learning, but most studies to date reveal nonsignificant or harmful effects; this is a task contradiction. These first two contradictions concern the student experience. The third contradiction concerns researchers: Although instructional communication scholarship has demonstrated that students are more than processors of information, almost all extant research on student use of technology ignores all other facets of the students’ identity and role; this is a theoretical contradiction. We will consider each of these contradictions in turn.

Social Contradiction: Social Pressure to be Socially Inappropriate With astounding rapidity, mobile technology has achieved nearly ubiquitous market penetration, with frequent use in both industrialized and developing nations (James, 2014). That ubiquity has produced both the ability to keep in constant contact with social network members and, perhaps more important, the expectation that people will do so (Campbell & Park, 2008). Most germane to our discussion here, Hall and Baym (2012) documented this expectation of continual contact among college students, finding that frequent cell phone communication may, in some cases, lead to feelings of entrapment (i.e., inability to achieve freedom from the social network when desired) and overdependence (i.e., feeling too strongly connected to a friend). It makes sense, therefore, that students who send text messages during class tend to have large social networks, and in some cases, intrusive thoughts about technology may drive their habitual use (Olmsted & Terry, 2014). In light of this social pressure, as well as students’ frequent technology use outside the classroom (Wentworth & Middleton, 2014) and multitasking during such use (Judd, 2015), it is unsurprising, then, that college students expect to have access to their wireless devices in the classroom. Building from Fulk’s (1993; Fulk, Schmitz, & Ryu, 1995) social influence model, we have contended that this expectation socially constructs their perception of and response to instructors’ attempts to regulate student use of technology (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013; Ledbetter & Finn, 2013). When students do have access to communication technology in the classroom, several studies have demonstrated that they frequently use it for non-course related purposes, such as maintaining contact with peers (Skolnik & Puzo, 2008; Tindell & Bohlander, 2012). Case in point, Baker et al.’s (2012) study of nearly 900 students found that 40 % of students send at least one text message in every class session they attend; beyond social uses, students may also turn to their wireless devices to alleviate boredom (Clayson & Haley, 2012), play games (McCoy, 2013), or do work for other classes (Skolnik & Puzo, 2008). However, tendency to use technology may also depend on the student’s cultural background, with one Australian study finding that international students engaged in greater non-course-relevant technology use than did domestic students (Barry, Murphy, & Drew, 2015).

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Given that students live in a culture that places a premium on technology (Hall & Baym, 2012) – and that the majority of students indeed use their mobile technology frequently, including in the classroom (Tindell & Bohlander, 2012) – it would stand to reason that the majority of students believe it is acceptable to use technology for non-course purposes during class. Paradoxically, however, research has demonstrated this is not the case; rather, many students seem to feel guilty about such use and experience annoyance when their peers do so. Regarding the former, Williams et al. (2011) observed, “While 79 % of the students responded that they text in class, 73 % stated that texting in class is unprofessional” (p. 52); on the latter point, Fried (2008) found that students reported other students’ laptop use as the greatest distraction in the classroom. Thus, rather than a laissez-faire approach to classroom technology policies, many students want teachers to create and enforce policies restricting off-task use of communication technology in the classroom (Campbell, 2006; Finn & Ledbetter, 2014; McCoy, 2013). We will consider the nature of such policies later in this review. Taken together, then, this line of research presents an odd contradiction: On one hand, students experience social pressure to maintain contact with peers during class, yet they simultaneously believe such use is socially inappropriate, especially if it disturbs their classmates. Some students may reconcile these conflicting beliefs by engaging in technology use as surreptitiously as possible (e.g., glancing down at a cell phone hidden in a pocket; Hassoun, 2014). Although some instructors may view such behavior as deceptive or manipulative, perhaps students simply are trying to navigate social norms and expectations that they find unclear and contradictory (Aagaard, 2015; Barry et al., 2015). Future research might advance understanding of these contradictory social impulses (and instructor praxis in navigating them) by appealing to broader communication technology models focused on social construction of meaning. For example, the social influence model (Fulk, 1993; Fulk et al., 1995) recognizes that a person’s social and organizational groups influence beliefs about technology and patterns of use, and the dual-capacity model (Sitkin, Sutcliffe, & Barrios-Choplin, 1992) focuses attention on how receivers interpret the symbolic meaning of technology. Identifying the extent to which students perceive cognitive dissonance between their technology beliefs and technology use may help instructors develop persuasive arguments regarding appropriate use of technology in the classroom (cf. Lancaster & Goodboy, 2015).

Task Contradiction: Wanting Learning Technology that Harms Learning Fortunately, social contact and entertainment account for only part of the reason college students want access to technology in the classroom. Many students also believe technologies such as laptop computers (Elwood, Changchit, & Cutshall, 2006; Skolnik & Puzo, 2008) and social media (Barczyk & Duncan, 2013) help them

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learn more effectively. Although students’ embrace of wireless technology is not universal (Lohnes & Kinzer, 2007), many believe access to laptops, at least, enhances their classroom experience (Barak, Lipson, & Lerman, 2006). The empirical evidence, however, does not accord with students’ optimistic view of technology and learning. Study after study – including both surveys and experiments – have demonstrated an inverse association between various measures of learning and student wireless technology use. The literature that has examined this topic is surprisingly copious given the recent introduction of these technologies to the college classroom. To exemplify this literature briefly, in-class texting is associated with lower grades (Clayson & Haley, 2013; Ellis, Daniels, & Jauregui, 2010), worse note-taking, and diminished memory recall (Kuznekoff & Titsworth, 2013); online chatting also decreases quality of notetaking (Wei, Wang, & Fass, 2014); students who do not use laptops in class learn more than those who do (Helmbrooke & Gay, 2003), perhaps because laptop multitasking leads to diminished learning (Zhang, 2015); honors cohorts with laptop access did not learn more than a cohort without laptop access, although the former were less satisfied with their education (Wurst, Smarkola, & Gaffney, 2008); and when cell phones ring in class, students learn less (End, Worthman, Mathews, & Wetterau, 2010). Moreover, the negative effect on learning does not end with the user. In one experiment, students in view of another student’s off-task use of technology also obtained lower test scores than students not in view of such use (Sana, Weston, & Cepeda, 2013). Although research has demonstrated a clear inverse association between technology use and cognitive learning, it has not always differentiated effectively between instructionally relevant and non-relevant use, and that distinction may matter (Finn & Ledbetter, 2014). For example, Kuznekoff, Munz, and Titsworth (2015) recently demonstrated that course-relevant mediated messages may not diminish learning outcomes. Additionally, other scholars have noted the enhanced learning that can occur when technological devices are used effectively (Barak, Lipson, & Lerman, 2006; Bui, Myerson, & Hale, 2012). Collectively, studies in this line of research operate from a cognitive/psychological framework focused on efficacy of information processing. Theoretically, they conceptualize the learner as a computer-like brain that possesses a limited amount of informational processing bandwidth. Like a computer with too many applications open, off-task activities drain computational power, inhibiting a students’ ability to focus on difficult material, comprehend it, and encode it in longterm memory (Kraushaar & Novak, 2010). Thus, this approach conceptualizes any sort of off-task technology use as a distraction to the learning process (Wood et al., 2012). If students recognize this threat to their learning, they may engage in selfregulating behavior, or activities designed to curtail or eliminate the temptation to use technology for off-task purposes. For example, some students may close a laptop lid at key moments during a lecture, others may turn off their cell phone, and still others may simply exercise willpower by refraining from non-relevant use of

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their devices (cf. Park, 2014). Such self-regulating behavior seems effective in reducing the threat to learning, with one study finding that diminished text messaging frequency mediated the association between self-regulating behavior and cognitive learning (Wei, Wang, & Klausner, 2012); heightened self-regulating behavior also mitigates against students’ laptop multitasking (Zhang, 2015). It is challenging to reconcile these findings regarding technology use and learning with students’ belief that technology aids learning. One study of Nigerian students runs counter to the negative trend, finding that technology use variables were unassociated with GPA (Olufadi, 2015); perhaps the cultural context of technology use differs between developing and industrialized nations, or perhaps technology use does not predict overall GPA as it does specific course grades (cf. Clayson & Haley, 2013). A cynic might conclude that, at best, students are simply naïve about how negative effects of technology outweigh learning outcomes, and at worst, students appeal to educational purposes as a sleight-of-hand to conceal their appetite for distraction. Without diminishing the possible accuracy of these viewpoints, in the next section we consider an alternative: Perhaps this seeming task contradiction indicates, to some extent, a theoretical contradiction regarding the role and identity of the student.

Theoretical Contradiction: Students Use Computers, but Students Are Not Computers Thus far in this section, we have considered two seeming contradictions regarding student use of technology: (a) students feel social pressure to use technology when it is socially inappropriate to do so, and (b) students want access to technology in order to aid their learning even though access may harm their learning. The student is the locus of these two contradictions. In contrast, our final contradiction focuses on the theoretical approach adopted by scholars in this line of inquiry. The dominant line of theoretical thinking conceptualizes students as, primarily, simple processors of information. Akin to the classic Shannon and Weaver (1949) mathematical model of communication, this approach assumes education is a process of transmitting information from a source to a receiver, and, when students choose to multitask, they introduce noise that interferes with the transmission. Although this model may possess during the past three decades communication scholars have moved away from such transmission models, and the field of instructional communication is no exception to this trend (Preiss & Wheeless, 2014). More pragmatically, many schools and professors have advocated for more community-oriented approaches to learning (e.g., the constructivist classroom, Wurst et al., 2008; flipped classrooms, Tucker, 2012). To keep up with these metatheoretical and pragmatic trends, scholars interested in classroom technology should consider conceptualizing the student as more than an information processor.

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Some scholarship already has begun to explore the consequences of such alternative conceptualizations. For example, Aagaard (2015) critiqued the information processing approach from a post-phenomenological perspective, questioning the extent to which students are truly separate from the technology they employ. He contended that users of any technology develop relational strategies toward that technology; for example, with a computer, “a novice is forced to concentrate on each individual keystroke, whereas a skilled user barely notices the computer itself but rather focuses on its contents” (Aagaard, 2015, p. 91). Over time, as students become accustomed to wireless technology, it becomes what he terms a habitual distraction, or a “deeply sedimented relational [strategy]” that is “explainable neither in terms of mental choices nor mechanical reactions to stimuli” (Aagaard, 2015, p. 95). With this theoretical turn, he rejected the view that technology is a tool used to relieve boredom (cf. McCoy, 2013), instead contending that the incorporation of the device into the student’s identity produces mediated impatience: “When a lesson is experienced as boring, this may to a certain extent be because technological alternatives are constantly available and ready to be utilized at a whim” (Aagaard, 2015, p. 95). Relatedly, and also in counter to the information processing approach, Hassoun (2014) de-emphasized the extent to which multitasking influences course grades, instead conceptualizing technology use as a mutually-enacted performance by students and the instructor. This theoretical move encourages the instructor to think about how to enter that performance in a way that will encourage instructional goals; e.g., “Fostering more participatory environments may encourage more students to direct their attentions toward class” (Hassoun, 2014, p. 14). Beyond these cultural and identity approaches, scholarship may also advance by considering students’ emotions as well as their intellect. Instructional communication scholarship is well-positioned for this conceptual turn, having long recognized a distinction between cognitive learning and affective learning, or a student’s state motivation to learn course material and pursue study of it in the future (Anderson, 1979; Bloom, 1956). Whereas cognitive learning has received sustained attention in the literature on student technology thus far, almost no research has considered the effect of technology on affective learning. This is unfortunate, given that affective learning serves as a mediator between the teacher’s behaviors and cognitive learning (Allen, Witt, & Wheeless, 2006; Rodriguez, Plax, & Kearney, 1996); stated less technically, students are less likely to learn with their minds unless they are emotionally engaged with the course. Instructional messages through communication technology may be one method of generating students’ emotional engagement with the instructor and, perhaps, the course content (Mazer, Murphy, & Simonds, 2007). In a recent study we investigated the extent to which emotional/motivational factors may foster or inhibit off-task use in the college classroom (Ledbetter & Finn, 2016). Building from prior work in the uses and gratifications theory tradition (e.g.,

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Leung & Wei, 2000), we discovered two distinct factors of non-course use: (a) alleviating loneliness, or internally-motivated use to reduce an aversive emotional state, and (b) relational maintenance use, or externally-motivated use to keep in constant contact with peers. Each factor possessed distinct predictors, suggesting that non-course use may not be as monolithic as some previous research has conceptualized it. For alleviating loneliness use, we found a curvilinear effect for learner empowerment, such that use was highest for students at moderate levels of the variable and comparatively less use for both highly empowered and unempowered students. Perhaps highly motivated students eschew technology use to engage with the course, whereas unmotivated students limit technology use at least for the sake of obtaining a passing course grade; the student with an average level of motivation, who is doing just enough to get by, may be most drawn to communication technology to alleviate a sense of emotional ambivalence about the course (Aagaard, 2015; McCoy, 2013). In contrast, frequency of relational maintenance use was a product of both students’ emotions (i.e., learner empowerment) regarding the course and their attitude toward the technology. For students who did not particularly enjoy communication technology, learner empowerment predicted reduced non-course use; for those who did enjoy communication technology, learner empowerment predicted greater relational maintenance use. Although our study operated from a different theoretical and methodological approach than Hassoun (2014), these results accord with his contention that some student technology use is an exercise in habitual distraction, even for students who possess strong motivation to engage with a course. Viewed overall, the extant literature on student use of technology in the classroom demonstrates a theoretical contradiction: Many studies treat students as information processors, even though that is, at best, just one component of the student’s role (and instructor’s goal). Scholars can resolve this contradiction by applying alternative conceptualizations to the student’s use of technology. Such work may require qualitative scholarship to inductively derive new aspects of the relationships among students, technologies, instructors, and contexts. As for quantitative scholarship, researchers should explore beyond the cognitive learning variables frequently studied so far. This is a theoretically exigent need not only for the sake of the comprehensiveness of our theoretical understanding, but also for shifting application and theory to collectivistic cultural contexts, where conceptualization of the student as an individualized information processor may contradict cultural assumptions and, moreover, teachers’ compliance-gaining strategies regarding technology use may differ from individualistic instructors (Lu, 1997).

Teachers’ Classroom Technology Policies As we have discussed throughout this chapter, technology offers both opportunities and challenges for instructors. Today’s instructors must make important deci-

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sions regarding how they and (particularly) their students will use technology in the classroom. In hopes of helping instructors make informed decisions and advancing our theoretical understanding of technology and the learning process, we have conducted a series of studies (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013, 2014; Ledbetter & Finn, 2013) examining teachers’ technology policies or “the rules governing the use of wireless communication technologies in the classroom” (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013, p. 27). In this section, we will highlight five key discoveries from our research. First, in line with what we discussed previously regarding students wanting and expecting their instructors to use technology to teach course content and following Fulk’s (1993; Fulk et al., 1995) social influence model, students expect to be able to use their own wireless devices (e.g., phones, laptops, tablets, etc.) for academic purposes in the classroom. We found that when instructors encouraged students to use their own devices for course and learning purposes, students perceived the instructor to be more credible (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013), and students felt that the course was more meaningful and that their participation in the course made a difference (Ledbetter & Finn, 2013). However, contrary to this finding, in our most recent study (Finn & Ledbetter, 2014), students perceived the instructor to be more verbally aggressive when he or she encouraged or required students to use their wireless devices for educational reasons. We speculated that students may very well want a choice when it comes to how, if at all, they are going to use their wireless communication devices for academic purposes. In other words, students do not want their instructors to tell them when and how to use their devices to enhance learning; instead, they want to decide for themselves if they need to use a device to augment their own individual learning. Thus, it seems students want to be able to use their wireless communication devices for academic purposes if and when they feel it is necessary. Second, our research has consistently indicated that students want and expect instructors to regulate technology use for social purposes. That is, students expect instructors to prevent wireless devices from interfering with the teaching and learning that should be occurring in the classroom. For example, when instructors utilized technology policies that discouraged use of wireless devices for social purposes during class, students perceived them to be less verbally aggressive (Finn & Ledbetter, 2014). Further corroborating this, we found that students are more sensitive to the regulation of devices they perceive to be more instructionally relevant (Finn & Ledbetter, 2014). Specifically, when instructors employed technology policies that regulated laptop usage, students perceived the instructor to be more verbally aggressive; however, this was not the case when the instructor regulated cell phone usage. Third, not only do students expect to be able to use their wireless devices if and when they want to for academic purposes and for instructors to regulate usage for social purposes, they also expect instructors to have very clear technology policies. We found that when instructors employed laissez-faire technology policies,

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or acted in ways that suggested they did not care how students used technology during class, students perceived the instructors were not drawing from the expert and referent power bases when enforcing policies and procedures in the classroom, and this in turn had a negative impact on students’ perceptions of the teachers’ credibility (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013). Additionally, students reported finding the course less interesting and valuable when the instructor moderately discouraged noncourse-relevant technology use than when the instructor either strongly or minimally discouraged it. We consequently concluded, “Perhaps what is most important regarding technology policies is that the teacher has explicit rules regarding the use of technology in the classroom, clearly communicates the rules, and consistently enforces the rules” (Ledbetter & Finn, 2013, p. 312). Fourth, in line with Schrodt and Witt’s (2006) recommendation, to fully understand the role of technology in the learning process, scholars need to consider teachers’ communication behaviors and technology policies concurrently. Our research has repeatedly shown that teacher communication behaviors mediate the relationship between teacher technology policies and learning outcomes. For example, we found that students’ perceptions of instructors’ technology policies influenced instructors’ use of prosocial and antisocial power bases, which in turn, predicted teacher credibility (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013). This was important in showing that an instructor could violate students’ technology expectations and still be perceived as competent if he/she drew from the reward and expert power bases (Finn & Ledbetter, 2013). Thus, it is the combination of the policy and the way the teacher communicates in the classroom that influences students’ perceptions and learning outcomes. Finally, like teacher communication behaviors, students’ characteristics and traits also play a role in the learning process and need to be taken into consideration when examining the relationship between technology policies and learning outcomes. For example, we found that students’ apprehension to communicate online moderated the relationship between discouraging policies and the competence dimension of learner empowerment. This was important in highlighting that highly apprehensive students in particular feel less competent when instructors have unclear technology policies for regulating usage of wireless communication devices in the classroom. It should be noted though that, to date, our research on teacher technology policies has all occurred at a private university in the southwestern United States. Additional research is needed to determine the extent to which our results generalize to other populations.

Conclusion: Expectations and Choices Although it is difficult to speak across a body of literature as vast as that on technology use in the classroom, we nevertheless observe two theoretical threads that

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run throughout much of this scholarship. First, several studies examine (or at least acknowledge) students’ and instructors’ expectations regarding technology use. The clearest and most theoretically grounded example of this is the work of Schrodt and Witt (2006), which invoked expectancy violations theory (Burgoon & Le Poire, 1993) in order to explain students’ expectations for frequency of technology use. However, students are not the only classroom stakeholders who possess expectations about technology; instructors do as well, and exploring the extent to which those expectations influence technology policies (and enforcement of those policies) is one direction for future research. Although longitudinal studies are difficult to execute, they may be particularly helpful here, as expectations for technology use are not static over time. Second, we note that choice represents a fundamental question in the literature to date. This makes sense, given that students and instructors make decisions about the latitude of technology use they will engage in or allow. Without denying the importance of choice, instructional scholarship may benefit from reflection on the extent to which technology use is beyond student or instructor control. This question hearkens to an old debate within the philosophy of technology: does technology shape society, or does society shape technology? Although philosophers of science have answered this question in diverse ways, Hughes (1996) contended that social forces shape use and policy more strongly in the early days of a technology; once the technology reaches maturity and deep integration with social structures, technology becomes a fixture of the social system that requires massive effort to change. Case in point, electric lighting has been part of instruction for a relatively short time in the history of the university, yet it would be difficult for an instructor to curtail its use today (the beauty of a sunny day on the campus lawn notwithstanding). Instructors and researchers are likely aware of choice when considering the trendiest technologies-of-the-moment, but these change with each passing year, and the eventual deep integration of technologies may blind scholars to their effects. Situating future research within the level of integration achieved by a technology, and thus the perceived degree of choice regarding use, may prevent studies from becoming outdated as old technologies mature and new technologies inevitably appear. Indeed, it is the rapid pace of change that makes classroom technology so exciting, yet also so challenging. New technologies excite instructors with their possibilities for learning, yet present challenges regarding effective application of it. Students excitedly bring new technology into the classroom but do not reflect carefully on how to balance their desire for connectedness with their desire to learn. Researchers seize on innovative technology topics, yet struggle to connect their findings to broader theoretical concerns. We likewise expect that the technologies we have addressed in this review will appear outdated to readers just a decade or two into the future, but we also expect that ongoing practical and theoretical questions about learning, expectation, distraction, and choice (among others) will

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remain. We encourage scholars of instructional communication technology to strive to connect their research to these enduring questions.

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20 The Development of Online Learning in the Basic Course in Communication Abstract: The Internet and its associated technologies have changed the appearance of the basic course in communication and made a fundamentally face-to-face experience available to a wide range of students both on and off campus, including those with accessibility issues related to physical disabilities. The online environment includes a significant economic benefit by increasing the number of credit hours delivered by the institution. Basic course modalities discussed in this chapter include asynchronous distance learning, blended learning (hybrid), and the flipped classroom modes. The chapter describes the migration of the basic course from the classroom to the online context, identifies major issues for online iterations of the course, and presents course design considerations including designing for achieving student learning outcomes and incorporating online tools into the face-to-face environment. It continues with comparative assessments between online learning and traditional classrooms, and a discussion of the goals and challenges a basic course director or designer might face as a move into the online future is considered. Finally, a discussion of technology-based trajectories includes mobile devices such as smartphones, watches, and the development of personalized devices and designs to aid students in achieving specific desired learning outcomes. Keywords: basic communication course, basic course directors, course design, online learning, blended learning, flipped classroom

Though the basic course in communication has been taught in U.S. colleges and universities for over a century, the arrival of the Internet and its associated technologies has begun to change the appearance of the course and make it available to a wider range of students. The use of emerging technologies has enabled instructors to take a fundamentally face-to-face experience in oral communication and bring together (1) students who are removed from each other by space and/or time, (2) students with accessibility issues related to physical disabilities, (3) those who are separated from campuses by distance or transportation challenges, and (4) those who cannot be away from home and family to take needed classes on a college campus. (See Chapter 18 in this volume for a discussion of distance learning in general.) However, the nature of the basic communication course, with its emphasis on face-to-face interaction and public speaking, poses certain challenges for distance course designers. In fact, there is ongoing debate and disagreement about the

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utility of the online environment for achieving desired learning outcomes in the basic course. A primary argument against offering the basic course online centers on the complexity and difficulty of capturing the full experience of the oral communication performance aspect in the online modality. Opponents argue that it just simply cannot be done. Performance requires an audience; public speaking requires a public. Proponents of the online modality argue that, though online will not be a duplicate of a face-to-face setting, there are alternative designs for the assignment as well as multiple ways of defining oral communication that would be able to achieve the learning outcomes of the performance assignments. In addition, questions continue to be raised not only by basic course instructors, but by instructors of other classes about the ability of the online environment to duplicate and/or achieve the same high standards of face-to-face classes. Online proponents argue that merely transplanting the face-to-face class to the online environment will likely not succeed. However, we contend that, through creative course designs, thoughtful and innovative use of the available technologies, and the flexibility of both students and instructors, the desired learning outcomes can be achieved for the basic course in the online environment. The main focus of this chapter is to describe the migration of the basic course from the classroom to the online context, to identify major issues and challenges for online iterations of the course, to review assessments of online learning compared with course delivery in the traditional classroom, and to speculate on the goals and challenges that basic course directors might consider as they move forward into the online future.

Evolution of the Online Basic Course Traditional Basic Course Content A number of iterations of the basic communication course (as it is known in the United States) are offered around the world to a variety of constituencies. In the case of persons serving in the U.S. military, their families, and other Americans serving in posts and professions in many countries outside the United States, the basic course is taught more or less according to the U.S. model. However, other applications exist in various places around the world. According to various textbook publishers, basic course texts have been translated into Greek, Czech, Chinese, French, Indonesian, Russian, and German, and the textbooks are sent to all those places as well as Australia, New Zealand, and Canada. There are likely many others. Even though the basic course might be referred to by only a few names, its design and execution can differ greatly across countries as well as across institutions, even in the United States. While its roots can be traced back as far as ancient

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Greece, the modern basic course began in the U.S. in the early 20 th century as an oral communication class principally devoted to public speaking (Hargis, 1956). As time moved forward, the course was referred to by many different names including “Speech,” “Public Speaking,” “Public Address,” “Presentational Speaking,” “Oral Communication,” and others. While some courses included instruction in rhetorical theory, the majority seem to have focused on skill development in articulation, elocution, and the creation of clear and logical messages. During the 1960s, the course began to branch out and emphasize other oral communication contexts and skills as it began to change its shape in some institutions. Those courses, sometimes referred to as “hybrid” or “blend” courses, taught public speaking, but added units that could include small group communication and decision making, interpersonal communication, interviewing, or sometimes mass communication. The majority of those classes had performance components, and though theory came to hold a more central position in the newer classes, execution and skill development was generally the main event. The traditional basic course has been offered in the face-to-face format in the United States for well over 100 years. In the public speaking class, students are required to study rhetoric and communication theory, organization, argument construction and logic, research skills, audience adaptation, and delivery skills, which include the use of presentational aids and a heightened awareness of nonverbal communication. The types of speech assignments include informative messages, persuasive or advocacy messages, messages for special occasions, and a variety of others. In the hybrid format, which builds on the public speaking course, topics and assignments might also include relationship building in interpersonal communication, applications of small group decision making, and often informational or employment interviewing. Students are gradually introduced to speaking or performing in front of an audience in much the same way as small children are introduced to swimming; they begin with brief and more simple tasks designed to get their feet wet and reduce anxiety (Witt & Behnke, 2006). Complexity and depth are added as the course progresses. Because all students have to perform, the classroom becomes a safe, non-threatening place to learn and experiment with the new skills. Students are graded on their understanding of the course content through testing and written assignments, and they are graded on their ability to apply the content in performances in the different oral communication contexts. Dedmon (1965) proposed that the basic course emphasizes speaking to a group and training in delivery, speaking as a member of a group to gain skills in how to “agree to disagree,” and focuses on enhancing the treatment of communication theory (Dedmon, 1965, p. 123). This configuration changed little over the next several years. Morreale, Hanna, Berko, and Gibson (1999), Morreale, Hugenberg, and Worley (2006), and Morreale, Worley, and Hugenberg (2010) note that public speaking is still the dominant configuration of the course in the present day, fol-

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lowed by the hybrid or blend class with a mix of oral communication contexts. The course has taken multiple forms over time in the United States, and evidence suggests that it is continuing to evolve (Valenzano, Wallace, & Morreale, 2014). Over time, first courses in speech came to be known as foundation courses, fundamentals courses, or the “basic” course. Though many people outside of the communication discipline generally do not use this nickname, “basic” is widely used and has withstood the test of time. This chapter will stay consistent with that tradition and use the term “basic.” However, in the early part of the 21st century, the basic course (BC) refers to a wide range of shapes and sizes of these courses. For a more detailed description of the history of the basic course, please see Chapter 26 of this volume, “Teaching Communication to College and University Students.”

Offering the Basic Course at a Distance There are several motivations for modifying a traditional classroom course that focuses on oral skill development with a heavy performance focus, and transitioning it to an online context: (1) In American higher education in the mid-1990s, there was little choice. As distance learning became more widely available and accepted by society at large, many entire degree programs were offered solely through distance learning; thus, the necessity of an online basic communication course was born. In addition, as a general education requirement in many institutions, the course must be completed by most or all students to fulfill their degree requirements. When degree programs are offered completely online, then all general education requirements must also be available online. Political pressures increase dramatically when university administrators threaten to remove the basic course from general education requirements if the Communication department does not comply with distributed learning demands. (2) Connected to this demand, universities in the land grant tradition are required to make higher education available to all students; it is part of the university’s overall mission. The online basic course meets this demand by serving populations that have no access to traditional face-to-face sections. (3) Offering an online version of the basic course increases learning opportunities for individual students by allowing them to learn at their own pace and on their own schedules. Some students learn faster than others or need more time to engage the course material. The online format allows students the freedom to control the process of engaging the material. (4) Finally, but by no means least important, the additional revenue generated by increasing the number of credit hours provides significant economic benefits to the sponsoring institution.

Evolution of Technologies and Course Modalities To consider the background and current state of the BC online, it might help to view the ancestry of the online approach as originating as a correspondence

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course. Some developers of online courses will likely bristle at this comparison, but the two approaches seem to have the same goals: to allow students to complete coursework while off campus, and to allow students to work, within some boundaries, at their own pace. Many institutions of higher education began a correspondence program to reach students who needed to be away from campus for some reason but who still wanted to take classes. The correspondence approach in the United States began by using the postal service as the primary medium for moving information between teacher and student. The process was uncomplicated: Instructors provided students with reading resources and a list of written assignments, and successfully completing all the assignments resulted in a passing grade for the class. All the interaction between teacher and student was conducted through the postal service, so as it might be imagined, the pace of the interaction was fairly slow, especially by modern standards. In the initial offerings of distance courses during the latter half of the 20 th century, most students did not have access to expensive technology such as video cameras, which was a deterrent for some students. The arrival of accessible video recording technology and portable cassettes allowed the basic course to take advantage of a correspondence-type format by allowing the student to deliver a speech in front of a real audience and then sending a video recording of the event to the instructor for evaluation. The assignment was complicated by the fact that students had to find their own audiences and speaking contexts in order to develop and deliver the required speeches. If students had the necessary camera and a suitable audience, they would videotape the presentations, being sure to scan the audience of a minimum of 5–12 members, and then send the videotape cassette to the instructor through the postal service. Students were often required to include a speech outline and bibliography in the packet. Instructors then watched each video tape and provided feedback and evaluation. Some instructors then sent the video back to the student for further reflection. The current basic course online version can be considered a descendant of the correspondence courses. Perhaps the most notable difference is that the student has more immediate access to the instructor. The access can take a variety of forms. First, instructors are able to record lectures or other presentations that can be posted online, so the student actually sees and hears the instructor. The lecture can be recordings of the instructor standing at a blackboard in front of a classroom or a slide presentation with the instructor talking over it. There are other creative presentation variants including graphics, video clips, and animations. Second, the student and instructor can exchange ideas one-on-one through email messaging. Third, the instructor and students can have group conversations through discussion forums. These interactions are typically asynchronous, but there are real-time options such as live office hours or question/answer sessions, live group discussions, Skype-like interactions, and live presentations and exchanges by students or instructors using tools such as Collaborate or commercial applications such as

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GoToMeeting. New tools are being continuously developed to support more meaningful interactions between students and instructors and between students and students. In a significant change from the correspondence course era, and largely because of the development and ubiquity of the Internet, the means and rate of interaction between teacher and student changed dramatically. The rate of exchange increased, but the exchange itself remained largely linear with the teacher and student exchanging speaker and listener roles. The fundamental design remained nearly the same. In recent times, however, the more advanced designs are trending to a more transactional model of exchange, however, and this has the potential to result in more depth of student learning. In addition, the current online designs can include other students in the ongoing interaction, so it can go well beyond the isolated conversations between one teacher and one student. This is a benefit because it allows students to help each other and, in the fairly unique situation of the basic course, it allows students to act as audiences for performances as well as partners for interactive assignments in oral communication for presentations that could but do not necessarily have to involve giving a speech. Because of the difficulty of including the performance aspect of the class, the basic course correspondence model was not widely adopted in the United States. Even so, in those earlier times, the options for evaluating speaking performances were few. Some courses required students to report to campus a few times during the term to deliver speeches in front of the instructor. In other cases, students would construct and submit a detailed outline or speech manuscript to fulfill the assignment. Another approach was to contract with teachers or other individuals located near the student who would hear and see the speech, then evaluate it according to criteria supplied by the instructor. After video and audio recording became more available, students were permitted to submit video or audio recordings of speech assignments, delivered in a variety of settings, again through the postal service. The distance learning approach to the basic course has come a long way since those days. New communication tools have been developed that allow for a rapid exchange of information, as well as to make contributions to the learning/teaching process that go well beyond merely transmitting information. Along with those changes, the reasons supporting developing and conducting online courses have increased over time in both quality and quantity. Online teaching has been referred to by some as a revolution, but an examination of the use of a variety of technologies to allow for “distance” or even “near distance” learning in the basic course presents a case for an evolutionary and quite inductive journey moving toward fairly ambiguous goals. Even though not related to the basic course, consider that when Henry Ford built his “Quadracycle” in 1896, it was hailed as a revolution in transportation (Clymer, 1950). However, Ford’s vehicle shared far more characteristics with a horse-drawn buggy than what we have

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come to know as the modern automobile; it essentially was a buggy with a motor. The buggy concept was the dominant paradigm for a transportation device in 1900, and Ford and other engineers had difficulty seeing beyond it. As time progressed, designers and engineers slowly developed the product that we take for granted today. Multiple paradigms have come and gone since the days of the motor-powered buggy. Much the same can be said of the basic course as it has been offered in the distance format. Essentially, instructors were following a path similar to the evolution of the automobile by attempting to pack the in-class, face-to-face approach into an online format using available communication technologies. In addition to the face-to-face format paradigm, basic course designers were also limited to the dominant paradigm of the appropriate content for the course. The public speaking aspect of the course, still the dominant approach in 2015, defined the course content and has limited the ability of designers to fully take advantage of the online environment. A central limitation was, and remains, the performance aspect of the class. What should an online public speaking assignment look like? Perhaps the question that really should be asked is, “Should public speaking be a part of the class? Does public speaking contribute in a meaningful way to the successful achievement of desired learning outcomes? Would other designs and assignments be more useful?” In both the case of the development of the automobile and the development of the online version of the basic course, earlier designers or adopters saw the need or opportunity to make advances to improve the product, but their vision of how to proceed was limited by their image of what had happened in the past. They were trapped by their paradigm of what a vehicle should be or what a course design should look like. In the beginning, basic course innovators started with a program of adapting or “forcing” the basic course content into the format of the available tools and communication media. Later, after gaining experience and as a result of extensive research (see Goodnight & Wallace, 2005), basic course designers began a fairly slow evolution of course designs and use of online tools to make piecemeal improvements. Fortunately, the impetus today is one of intentional course design centered on the pursuit of specific results or student learning outcomes, and those course outcomes are becoming the primary drivers of the designs.

Contemporary Online Course Designs From the mid-1990s to the present, many Communication faculty members have been attempting to create online versions of the basic communication course that maintain the quality and rigor of the traditional face-to-face course (Preston & Quesenberry, 2014; Sellnow & Gullicks, 2005; Willer, 2005). This seemed like an impossible task and a significant challenge for those who started in the 1990s. According

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to Bremen (2005), “The need for shared communication combined with the immediacy of a live audience, makes the basic core communication course a seemingly unlikely candidate for distance instruction” (p. 43). Though successfully teaching any class online is challenging, the basic course in communication is especially daunting because of the scale of the course (often high-demand with large enrollments) and the emphasis on oral communication performance. It is best if these performances are delivered before a live audience (or perhaps small groups or interview partners) and are accessible to the instructor for evaluation and feedback. Assessing a student’s oral speech performance is more complicated than grading a paper submitted by email. Today, instructors and course designers have created online iterations of all the standard versions of the basic communication course. These formats include the public speaking course (most widely-used), the hybrid or blended course (interpersonal, small group, and public speaking), and the interpersonal communication course. Regardless of the content, all online versions attempt to maintain course integrity by assuring that the learning objectives and the assessments of the learning objectives are consistent with the traditional face-to-face course. In this section, we describe each of three modalities predominant in the delivery of these courses: distance/completely online, blended learning or near distance, and flipped classrooms. In the completely online modality, students and instructors are typically geographically dispersed, and they do not meet in person. Blended learning consists of a completely online component combined with occasional face-to-face class meetings for presentations, assessments, or group activities. In the flipped classroom, students meet in class with the instructor regularly, but content delivery is primarily online, and face-to-face classes are used for labs, problem solving, or other instructor-student interaction. The next section will examine each of these modalities more closely.

Distance Learning Mode The distance learning course is offered totally online through asynchronous computer-mediated communication. There is usually no “real-time” interaction of students with students or students with instructors. Students access material, communicate with the instructor or classmates, and complete assignments at different times through the day or week. Except for the speed of the exchange of information, earlier versions of this design were very similar to early correspondence courses. Students work at their own pace, though many instructors set specific due dates for assignments. Furthermore, all course-related interaction is web-based, usually facilitated by a course management system like Blackboard, Moodle, Sakai, or Canvas. Curriculum and content are typically created and uploaded by the instructor, though professional course designers or technicians are sometimes involved.

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Instruction may be delivered through video lectures, PowerPoint presentations with or without lectures, podcasts, links to videos, outside websites, and selected readings. It is important to note that online instruction strives to achieve the same learning objectives and assessments as the face-to-face traditional course. Thus, when developing assignments, instructors must be creative and inventive because assignments sometimes do not directly or simply translate into the online environment. Most basic communication courses online, regardless of the type (public speaking, hybrid, or others), have several assignments in common. These include speeches or performances, digital interactions or discussions to facilitate community, and assessments like quizzes or exams. Other types of assignments include reflection journals, small group projects that may or may not include a performance aspect, and critiques or analyses of the uses of oral communication. Speeches or some other kind of oral communication performance are central to most basic courses. These could include a speech of introduction, small group presentation, informative or explanatory presentation, and advocacy (Breman, 2005; Hart, 2014; Preston & Quesenberry, 2014; Sellnow & Gullicks, 2005; Willer, 2005). Currently, oral communication presentations are more likely recorded with a smart phone and then uploaded into YouTube, Facebook, or using other online tools. Because privacy is a concern, many instructors create private channels on YouTube or closed groups in Facebook. Importantly, instructors argue that these performances provide students with real-world experiences that are not available in the traditional face-to-face or blended learning environment. Sellnow and Gullicks (2005) stated that “public speeches in the college classroom may reflect the real world far less accurately than public speeches online students might present to audiences they locate in their own communities” (p. 36). A second common assignment in the online course is digital interaction. As student participation is an essential part of the traditional face-to-face course, it is also essential in the online format. Digital interactions facilitate a sense of community that allows students to feel part of the class and connected to one another and the instructor (Goodnight & Daniel, 2005). Instructors must pay special attention to creating a supportive communication climate in an online course because students can feel isolated and alone without the face-to-face contact with classmates and the instructor. Online office hours using discussion boards, Collaborate, or Skype often help students make a connection to the instructor and to each other. Digital interactions can be graded or ungraded. Ungraded interactions can take place in a discussion board through the course management system. Instructors have referred to these ungraded discussions as “The Student Union,” “The Water Cooler,” or “The Coffee House,” and in this space, students can ask and answer questions about course logistics, content, or even campus events. Instructors also utilize tools like Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Snapchat to connect students with one another and with the course. Graded discussions are created with a spe-

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cific learning objective in mind. For example, students might be asked to analyze a clip from a public speech or one of the many TedTalks. The discussion board normally begins with a set of open-ended questions, and the students are encouraged or required not only to answer the questions posed by the instructor, but also to respond to other students’ answers. This type of threaded discussion encourages a sense of connectedness within the class, just as it would in a face-to-face environment. In addition, many instructors make extensive use of email and text messaging as means of interaction. Evaluation of digital interaction can be based upon quality, quantity, and frequency (Longtin & Thedwall, 2005). The final common assignment in the online environment is related to testing. Testing can be problematic in an online environment, but today there are many ways to ensure the integrity of the test or exam. Wallace (2005) noted that currently available software allows the instructor to randomly select questions from a very large pool so that each student is presented with a unique test or quiz. In addition, the use of open-ended, short-answer, and essay questions help ensure that the student’s response is genuine. Current course management systems also facilitate the use of Turnitin or other plagiarism-detecting software to ensure that contributions are the students’ original work. Though the advantages of the online format are many, there are drawbacks for the instructor and student. First, successful students must be self-motivated and self-directed. Despite many strides that have been made in this area, attrition rates for online courses are still higher than face-to-face classrooms. According to the Hechinger Report (2015), students at community colleges were “11 percent less likely to finish and pass a course if they opted to take the online version instead of the traditional face to face version of the same class” (para. 2). About 79 % of students finish the online course as opposed to the traditional face-to-face course. In every subject, students are doing better face-to-face, according to Cassadra Hart … Other studies have found the same thing. There’s a strong body of evidence building up that students are not doing quite as well in online courses, at least as the courses are being designed now in the community college sector. (Hechinger Report, 2015, para. 3)

Other drawbacks to the online method of course delivery concern the overall teaching-learning experience for instructors and for students. For example, the online basic communication course, like all online courses, is more time-consuming for the instructor than classroom teaching, and may be more time-consuming for the student, as well. Specifically, Mandernach et al. (2013) found that online instructors spent the majority of their time facilitating discussion boards and answering student communication (like email and text messages). Overall, when the time needed to design and build an online course is included, teaching an online course takes more time than a traditional face-to-face section (also see Freeman, 2015). A final drawback, though it is diminishing as time passes, is that all students do not have the technological requirements (a high-speed Internet connection,

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smartphone, and computer) to be successful in an online environment. More colleges and universities are providing students and instructors with the necessary tools, especially available Wi-Fi throughout campus, access to computer labs, and basic and advanced training in both hardware use and software applications. In conclusion, though the benefits accrue to the institution, instructor, and students, the online delivery of the basic communication course is not for everyone.

Blended Learning Mode Blended learning or near distance learning, the second type of modality used for online instruction in the basic communication course, includes a mixture of online and face-to-face instruction with the majority of the course conducted online. Typically, these students are at a near distance to the originating site and have transportation to come to campus for occasional class meetings. Advocates for blended learning argue that “it has the ability to balance the inherent strengths and weaknesses of the face-to-face and distance paradigms” (Gerbic, 2011, p. 222). The majority of the on-campus meetings focus on creating connections and assessing student performances. Willer (2005) states that the face-to-face meetings are necessary because “students often report that a significant benefit of the basic communication course is the relationships they form with classmates that last beyond the semester” (p. 51). In addition, the on-campus sessions provide the live audiences necessary for the public speaking assignments. Individual course designs vary as to the number of on-campus meetings and the amount of time needed for them. For example, Willer (2005) is a proponent of five 3-hour meetings: two meetings for making connections and creating a supportive communication climate through ice breakers and small group work, and three meetings devoted solely to student performances. Hart (2014), on the other hand, schedules four meetings, one each for the four required oral presentations. The timing of the on-campus meetings is important to note. To ensure the course is accessible and available to nontraditional students, instructors often schedule these sessions in the evening or on weekends. Willer’s class met on five Saturday mornings from 9 a.m. to 12:00 noon, during the semester weeks 2, 7, 10, and 15. This type of schedule allows students to plan their work schedules and family obligations months in advance. The majority of the blended course, however, is very similar to the online format. Course content is created and uploaded by the instructor into the course management system. All assignments, including digital interactions and testing are completed within the online course. Student interaction and learning are facilitated through the web as described for the fully distance course. The drawbacks to the blended learning/near distance mode of teaching are few. First, instructors report that it is difficult to find authentic connections

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between the virtual and face-to-face environments (Gerbic, 2011); the two learning environments could become separate spaces and thus lose the strengths each provides to students. Second, the on-campus meetings during evening hours or on weekends may not be convenient for some students, especially the traditional student who takes classes during the week. Finally, as with all online instruction, a heavy time commitment is required by both faculty and students.

Flipped Classroom Mode The final modality to be described is the flipped classroom (see Bergmann & Sams, 2012). Similar to the traditional face-to-face classes, because students meet at regularly scheduled times throughout the week, the flipped classroom contains a substantial online component. Proponents of this format believe that students are more active in the learning process and are given a wider variety of opportunities to engage the course material than in a more traditional class setting. As a matter of fact, “There is no doubt that active-learning classrooms improve student outcomes, and it has been argued that, for a flipped course, it is active learning that drives improved student outcomes” (Gross, Pietri, Anderson, Moyano-Camihort, & Graham, 2015, p. 7; Jensen et al., 2015). Moreover, “Students are exposed to a wider variety of learning tools that allow them to better exploit their learning styles” (Gross et al., 2015, p. 8). Further support comes from Roehl, Reddy, and Shannon (2013), who argue that the flipped classroom is especially effective for millennial students (or digital natives) who have “demonstrated a decreased tolerance for lecture-style dissemination of course information” (p. 44). The online component of the flipped classroom typically contains all the course curriculum. Video lectures, podcasts, and PowerPoint presentations (normally with voice-over instruction) are uploaded to the website. Students are required to engage the material before arriving at regularly scheduled class meetings. Two important benefits are that students can watch the material as many times as necessary for thorough understanding, and they can do so at their convenience, on any device. According to Educause (2012), “This ability may be of particular value to students with accessibility concerns, especially where captions are provided for those with hearing impairments” (para. 10). In addition to course lectures, other learning activities can be completed online, including quizzes, exams, course assessments, small group work, and feedback directed to peers concerning their work (Wallace, 2005). Face-to-face class sessions are then used for interaction and active learning. “Because students have viewed the lecture prior to class, contact hours can be devoted to problem solving, skill development, and gaining a deeper understanding of the subject matter” (Roehl et al., 2014, p. 46; see also Bergmann & Sams, 2012). In the basic communication course, then, students can work in small groups, develop ideas and outlines for oral presentations, and practice delivery skills. In-depth discussions about frames of reference, perception, conno-

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tative and denotative meanings, and nonverbal behavior for example, can be conducted, with or without faculty input. Despite these clear advantages, there are several drawbacks to this modality. First, the instructor must adapt all the course material for the online format; this is not an easy task, as traditional lectures may not translate well when recorded. Second, the technology to create podcasts, video-lectures, or PowerPoint presentations must be available; if professional course designers or other technicians are not available, the instructor must have the knowledge to utilize these technologies. There may be a steep learning curve for some faculty members. At some colleges and universities, the cost to obtain or access the required technology may be prohibitive. Additionally, students must have up-to-date technology, including a highspeed Internet connection, in order to access the course material. Third, “The flipped classrooms, as well as active learning, require students to assume more responsibility for their individual learning experience” (Roehl et al., 2013, p. 48). Students must be given clear expectations about their responsibility for engaging the material before attending the face-to-face sessions. For some students, this will be a stark change from the traditional lecture format they are used to experiencing in the classroom. It seems likely that distance learning or completely online models will continue to be the dominant modality in circumstances that serve geographically dispersed audiences. It also seems likely that the traditional, face-to-face modality will give way to a more hybrid mode as basic course designs and information technology continue to evolve together. To allow students to achieve learning outcomes important to them and their life directions, customizable experiences will be required, and the combination of online and face-to-face interactions of the hybrid modality can be configured to accommodate that requirement. A more detailed description of this projection can be found in the concluding section of this chapter.

Future Considerations for the Online Basic Course Regardless of the content, course design, or medium of delivery, the basic course in communication is slowly moving toward outcomes-based instructional designs. Created on the foundation of what Barr and Tagg (1995) called the “learning paradigm” (para. 4), outcomes-based means that courses are designed and structured with a clear focus on what students should know, what they should be able to do, or what they should value as a result of their experience with the course. This perspective stands in contrast to the more traditional assignment-centered approach to basic course design based on the “instructional paradigm” (Barr & Tagg, 1995, para. 2). Rather than focusing on practical and relevant learning outcomes, the class is sometimes designed around fixed public speaking assignments (and a few other activities if the course is based on a hybrid approach). This kind of

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approach has made the process of adapting to an online environment more challenging than it might have been, much like the earlier example of the constraints associated with motorizing a horse-drawn buggy. There has been a tendency among basic course directors to resist innovation and maintain traditional course designs. Basic course directors should be asking, “How do we achieve selected learning outcomes in an online environment – goals like improved critical thinking, dialogue skills, attentive and open-minded listening, ability to provide clear explanations, mindfulness, and advocacy skills?” Such a question engenders greater creativity and more resourceful answers than “How do we teach public speaking online?” As educators move toward the outcomesbased approach, the potential of the online environment should begin to be more fully realized. As previously noted, the current rationale for teaching and learning online is primarily related to administrative necessity: reaching geographically dispersed student audiences, addressing accessibility issues, increasing enrollments, and generating revenue. To a great extent, this is the reality for many online instructors. However, educators and administrators should take one step back to examine the situation, leave the online component out of the central question, and ask, “What is the best way to achieve the desired learning outcomes?” It could be argued that more design and structure possibilities open up if we view the online environment as one of the many tools that are available to designers for achieving learning outcomes, rather than online course delivery being the end in itself. Even if instructors are forced to embrace the online environment to satisfy administrative necessity, they might still use the environment in very deliberate ways to achieve particular learning outcomes in the basic course. In the ground-breaking days of teaching the basic course online, faculty wishing to do so were usually forced to invent, in addition to the content of the class, the technology and the delivery systems for reaching those students at a distance. It required an enormous investment of time and resources, and it required faculty to participate in the process in ways they were not qualified. Though the actual content of courses was created by content experts, the delivery was, at best, amateur and marginally effective. At the present time, however, course management systems have become user-friendly, well-designed, and nearly ubiquitous, and instructors at many institutions have access to well-trained e-learning experts to assist in course design and delivery. For students who use the course management systems daily, the learning curve is not nearly as challenging as it was in previous years. Finally, the online teacher can return to being more of a content expert and instructor. In addition, partially as a result of the synergy of instructor, e-learning expert, and the presence of well-designed course management systems, the prepackaged online learning products created by the textbook publishers will likely become less and less useful. This is perhaps not good news for publishers, but the movement away from a “one-size-fits-all” perspective on basic courses in commu-

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nication will help both online and face-to-face programs improve, expand their influence across campus and the community, and become more resistant to administrative meddling and turf battles (see Valenzano et al., 2014).

Advice Concerning Online Instruction of the Basic Course Many different forces are exerting positive influence for teaching the basic course online. Taking into consideration the administrative encouragement, the economic incentive, the presence of user-friendly learning management systems at most campuses, the outcome-based pedagogical advantages of many online tools, the availability of e-learning designers, and the ever-increasing technological competence of the digital native students, it would appear that the future of the online basic course is promising. However, as indicated earlier, there is still quite a lot to accomplish to bring this approach to online course design and delivery up to its full potential. To assist these worthwhile efforts, we offer the following suggestions for teachers, scholars, course designers, and administrators to consider: Consider wider use of online tools both for students taking the class at a distance and for those taking the class on or near campus. Restricting online pedagogy to distance learning only could cause course designers to overlook the potential of the various online tools for achieving learning goals in face-to-face classes. The growing number of designs based on the flipped classroom and hybrid models indicates a very good start, and educators should continue to employ these tools whenever appropriate. Focus course design efforts on learning outcomes instead of (or at least along with) traditional assignments as the basis for course design. Instead of allowing course designs to be dictated and constrained by textbooks and existing assignments, begin the process with the end result in mind, often referred to as backward design (Wiggins & McTighe, 2005). If the possibility of redesigning the entire course is not an option at present, instructors can still concentrate on individual learning outcomes and try to create student experiences and assignments that would allow the student to achieve desired outcomes. Piecemeal is still progress! Do not resist or avoid assessment. Assessment allows instructors to know if students are achieving the desired learning outcomes. While administration is often tasked with gathering assessment data for various accreditation requirements, individual instructors and basic course directors should be gathering evidence to help them understand if what they are doing in the class is working. If the evidence suggests that students are not achieving the outcomes, then the design of the learning experience should be changed to better achieve them. Instructors, both online and in the classroom, need to let go of the idea that assessment is administration looking over their shoulder. Instead, think of it not as the “A” word, but as a way to gather information that will help improve the course and ultimately the educational experience of the students. Once the information is gathered and the course

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director can see what is and is not working, then it is logical to take positive steps to “close the loop” by implementing changes that will bring about improvement. Build online community among the students and instructors in the class. Encourage the growth of interpersonal relationships as well as collaboration on projects, discussions, and study groups. Attrition rates in online classes are still very high. One probable explanation is that taking a class completely online can often be a very solitary experience; students can feel isolated and completely on their own while attempting to complete the class. This stands in high contrast to the classroom experience in which the student has the opportunity for regular interactions with instructors and other students. This interaction can be motivating as well as an integral part of the learning process (Goodnight & Daniel, 2005). Online students can be helped to feel less isolation if the instructor makes a strong effort to engage each student on an interpersonal level through email, online (real-time) office hours, constructive, rapid, and personal feedback on assignments, and by maintaining a regular presence in online discussions. In addition, students can feel a connection to the other students through collaboration on projects, study groups, real-time interactions using tools like “Go-to-Meeting” or Blackboard’s “Collaborate.” Much like having a workout partner at the gym, students can motivate each other, share ideas, feel that they are part of something larger than themselves, and perhaps most important, hold each other accountable for participation, keeping up, task completion, and conceptual understanding. Overall, building community should help students better achieve learning outcomes as well as motivate them to stay active in the class, and thereby causing attrition rates to decline. Take more advantage of the growing field of e-learning specialists. This relatively new specialty should not be confused with what we have come to know as IT (information technology) technicians. While IT technicians have come to be necessary for survival in day-to-day activities and especially in virtual environments, they are usually not trained or qualified as course designers. The new generation of e-leaning specialists also have strong technical backgrounds, but in addition they have acquired advanced training in education and techniques of course design. Institutions that do not have this kind of resource will soon see the need and the benefits in making it available to faculty. Become more familiar with the array of online tools to build assignments and other experiences to help achieve student learning outcomes. The trend in the development of online courses over time has been to adopt and master an online tool, then look for ways to apply it to particular assignments; in brief, adapt the assignment to the tool. Instead, the goal ought to be finding the right online tool to help achieve the student learning outcome. This activity, in turn, requires that assignments be created as a result of the learning outcome, instead of extracting or mining learning outcomes from existing assignments. Along with these opportunities to develop and execute first-rate instruction of the online basic course, there are also some significant challenges that must be faced and overcome if this method of course delivery is to reach its full potential:

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Adopt a realistic attitude toward online instruction. The perception of some students, instructors, and administrators is that online courses take less time and are easier to complete than face-to-face classes. As previously noted, research and experience prove the opposite to be true. Online instructors must devote additional time and an innovative spirit to develop clear and effective instruction and site navigation. Likewise, students must exert increased self-discipline and focus to successfully complete the online basic course and benefit from the learning opportunities it presents. Give extra attention to the clarity and precision of instruction. The long tradition of teaching in a face-to-face setting permits last-minute clarifications and instructions for completing projects and other assignments. Instructors preparing to teach online will require coaching in the careful planning and presentation of course schedules and the writing of extraordinarily clear instructions for assignments and other course expectations. While it is certainly possible to take questions about particular assignments or activities in the online environment, it adds a layer of complication and time commitment that could be avoided with careful descriptions and instructions. Careful explanation extends also to supplying instructions for successfully navigating the website housing the course. This can be a relatively simple task but one that requires careful planning and attention to detail. The course designer should see the whole class in the macro sense and communicate that view to the student. An e-learning professional designer can be very helpful in this area. Failure to follow through on something that seems as simple as site navigation can make a significant difference in student success rates. Work toward providing full accessibility for all students. Governmental entities require that courses be available to all students, regardless of their physical abilities or mobility. Not only is this a legal issue, but it is also the right thing to do. For example, the Americans with Disabilities Act, Section 508, requires that the electronic and information technology that we use in distance learning be made accessible to persons with disabilities (ADA.gov, 1973). Of course, this poses certain challenges for course designers. For example, the sites should use fonts that are readable by machine and also provide machine-readable captions for pictures or other illustrations for persons who are vision impaired. In addition, the use of color as a navigation or explanation tool does not allow people who are color blind to follow the directions or be able to see differences. If instructors are explaining typical views of liberal vs. conservative points of view, they could use blue and red colors to make lists of attitudes, but they would also have to include other means of making that distinction that go beyond color. For persons with hearing loss, any audio recordings must be captioned, including YouTube-type video, narrated lectures or explanations, or other audio sources. All these activities require attention to detail, careful planning, and additional time commitment on the part of course designers and instructors. Allow adequate time for course development. To accomplish the desired course goals and student learning outcomes, and to respond to the significant challenges

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of the medium, it is clear that instructors should not be asked to teach an online class on short notice. Though it may be technically possible to move a course into the online format in a rather short time, it is rarely a wise choice. Given the extensive attention to detail and explanation required for a coherent and comprehensible student experience, a quick course development does a disservice to the basic communication course and especially to the student.

Concluding Remarks and Projections Any projection of the future of the basic course online necessarily involves a discussion of the research literature as well as a thoughtful speculation about the nature of things to come. Research certainly needs to be systematic and robust to evaluate past advances and to inform future directions. A view of the nature of things to come requires a consideration of future basic course designs combined with a projection of the trajectory of information technology innovation for the next several years. We begin this final section with the state of published scholarship of the basic course online. What is absent from this chapter is a reporting of any extensive research from the Communication field about the basic course online. It was not an oversight. There is a significant gap in the literature that needs to be addressed by scholars and researchers in Communication. The conversation concerning teaching the basic course online began in earnest in 2000, and it continues today at the Basic Course Directors’ Conference, the National Communication Conference, the regional communication associations, and online in the Basic Course Directors’ Listserv. Though the conversations are lively and full of great ideas, the field has failed to move beyond those conversations and into print with the exception of the Goodnight and Wallace (2005) edited volume. The ideas that emerge in those impromptu conversations should be moved into print. Online, hybrid, and flipped models dominate the conversations, and it is apparent that variants of these designs are being attempted, adjusted, and attempted again all across the field. The focus seems to be so much on inventing and implementing that we have lost sight of the systematic investigation, assessment, and reporting necessary to demonstrate success and for sharing innovations with others who are struggling to keep up. It is clear that systematic research needs to be done by communication scholars and researchers, and put into print, before we can make any definitive conclusions about the successes or failures of placing the basic communication course online. When considering the nature of things to come, we have to include at least the immediate the future of information technology. When relating it to higher education applications like the basic course in communication, it is likely more productive to consider trajectories rather than predictions. Brown (2015) notes that predictions are often grounded in the present and, as Thomas Kuhn (1963) would argue,

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being constrained by the current paradigm restricts our vision of what is to come. Trajectories allow speculation about the direction something is taking, but they do not force a specific guess about where it will end up. Following that suggestion, this concluding section will focus on three specific trajectories. First, the future is promising for offering the basic course in the online environment. The online environment can be used to accomplish many of the goals for which it was originally conceived (i.e., reaching geographically dispersed audiences, accommodating multiple schedules and commitments of individuals, allowing access to students with various life situations and physical restrictions, increasing enrollments, and generating additional revenues for the institution). In addition, the online environment has the potential of making a significant contribution to the continued evolution of the design of the basic course in communication by providing more and different means of achieving desired student learning outcomes and helping to customize the basic course experience to meet individual student needs. This potential hinges on developments in information technology and the realization by basic course designers and administrators that the “onesize-fits-all” design of many basic courses might be doing a disservice to students. Second, the trajectory of information technology appears to be heading for mobile devices (Brown, 2015; Craig & Williams, 2015). Though instructors often consider a laptop computer to be mobile, students consider them burdensome. The trajectory of development appears to be moving toward even smaller devices like smartphones (Craig & Williams, 2015) and could end up with devices such as smart watches or other wearable technology such as Google Glass and other devices not yet conceived. These mobile devices invite individualized customization to suit particular needs. Our own experience in the classroom is that more students are using smartphones to access course content, even for extended readings, on the small screen. In addition, our students are using the smartphone for taking notes, for participating in forum discussions, for email with instructors and each other, to access video and other course-related presentations, and to create and submit course projects. We are already heading in the direction of mobile devices. Third, the trajectory of individual mobile devices can have significant impact on basic course designs in the not-so-distant future. Wallace (2015) and others have argued that basic course designs have to become more sensitive to the needs of the disciplinary majors of students taking the course, to the needs of the professions that will be hiring those students once they graduate, to the needs of students whose futures rely on their career readiness (which might revolve around their ability to communicate effectively using the new technologies), and to the missions of the institutions they serve. In addition to creating a higher quality educational experience for students, basic course administrators can position their courses as more central to the mission of their particular institution to maintain their positions in the midst of budget cuts and turf battles. The overarching argument is that the “one-size-fits-all” basic course will not allow this necessary adaptation to occur.

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Each course should be designed for the institution in which it is housed (Wallace, 2015). This model, however, only looks up the organizational chart; it does not look down to the actual users. While the basic courses are moving toward adapting to their institutions according to institutional needs and missions, the assumption is that every student in that institution will be served by what remains essentially a “one-size-fits-all” model from the student perspective. We suggest that basic course design should consider the end users: the individual needs and requirements of the students. Even though students are grouped together in majors, each individual student has particular aspirations and talents, strengths and weaknesses. Can or should the basic course be adapted to or customized for each of those individuals? The trajectory of mobile and personalized devices could help provide a solution to this problem. Brown (2015) notes that the Massachusetts Institute of Technology has begun to explore breaking down its courses into smaller modules and “enabling students and instructors to ‘reassemble’ the modules to construct personalized educational pathways” (para. 3). Perhaps learning outcomes would be less focused on the common conception of the course and more focused on achieving outcomes for the individual student. What knowledge and experiences would best help this student achieve his or her individual desired outcomes? For example, though many students might not benefit from instruction in public speaking or group decision making, others might absolutely need it. Such a customizable approach would allow multiple student learning outcomes to be included in the educational experience. Following what appears to be the trajectory of the small, mobile device, modules could be available in individual APPs that could be accessed by students and used in combination with others to achieve the desired learning outcomes required of the basic course in oral communication. The scenario presented here is just one of many future possibilities. This scenario does not call for a completely online basic course, but it could certainly be offered in that modality. Such an educational experience could also be offered in a traditional face-to-face classroom, but that experience could be digitally enhanced with a creative design to allow the benefits of face-to-face experiences in oral communication while allowing for significant customization for individual student “users” of the course. In such a case, the future of face-to-face instruction may be transformed by the best of today’s e-learning techniques, and the classroom instructors who once resisted e-learning may stand to benefit from what distance delivery has revealed about how students learn in the 21 st century.

References ADA.gov (1973). Section 508 Surveys and Reports. Retrieved from http://www.ada.gov/508/ Barr, R. B., & Tagg, J. (1995). From teaching to learning: A new paradigm for undergraduate education. Change, November/December, 13–25.

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Bergmann, J., & Sams, A. (2012). Flip your classroom: Reach every student in every class every day. Eugene, OR: International Society for Technology in Education. Bremen, E. B. (2005). The online public speaking fundamentals course at a community college. In L. J. Goodnight & S. P. Wallace (Eds.), The basic communication course online: Scholarship and application (pp. 43–50). Dubuque, IA: Kendall/Hunt Publishing Company. Brown, M. (2015). Six technologies for digital technology in higher education. Educause Review, 50, pp. 16–28. Clymer, F. (1950). Treasury of early American automobiles, 1877–1925. New York, NY: Bonanza Books. Craig, R., & Williams, A. (2015). Data, technology, and the great unbundling of higher education. Educause Review, 50, pp. 11–25. Dedmon, D. (1965). The required first course in speech as oral communication. Central States Speech Journal, 16, 120–125. doi:10.1080/10510976509362781 Educause. (2012). 7 Things you should know about… flipped classrooms. Retrieved from http://www.educause.edu/library/resources/7-things-you-sgould-know-about-flippedclassrooms. Freeman, L. A. (2015). Instructor time requirements to develop and teach online courses. Online Journal of Distance Learning Administration, 18, n.p. Retrieved from http://www.westga.edu/ ~distance/ojdla/spring181/freeman181.html. Gerbic, P. (2011). Teaching using a blended approach – what does the literature tell us? Educational Medial International, 48, 221–234. Goodnight, L. J., & Daniel, P. E. (2005). Creating online learning communities. In L. J. Goodnight & S. P. Wallace (Eds.), The basic communication course online: Scholarship and application (pp. 79–84). Dubuque, IA: Kendall/Hunt. Goodnight, L. J., & Wallace, S. P. (Eds.). (2005). The basic communication course online: Scholarship and application. Dubuque, IA: Kendall/Hunt. Gross, D., Pietri E. S., Anderson, G., Moyano-Camihort, K., & Graham, M. J. (2015). Increased preclass preparation underlies student outcome improvement in the flipped classroom. CBE-Life Science Education, 14, 1–8. Hargis, D. (1956). The first course in speech. The Speech Teacher, 5, 26–33. doi:10.1080/03634525609376775. Hart, Z. P. (2014). Hybrid online teaching: Pathway to success for “traditional” universities. Kentucky Journal of Communication, 33, 40–51. Hechinger Report. (2015). Studies: Online courses unsuccessful at community colleges. Retrieved from http://www.usnews.com/news/articles/2015/04/27/studies-online-coursesunsuccessful-at-community-colleges. Jensen, J. L., Kummer, T. A., & Godoy, P. (2015). Improvements from flipped classroom may simply be the fruit of active learning. CBE-Life Sciences Education, 14, 1–12. Kuhn, T. S. (1962). The structure of scientific revolutions. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Longtin, K., & Thedwall, K. (2005). Making connections using the discussion forum. In L. J. Goodnight & S. P. Wallace (Eds.), The basic communication course online: Scholarship and application (pp. 79–84). Dubuque, IA: Kendall/Hunt Publishing Company. Mandernach, B., Hudson, S., & Wise, S. (2013). Where has the time gone? Faculty activities and time commitments in the online classroom. Journal of Education Online, 10, n.p. Morreale, S. P., Hanna, M. S., Berko, R. M., & Gibson, J. W. (1999). The basic communication course in U.S. colleges and universities: VI. Basic Communication Course Annual, 11, 1–36. Morreale, S., Hugenberg, L., & Worley, D. (2006). The basic communication course at U.S. colleges and universities in the 21 st century: Study VII. Communication Education, 55, 415– 437. doi:10.1080/03634520600879162

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Morreale, S., Worley, D., & Hugenberg, B. (2010). The basic communication course at U.S. colleges and universities in the 21 st century: Study VIII. Communication Education, 59, 405– 430. doi:10.1080/03634521003637124 Preston, M. M., & Quesenberry, B. A. (2014). Virtual public speaking case study: Maintaining rigor, meeting outcomes, and enhancing relevance for digital natives. Quarterly Review of Business Disciplines, 1, 273–285. Roehl, A., Reddy, S. L., & Shannon, G. J. (2013). The flipped classroom: An opportunity to engage millennial students through active learning strategies. Journal of Family & Consumer Sciences. 105, 44–49. Sellnow, D., & Gullicks, K. A. (2005). The online public speaking fundamentals course at a fouryear university. In L. J. Goodnight & S. P. Wallace (Eds.), The basic communication course online scholarship and application (pp. 35–42). Dubuque, IA: Kendall/Hunt. Valenzano, J. M. III, Wallace, S. P., & Morreale, S. P. (2014). Consistency and change: The (r)evolution of the basic communication course. Communication Education, 63, 355–365. Wallace, S. P. (2015). A model for the development of a sustainable basic course in communication. Basic Communication Course Annual, 27, 78–101. Wallace, S. P. (2005). A range of applications for computer based instruction in the basic communication course. In L. J. Goodnight & S. P. Wallace (Eds.), The basic communication course online: Scholarship and application (pp. 3–10). Dubuque, IA: Kendall/Hunt. Wiggins, G., & McTighe, J. (2005). Understanding by Design. Alexandria, VA: Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development. Willer, L. W. (2005). The hybrid basic communication course online. In L. J. Goodnight & S. P. Wallace (Eds.), The basic communication course online: Scholarship and application (pp. 51– 58). Dubuque, IA: Kendall/Hunt. Witt, P. L., & Behnke, R. R. (2006). Anticipatory speech anxiety as a function of public speaking assignment type. Communication Education, 55, 167–177. doi:10.1080/03634520600566074

Stephen K. Hunt and Chad E. Woolard

21 Service Learning and Innovative Pedagogies Abstract: This chapter provides an overview of innovative pedagogies designed to enhance civic education at institutions of higher education across the world. As several scholars have noted, youth civic and political disengagement is a serious problem that should concern all of those in higher education. Although some progress has been made in addressing this problem in recent years, it is clear that much more can be done to deploy innovative educational experiences designed to enhance students’ civic skills. This chapter begins with a review of the extant literature regarding student engagement and meaningful learning. We then explore innovative civic education pedagogies including service learning, civic engagement, political engagement, democratic engagement, critical engagement, social justice, and antifoundational approaches to civic education. By examining the theoretical assumptions of each of these approaches, the chapter fills an important gap in the civic education literature. We conclude with implications for the development of civic education pedagogy. Keywords: student engagement, civic education pedagogy, service learning, civic engagement, political engagement, democratic engagement, critical engagement, social justice, antifoundational engagement, student engagement, involvement theory

This chapter provides an overview of innovative pedagogies designed to enhance civic education at institutions of higher education. Several well-known scholars have persuasively argued that civic and political disengagement among a wide contingent of the population is a serious concern. In the United States it is clear that far too many Americans have turned their backs on politics and the public sphere (Bauerlein, 2008; Macedo, 2005). Although some aspects of participation remain robust (e.g., voter turnout in the last Presidential election), too many of our citizens, it is asserted, are ill-prepared, uninterested, or otherwise unwilling to participate in civic and political life. For example, participation in such activities as rallies, demonstrations, political campaigns, and writing letters to the editor has decreased substantially over the last 30 years (Putnam, 2000). At the same time, civic education has dwindled – the number of civics courses offered in public schools has declined by two-thirds according to some estimates (Delli Carpini & Keeter, 1996). Beyond the United States, a commitment to educate students for citizenship and civic engagement has swept around the globe (McIlrath & MacLabhrainn,

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2007). For example, Watson, Hollister, Stroud, and Babcock (2011) document the efforts of 20 institutions of higher education worldwide to engage students to tackle societal problems like poverty, public health, and environmental quality. In discussing the globalization of civic engagement in higher education, Bawa and Munk (2012) argued, It is no longer enough to see civic engagement as something that must/ought to be done, or for that matter, as often happens, to see it as an add-on to the core functions of a higher education institution. This theorization will allow us to begin to think of civic engagement as a necessary and fundamental component of the core functions of the university. (p. xii)

The necessity of higher education to play a role in preparing students for meaningful civic participation is clearly a global concern. Youth civic and political disengagement is an issue that should concern all of those in higher education (Beaumont, Colby, Ehrlich, & Torney-Purta, 2006; Butin, 2010; Colby, Beaumont, Ehrlich, & Corngold, 2007; Colby, Beaumont, Ehrlich, & Stephens, 2003; Hillygus, 2005; Hunt, Simonds, & Simonds, 2009; Spiezio, Baker, & Boland, 2005). This is a problem worth addressing because, as Galston (2003) argues, the withdrawal of a cohort of citizens from our political system places democracy at risk and makes it more difficult to address the most pressing problems facing communities around the globe. Although some progress has been made in addressing students’ civic skills over the last 10 years, colleges and universities can do much more to deploy innovative educational experiences that are designed to intentionally develop students’ civic skills (Beaumont et al., 2006; Colby et al., 2007). As Beaumont et al. (2006) note, higher education institutions are “well positioned to promote democratic competencies and participation” (p. 250). Modern approaches to civic engagement have centered on the development of young people’s political development from a liberal political perspective – teaching individuals how to be good citizens in a democracy (Carr, 2008). The political and philosophical foundations of citizenship are clearly evident in the American constitution, many of the constitutions developed in Europe during the 19th century, and the constitutions of West Germany and Japan following the end of World War II. The writings of John Stuart Mill and Alexis de Tocqueville also influence our understanding of citizenship and civic education, particularly their pronouncement that “all can be active citizens if they care, but must mutually respect the equal rights of fellow citizens within a regulatory legal order that defines, protects, and limits those rights” (Crick, 2008, p. 15). Although civic education is often associated with Western notions of democracy, Palczewski, Ice, and Fritch (2012) suggest that civic education is really about facilitating “people’s participation in individual or collective action to develop solutions to social, economic, and political challenges in their communities, states, nations, and world” (p. 13). From service learning to democratic engagement to the pedagogies of civic and political engagement, this chapter critically examines the significant approaches

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to educating for citizenship that have become popular in higher education over the last several years. While it is clear to most students that the skills they are learning in various courses may enhance their career aspirations, it too frequently is not immediately clear to them what their responsibilities are as engaged citizens in their communities. However, beyond equipping students for personal success, all those in higher education have an obligation to prepare them to be engaged citizens.

Understanding Pedagogies of Engagement The pedagogies we discuss in this chapter rest on the premise that motivating students to become actively involved in their classrooms, campuses, and communities will result in meaningful learning as well as a commitment civic participation. In other words, these strategies require students to participate in their communities in order to better understand and appreciate how they might act as agents of social change. In this way, students do not simply learn about communication, or any other disciplinary content area for that matter, but they learn how to use appropriate disciplinary theory and research to improve their communities. As you will see, the assignments and activities employed with each of the pedagogical approaches vary, but they all require students to be active rather than passive participants in the learning process. A long line of research regarding student engagement indicates that deep learning is more likely in situations where students are highly involved and engaged in the learning process (Astin, 1999; Fink, 2003; Harper & Quaye, 2009; Kember & Gow, 1994). Before we turn to the specific pedagogies for educating for citizenship, it is important to better understand the research and theory related to student engagement and involvement that underpins these approaches.

Creating Significant Learning Experiences Educators and scholars working in this area are interested in how active student engagement promotes learning. The question of how to design pedagogy for optimal learning has been a topic of discussion for many years. Although a full review of the domains of learning and instructional design is beyond the purview of this chapter, it is worth noting some of the seminal work relating to cognitive, affective, and behavioral (or psychomotor) learning. In the late 1950s, Bloom, Englehart, Furst, Hill, and Krathwohl (1956) developed a taxonomy of cognitive learning that served as the foundation for instructional design in higher education for decades. Bloom et al.’s (1956) taxonomy identifies six distinct types of cognitive learning (intellectual reasoning) arranged in hierarchical order: knowledge, comprehen-

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sion, application, analysis, synthesis, and evaluation. Similar taxonomies were developed later exploring affective learning (how students feel about course content and the instructor; see Krathwohl, Bloom, & Masia, 1964) and behavioral learning (psychomotor and kinesthetic skill development; see Harrow, 1972). Importantly, proponents of active learning claim that instructors should blend and integrate these three domains whenever possible. For example, Barkley (2010) stated, The learning activities that teachers design to help students progress cognitively will be most successful if students are engaged on an affective level (enjoying the tasks and giving them their full attention) and, when appropriate, a kinesthetic level (applying the theoretical and abstract by doing a physical activity). (pp. 37–38)

Building on the work of Bloom and others, Shulman (2002) created a table of learning outlining six hallmarks of student learning: Engagement and Motivation Knowledge and Understanding Performance and Action Reflection and Critique Judgment and Design Commitment and Identity

Shulman’s table departs significantly from the hierarchical taxonomy of learning developed by Bloom et al. (1965). For Shulman, student learning is an interdependent and cyclical process: Learning begins with student engagement, which in turn leads to knowledge and understanding. Once someone understands, he or she becomes capable of performance or action. Critical reflection on one’s practice and understanding leads to higher order thinking in the form of a capacity to exercise judgment in the face of uncertainty and to create designs in the presence of constraints and unpredictability. Ultimately, the exercise of judgment makes possible the development of commitment. In commitment, we become capable of professing our understandings and our values, our faith and our love, our skepticism and our doubts, internalizing those attributes and making them integral to our identities. These commitments, in turn, make new engagements possible – even necessary. (p. 38)

Shulman’s table of learning was motivated in part by the work of Edgerton (1997), who produced a white paper for the Pew Charitable Trusts calling for the development of new pedagogies of engagement. Such pedagogies require students to be actively involved in doing tasks related to the discipline they are studying. As Shulman (2002) notes, student engagement “is one of the most interesting and important aspects of learning” (p. 40). It should be evident that contemporary instructional design scholars have advanced taxonomies of learning to account for student learning outcomes that do not easily emerge from the work of Bloom and his colleagues. For example, Fink

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(2003) developed a taxonomy of significant learning for higher education that recognizes “learning how to learn, leadership and interpersonal skills, ethics, communication skills, character, tolerance, and the ability to adapt to change” (p. 29). As Fink (2003) explains, higher education must recognize student learning outcomes “that go well beyond the cognitive domain of Bloom’s taxonomy and even beyond cognitive learning itself. This suggests that the time may have arrived when we need a new and broader taxonomy of significant learning” (pp. 29–30). As with Shulman’s (2002) table of learning, Fink’s (2003) taxonomy of significant learning is dynamic, interactive, and relational. This interaction is important to Fink (2003) because it means that “the various types of learning are synergistic. And this in turn means that teaching is no long a zero-sum game. That is, teachers don’t automatically have to give up one kind of learning to achieve another” (p. 32). The frameworks for learning discussed in this section have fueled new lines of research on student engagement in many disciplines.

Research on Student Engagement Given the relationships among participation, motivation, and learning, investigating innovative ways to engage students both inside and outside of the classroom is an important topic for instructional communication and communication pedagogy scholars (Christophel, 1990; Fassinger, 2000; Howard, Short, & Clark, 1996; Rattenborg, Simonds, & Hunt, 2005). Indeed, many educational researchers have devoted significant attention to understanding the most important predictors of student success in higher education. For example, scholars have developed lines of programmatic research in this area, exploring the relationships between variables such as student effort, active learning strategies, grades, and persistence (Braxton, Milem, & Sullivan, 2000; Kuh, Cruce, Shoup, & Kinzie, 2008). According to Pascarella (2001), “An excellent undergraduate education is most likely to occur at those colleges and universities that maximize good practices and enhance students’ academic and social engagement” (p. 22). As Harper and Quaye (2009) note, student engagement is “characterized as participation in educationally effective practices, both inside and outside the classroom, which leads to a range of measurable outcomes” (pp. 2–3). According this approach, passive pedagogies, including lecturing, are far less effective at promoting student learning outcomes compared to active learning pedagogies designed to meaningfully engage students (Kuh, Hu, & Vesper, 2000). Barkley (2010) further distinguishes between active and passive teaching approaches in the following terms: Active learning means students are building their own minds through an active, involved process in which they make an idea, a concept, or a problem solution their own by assimilating it into their own understandings. In the traditional model, teachers stand at the front of the

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room and teach by “telling” students what they have learned with the expectation that they will transfer this knowledge into students’ heads efficiently and accurately. In the active learning model, teachers create conditions in which students do the work, actively making connections and organizing learning into meaningful concepts. The advantages of cooperative and collaborative learning for actively engaging students are clear when compared with more traditional methods – such as lecture and large-group discussions – in which only a few students typically can, or do, participate. (pp. 25–26)

Importantly, effective engagement requires significant work on the part of students as well as an institutional commitment to provide the resources to facilitate active learning. Kuh, Kinzie, Buckley, Bridges, and Hayek (2007) further clarify the student engagement construct: Student engagement represents two critical features. The first is the amount of time and effort students put into their studies and other educationally purposeful activities. The second component of student engagement is how the institution deploys its resources and organizes the curriculum, other learning opportunities, and support services to induce students to participate in activities that lead to the experiences and desired outcomes such as persistence, satisfaction, learning, and graduation. (p. 44)

Extant research in this area demonstrates that purposeful engagement is associated with numerous positive student outcomes including critical thinking development (Anaya, 1996; Kuh et al., 2000), moral development (Rest, 1993), college adjustment (Kuh, Palmer, & Kish, 2003), higher grades (Astin, 1993; Tross, Harper, Osher & Kneidinger, 2000), positive self-image (Harper & Quaye, 2007), and persistence rates (Astin, 1985; Kuh et al., 2008). In the next section we explore notable constructs, principles, and theories that have been developed to explain the relationship between active participation and student learning.

Interaction Involvement Initially, communication scholars have examined engagement and involvement as an indicator of communication competence. Cegala (1981) defines interaction involvement as the “extent to which an individual partakes in a social environment” (p. 112). The tenets of interaction involvement are consistent with student engagement research in that active participation is viewed as a prerequisite for positive outcomes in communication interactions. As Cegala (1981) explains, individuals who are highly involved in interactions “relate inner feelings, thoughts, and experiences with objects and circumstances of the immediate social environment” (p. 113). On the other hand, those who are less involved “direct their conscious attention primarily to the world of inner, private experience and, as a consequence, participate less completely with the happenings of the immediate social environment” (Cegala, 1981, p. 113). The implications of interaction involvement for the classroom are significant. Classroom strategies requiring active student participa-

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tion are likely to stimulate higher levels of attention to important course concepts and positively influence student motivation, affect for the material, and cognitive learning (Barkley, 2010).

Involvement Theory In a line of research closely related to student engagement, scholars have examined student involvement. According to Astin (1984, 1999), involvement is a complex concept that includes the “amount of physical and psychological energy that the student devotes to the academic experience” (p. 518). Astin outlines the following five postulates of involvement theory: 1. Involvement refers to the investment of physical and psychological energy in various objects. The objects may be highly generalized (the student experience) or highly specific (preparing for a chemistry examination). 2. Regardless of its object, involvement occurs along a continuum; that is, different students manifest different degrees of involvement in a given object, and the same student manifests different degrees of involvement in different objects at different times. 3. Involvement has both quantitative and qualitative features. The extent of a student’s involvement in academic work, for instance, can be measured quantitatively (how many hours the student spends studying) and qualitatively (whether the student reviews and comprehends reading assignments or simply stares at the textbook and daydreams). 4. The amount of student learning and personal development associated with any educational program is directly proportional to the quality and quantity of student involvement in that program. 5. The effectiveness of any educational policy or practice is directly related to the capacity of that policy to practice to increase student involvement. (p. 519) Involvement theory clearly rejects many assumptions of older process-product lines of research that positioned students as passive receivers of information. For Astin, involvement mediates the relationship between the educational practices students are exposed to and their development. Involvement theory predicts that highly involved students (e.g., those who spend time and energy studying, participate actively in class and in student organizations, and communicate frequently with faculty and other students) should significantly outperform under-involved students (e.g., those who neglect studying, spend little time on campus, and communicate infrequently with faculty and other students) on a variety of cognitive, affective, and behavioral outcome measures. Indeed, research in this area demonstrates that involvement is positively associated with student learning, critical thinking development, satisfaction, and persistence (Astin, 1993; Berger & Milem, 1999; Gellin, 2003; Kuh et al., 2008; Tinto, 1993).

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Involvement theory provides several practical applications for educators. For Astin (1984, 1999), the theory offers a better approach to teaching and learning than pedagogical content knowledge approaches because it “encourages educators to focus less on what they do and more on what the student does: how motivated the student is and how much time and energy the student devotes to the learning process” (p. 522). Rather than viewing students as passive receivers of knowledge, involvement theory views students as active agents in the learning process.

Seven Principles of Good Practice in Undergraduate Education Chickering and Gamson’s (1987) seven principles of good practice in undergraduate education extend Astin’s (1984/1999) work on student involvement. According to Chickering and Gamson, effective undergraduate education: 1. Encourages contacts between students and faculty. 2. Develops reciprocity and cooperation among students. 3. Uses active learning techniques. 4. Gives prompt feedback. 5. Emphasizes time on task. 6. Communicates high expectations. 7. Respects diverse talents and ways of learning. (p. 3) Chickering and Gamson claim that these seven principles can be used by students and faculty to improve undergraduate education by taking advantage of six important “forces” in higher education including activity, cooperation, diversity, expectations, interaction, and responsibility. These principles clearly overlap with involvement theory, as students must be actively engaged participants in the learning process, and the amount of time and energy they invest predicts learning outcomes. In short, “learning is not a spectator sport” (Chickering & Gamson, 1987, p. 5). This approach also privileges the role of communication in learning. Chickering and Gamson (1987) state that students “do not learn much just by sitting in classes listening to teachers, memorizing pre-packaged assignments, and spitting out answers. They must talk about what they are learning, write about it, relate it to past experiences, apply it to their daily lives” (p. 5). Students who actively participate in discussions about course content build critical thinking skills by working with new knowledge and relating it to previous experiences. Communication allows students to question, examine, and create meaning through immediate interaction with others. O’Keefe (1986) contends that “oral communication improves not only students’ facility with language but their facility in maneuvering ideas as well. Speech allows ideas to be picked up and examined, set on shelves in categories, and eventually added to other categories, ideas, or words” (p. 6). As we will demonstrate later, communication also plays a vital role in achieving the student

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learning outcomes targeted by the pedagogies of civic education. With an understanding of the theories, principles, and research that inform pedagogies of engagement, we now explore innovative approaches for educating citizens.

Educating Citizens Before discussing specific civic education pedagogies, it is important to note that they all share the objective of preparing students for meaningful participation in their communities as engaged citizens. Indeed, a growing number of campuses across the United States are implementing community- and service-based learning objectives into the curriculum and co-curriculum (Butin, 2010; Musil, 2015; Saltmarsh, 2005; Smith, Nowacek, & Bernstein, 2010; Westheimer & Kahne, 2004). Beyond the United States, McIlrath and MacLabhrainn (2007) observe that for most national and private institutions of higher education around the world the “notion of the university fulfilling some, often identified, civic purpose is long established” (p. xxiv). Scholars have identified these types of educational initiatives and innovative pedagogies as critical in the development of responsible and participatory citizens (Jacoby, 2009). However, one of the most significant challenges to these efforts is defining citizenship. Indeed, proponents of civic education have observed that no consensus exists among scholars regarding the definitions for concepts like citizenship, civic engagement, and service learning (Jacoby, 2009). Most dictionary definitions of citizenship address issues including the legal status of residents within a country, social conduct, patriotism, nationalism, and community membership. To make matters more complicated, confusion about the definition of citizenship is not limited to the scholarly community. For example, in a series of focus groups with American high school students, Kahne, Middaugh, and Chi (2003) found that students’ definitions of citizenship vary widely from strict rule following to those who actively stand up for what they believe. Such discrepancies can make it difficult to find common ground for a productive discussion about citizenship. Westheimer and Kahne (2004) shed light on this conversation by outlining three types of citizenship: personally responsible, participatory, and justice-oriented. The personally responsible citizen is honest and law-abiding. This type of citizen does what is expected of them and responds to community issues that require action. The participatory citizen assumes leadership roles in the community. This type of citizen delegates responses to community issues and actively participates in government and community organizations. Finally, the justice-oriented citizen questions and challenges existing rules and regulations when they do not produce results. Justice-oriented citizens investigate root causes to community issues and focus on changing government and community organizations that are not effective. Table 1, based on the research of Westheimer and Kahne (2004), outlines the three types of citizens.

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Table 1: Three Types of Citizens Personally Responsible

Participatory

Justice-Oriented

Law-abiding

Active in community organizations

Challenges the status quo

Works and pays taxes

Knows how government works

Seeks out and addresses injustice

Volunteers

Knows strategies for getting things done

Knows how to use social movements to accomplish goals

Innovative Civic Education Pedagogies As previously noted, there is a growing global trend of educating students for citizenship. In fact, innovative civic education programs can be found around the world in countries like Brazil (Schugurensky & Madjid, 2008), Canada (Hughes & Sears, 2008), China (Lee & Chi-hang, 2008), Czech Republic (Klicperová-Baker, 2008), Isreal (Ichilov, 2008), Pakistan (Dean, 2008), Palestine (Moughrabi, 2008), and the United Kingdom (Kerr, Smith, & Twine, 2008). However, Colby et al. (2007) note that in the last 40 years, several higher education institutions, especially in the United States, have lost sight of civic education and turned their attention in the direction of preparing students for their chosen careers. More recently, numerous scholars, institutions, and organizations have sought to reclaim the civic mission for higher education launching initiatives such as the American Association of State Colleges and Universities (AASCU) and the American Democracy Project (ADP). The ADP launched in 2003 with the goal of educating college students for responsible citizenship. Initiatives like the ADP and others have spawned a civic education renewal resulting in a plethora of new, innovative pedagogies (Jacoby, 2009). As previously noted, civic education initiatives are not limited to the United States. Although this civic renewal has resulted in campuses across the globe integrating purposeful civic education into their curriculum, mission statements, and tenure and promotion documents, it remains a contested area (Woolard, 2015). Specifically, scholars have struggled immensely with how to name and describe civic education pedagogy. In fact, a number of labels have been used to describe this work including service learning, civic engagement, political engagement, and social justice, to name just a few. Jacoby (2009) uses the term civic engagement when discussing scholarship in this area but acknowledges that “there is widespread recognition that defining civic engagement presents formidable challenges. In fact, there are probably as many definitions of civic engagement as there are scholars and practitioners who are concerned with it” (p. 5). The confusion about how to define and operationalize civic education is problematic on several levels. As Saltmarsh (2005) explains, “The lack of clarity fuels a latent confusion about how to operationalize a civic engagement agenda on campus. In particular, with the ascendancy of civic engagement, there has been a diminished focus on the relationship between civic engagement and improved student civic learning” (p. 52).

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In an effort to categorize innovative civic education pedagogies, Woolard (2015) employed framing theory to explore the discourse of key proponents in multiple “camps” of civic education. The underlying ideological and philosophical assumptions of civic education stem from John Dewey’s writings on experience, democracy, and education, which Woolard (2015) describes as pragmatic liberalism. Although there is ideological constancy in civic education, there are fundamental differences between civic education perspectives. Specifically, Woolard identified the following seven signature frames for civic education: service learning, civic engagement, political engagement, democratic engagement, critical engagement, social justice, and an antifoundational engagement frame. An overview of these pedagogies can be found in Table 2.

Table 2: Civic Education Pedagogies Pedagogy

Description

For More Information

Service Learning

A pedagogy that merges traditional learning experiences with outside service projects designed to create civic connections between youth and their communities.

Butin, 2010; Furco, 2003; Jacoby, 1996

Civic Engagement

Multiple pedagogies designed to Colby et al., 2007; Jacoby, promote young people’s civic 2009 skills and responsibility.

Political Engagement

Multiple pedagogies designed to Colby et al., 2007; promote young people’s political Goldfinger & Presley, 2010 development and participation in electoral politics.

Democratic Engagement

Shares multiple pedagogies with Saltmarsh & Hartley, 2011b; civic engagement, but designed Saltmarsh, Hartley, & Clayton, to create more reciprocal rela2009 tionships between institutions and community members.

Critical Engagement

A philosophy of education that is designed to civically empower individuals and resist neoliberal notions of citizenship.

Social Justice

A pedagogy designed to address Bell, 1997; Westheimer & social and economic inequality. Kahne, 2004

Antifoundational Engagement

A pedagogy designed to foster young people’s critical thinking and knowledge, but not their moral and civic development.

Giroux & Giroux, 2004; Green, 1985

Fish, 2003, 2008

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Service learning Service learning refers to the merging of traditional classroom experiences with community service projects. This is not to be confused with strict volunteerism or community service, which may not advance a specific learning outcome or relate to a specific course. Service learning is a “form of experiential education in which students engage in activities that address human and community needs together with structured opportunities intentionally designed to promote student learning and development” (Jacoby, 1996, p. 5). Woolard (2015) further notes that service learning is a difficult concept “to narrow to a single definition because it is a combination of program type, pedagogical approach, and idiosyncratic sites of learning” (p. 19). Furco (2003) argues that one of the greatest challenges associated with service learning is the lack of a universal understanding of the concept. Gilbert, Johnson, and Plaut (2009) acknowledge that in recent years scholars and teachers have approached service learning as a “field, a pedagogical method, and a movement. These conceptual models suggest somewhat different priorities for scholars, practitioners, and advocates of service-learning” (p. 34). As a philosophy of education, “service-learning is thus a philosophy of reciprocal learning, a dynamic and interactive approach which suggests mutuality in learning between the student and the community with whom he or she is actively engaged” (Kendall, 1990, p. 21). Service learning may or may not relate directly to civic education. Butin (2010) suggests that there are four perspectives of service learning: technical, cultural, political, and antifoundational. The technical perspective on service learning focuses on learning outcomes, program structure, and program administration. Technical perspectives are apolitical and do not inherently connect to civic education. The cultural perspective assumes that service learning is a vehicle to civic renewal through building connections between students and local communities. The political perspective views service learning as a method to achieve social justice by addressing power (im)balances and silenced perspectives in society. Finally, the antifoundational perspective views service learning as “a way to disrupt students’ cultural preconceptions and binaries, rather than to achieve a specific learning objective or outcome” (Woolard, 2015, p. 20). When service learning programs operate from the antifoundational perspective, students may be exposed to issues and problems in their communities but may not be encouraged to engage in further civic or political action. Service learning has an important role to play in civic education; however, there are limitations to service learning pedagogy. As Butin (2010) explains, advocates argue “service-learning should become an overarching framework for higher education” (p. 27). Butin (2010) explains this is “nothing less than a grand narrative for higher-education as service-learning, for it thinks about service-learning as a politic to transform higher education and society” (p. 27). This grand narrative presumes that service learning is a “universal, coherent, cohesive, amelioratory, and

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liberatory practice;” however, the service learning pedagogy developed to date lacks this clarity and theoretical sophistication (Butin, 2010, p. 27). Ideologically, service learning is a liberal pedagogy, yet it has been promoted as a politically “neutral” pedagogy drawing conservative criticism. Service learning is politically charged with “seemingly neutral principles [that are used] strategically to promote one’s specific ideological agenda, irrespective of political orientation” (Butin, 2010, p. 36). From a practical perspective, service learning necessitates partnerships with local community entities that require significant planning to ensure that learning outcomes are achieved and the needs of community partners are met. As Butin (2010) argues, most faculty follow normative, classroom-based models of teaching and learning, which may not be compatible with the demands of service learning pedagogy. Taken together, there is a “limit to the use of service-learning across numerous disciplines and amongst faculty in higher education” (Butin, 2010, p. 31). Although service learning programs have been embraced by many institutions as civic education, scholars (both within and outside of service learning) recognize the limits of service learning as the standard bearer for civic education (Butin, 2010; Hollander, 2010; Saltmarsh & Hartley, 2011a; Saltmarsh, Hartley, & Clayton, 2009).

Civic engagement Service learning marks the beginning of the modern civic education movement, but civic engagement is by far the most commonly used term, mainly because it is used to describe multiple civic education pedagogies. The term civic engagement was coined to differentiate between service learning and more traditional, classroom-based civic education (Woolard, 2015). When service learning is approached from a cultural and political perspective, practitioners consider it to fall under the umbrella of civic engagement; however, as Jacoby (2009) and Saltmarsh and Hartley (2011b) have noted, the term civic engagement is often misappropriated within the field, particularly in service learning, leading to latent confusion as to what civic engagement means. To clarify, we adopt the following definition of civic engagement proposed by Jacoby (2009): Acting upon a heightened sense of responsibility to one’s communities. This includes a wide range of activities, including developing civic sensitivity, participation in building civil society, and benefiting the common good. Civic engagement encompasses the notions of global citizenship and interdependence. Through civic engagement, individuals – as citizens of their communities, their nations, and the world – are empowered as agents of positive social change for a more democratic world. (p. 9)

As Saltmarsh and Hartley (2011a) note, “Mere activity in a community does not constitute civic engagement” (p. 17). Instead, civic engagement is about “enhanc-

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ing a public culture of democracy on and off campus and alleviating public problems through democratic means” (Saltmarsh & Harley, 2011a, p. 17). Civic engagement pedagogy is designed to teach students civic values, skills, and motivation (Woolard, 2015). Building on the research regarding the pedagogies of engagement mentioned earlier, Colby et al. (2007) suggest instructors should teach political knowledge, democratic participation skills, and political motivation. This can be achieved through discussion and deliberation, research and action projects, speakers and mentors, as well as student placements, internships, and service learning experiences (Colby et al., 2007). According to McCartney, Rios, Bennion, and Simpson (2013), “There is no one best way to implement civic engagement pedagogy. Instead, … educators need a wide range of options and tools to fit diverse teaching styles, course subjects, intellectual interests, students, and institutions” (p. 101).

Political engagement Political engagement is closely related to civic engagement, and many view it as a subset of civic engagement. Political engagement includes direct participation in electoral politics, such as “voting, participating in campaigns or political parties, contacting elected officials, running for office, and the like” (Colby et al., 2007, p. 29). Beyond electoral politics, instructors who employ the pedagogy of political engagement encourage student participation in formal and informal political discourse and public culture. Colby et al. (2007) note that civic and political engagement are interrelated; however, civic engagement is typically apolitical. One can be civically engaged by working with community organizations or by doing volunteer work, yet refrain from participating in electoral politics or pursuing changes in public policy. Faculty who integrate civic and political engagement into their classrooms often seek to develop the same types civic knowledge, motivation, and skills in their students; however, the pedagogy of political engagement is unique in its focus on the need to facilitate direct student political participation. Colby et al. (2007) explain the imperative for educating for political engagement in the following terms: Preparation for informed citizenship should include some understanding of political institutions, processes, and issues, and it should include long-term interests, habits, and commitments that support at least a basic level of knowledge and engagement. It should also include the abilities to acquire and evaluate political information, to formulate and express opinions about important political issues, including those who have quite different views. Although these capacities can all be developed through informal as well as formal means, it would be hard to argue that people who lack them are well educated. (p. 277)

The signature pedagogies for political engagement include discussion and deliberation; political research and action projects; speakers and mentors; placements, internships, and service learning; and structured reflection (Colby et al., 2007).

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Democratic engagement The pedagogy of democratic engagement is derived from the civic engagement movement, but its proponents are widely critical of the ways in which civic engagement has been implemented in higher education. Saltmarsh and Hartley (2011a) argue that current civic engagement pedagogy is “largely devoid of both long-term democracy-building values and higher education’s contribution to the public culture of democracy” (p. 23). In other words, civic engagement practitioners have, perhaps unwittingly, privileged the university as the sole knowledge-producing entity and community entities as passive receivers, possessing little expert knowledge of their own. Civic engagement advocates, it is argued, embrace the philosophy that universities are uniquely qualified to provide services to their communities and fail to engage community partners in mutually beneficial and reciprocal ways. Civic engagement “efforts are often pursued as ends in themselves, and engagement becomes reduced to a public relations function of making known what the campus is doing in and/or for the community and providing opportunities for students to have experiences in the community” (Saltmarsh & Hartley, 2011a, p. 18). As Saltmarsh and Hartley (2011a) further explain, “what has emerged on many campuses are remarkably apolitical ‘civic’ engagement efforts” (p. 19). In order to overcome the limits of current civic engagement initiatives, advocates of the pedagogy of democratic engagement argue that educators must cocreate a different type of education experience with their students. In other words, the pedagogy of civic engagement must be democratized. Hartley and Saltmarsh (2011) ask educators to consider the following: We must scrutinize our pedagogical approaches – do they reflect democratic ideals? Lecturing has its place, but a curriculum dominated by it is unlikely to build competency in deliberation and civic discourse. To what extent do current courses allow students to develop their own opinions about various issues and then learn and practice the precepts of public deliberation to refine them? How much agency do students experience in the context of service-learning or problem-based learning courses? Is service-learning an add-on or an integral element of the course? By the end of the semester, do students have a better understanding of the sociopolitical factors that cause a situation than they do at the beginning? Are students offered the opportunity to see the results of their efforts (perhaps as only a part of a series of classes that will grapple with a particular issue)? (pp. 293–294)

Hartley and Saltmarsh conclude that what is needed is not more initiatives and programs. Instead, they call on educators, students, and community members to work together to reimagine the entire academic enterprise. Although this approach has not yet been widely adopted or assessed, Saltmarsh and Hartley (2011b) provide a detailed framework for further developing pedagogies of democratic engagement.

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Critical engagement This approach to civic education critically examines the relationship between education and democracy and draws heavily from critical and ideological theory. Critical engagement is often cited as the theoretical perspective that spurred the modern civic engagement movement, rather than a specific program or pedagogy (Woolard, 2015). Critical engagement offers two overlapping perspectives on civic education: democratic empowerment and threating neoliberalism. Democratic empowerment situates education as a method to empower students to speak and act against systems of oppression. Greene (1985) argues that education can constitute an act of violence for many in that it prevents them from considering their own lives and privileges “objective” knowledge over their lived experience. According to Greene (1985), democratic empowerment is a situation that permits dialogue among persons with regard for one another in their diversity, persons empowered to speak in their own voices, to speak for themselves. … If we are to reawaken concern for democracy as possibility, we can no longer simply refer back to an enlightenment ideal or even to the paradigms of experimental intelligence so long associated with democratic thought. … Efforts must be undertaken, especially by educators, to bring into being some new in-between that can … “relate and bind” people together in novel ways. (p. 8)

Proponents of threating neoliberalism argue that the neoliberal economic model has reduced education to nothing more than skills training for the economy which undermines civic education. Harvey (2005) explains that Neoliberalism is in the first instance a theory of political economic practices that proposes that human well-being can best be advanced by liberating individual entrepreneurial freedoms and skills within an institutional framework characterized by strong private property rights, free markets, and free trade. (p. 3)

Apple (2004) and Giroux (2009) argue that neoliberalism has changed the culture of education that ignores democratic purpose and practice. Rather than viewing citizenship as a collaborative and social activity, “citizenship is portrayed as an utterly solitary affair whose aim is to produce competitive, self-interested individuals vying for their own material and ideological gain” (Giroux & Giroux, 2004, p. 252). Giroux and Giroux discuss the role of academic faculty as the cause of civic and political disengagement, while simultaneously arguing that it is up to faculty to resist neoliberalism and take back higher education. As previously noted, critical engagement is used as an ideological justification for service learning, civic or political engagement, or social justice rather than a civic education pedagogy.

Social justice Those who advocate for social justice view education as a way to address social and economic inequality in society. Westheimer and Kahne (2008) state that “edu-

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cation for social justice is simply to say that one supports the idea of preparing students to use the knowledge and analytic skills they develop in school to identify ways in which society and societal institutions can treat people more fairly and more humanely” (p. vii). Bell (1997) argues that the “process for attaining the goal of social justice … should also be democratic and participatory, inclusive and affirming of human agency and human capacities for working collaboratively to create change” (pp. 5–6). Butin (2010) claims that those who advocate for social justice assume that there is one “correct” interpretation of justice; however, what is just depends upon the perspective one takes. Woolard (2015) identifies six basic perspectives of justice: distributive, competitive, recognitive, capabilities, and critical. Distributive views of social justice are based upon two principles “(1) liberty or individual freedom and (2) equal distribution of material and social goods” (Chambers & Gopaul, 2010, p. 59). The competitive perspective focuses upon the “fairness of competition for social goods – it is not the equalization of possessions, but rather the fairness of the market” (Woolard, 2015, p. 27). The recognitive perspective focuses on liberty and individual freedom and its relationship to the greater social structure. The capabilities perspective is concerned with an individual’s ability to have a fulfilling life within the “spheres of the economic, personal, social, and environmental” (Chambers & Gopaul, 2010, p. 60). The critical perspective of justice draws from Marxist and neo-Marxist theory and provides “a comprehensive analysis of the ways in which education, rather than serving as an approach to help achieve greater equality, serves to reinforce inequality by reproducing a class-divided society” (Lisman, 1998, p. 77). Those who advocate for social justice tend to be open to different civic education strategies. For example, Bell (1997) highlights the role that traditional lecture and class structures can play in social justice. Butin (2008) and Westheimer and Kahne (2008) advocate for service learning as a means of promoting social justice (Butin, 2010 describes this as “justice-learning”). Most civic education pedagogies can be adapted to achieve social justice educational outcomes.

Antifoundational engagement The previously mentioned approaches to civic education obviously advocate for some form or civic education; however, proponents of the antifoundational approach argue that students’ moral and civic development should not be a concern for higher education. Fish (2003) claims that civic education is simply unworkable because “there are just too many intervening variables, too many uncontrolled factors that mediate the relationship between what goes on in a classroom or even in a succession of classrooms and the shape of what is finally a life” (para. 19). Rather than being concerned with what students do beyond the classroom, Fish (2008)

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argues for a narrow, politically neutral approach to education that focuses upon exposing students to new domains of knowledge and different perspectives, while teaching students critical and analytical skills. In other words, students’ moral and civic development should not be a concern of those in higher education. The job of a college instructor is to “academicize” topics by detaching them “from the context of its real world urgency, where there is a vote to be taken or an agenda to be embraced, and insert it into a context of academic urgency, where there is an account to be offered or an analysis to be performed” (Fish, 2008, p. 27).

Implications for Developing Innovative Civic Education Pedagogies Several implications for the development of civic education pedagogy are evident from our review of the literature. Initially, our review indicates that service learning is by far the most popular approach to civic education; however, service learning advocates have more work to do to solidify this approach in higher education. One significant concern arises from a lack of conceptual clarity. Butin (2010) persuasively argues that there are problems with “traditional articulations of how to understand service-learning: the problematics of a latent teleology and unsupportable ethical foundationalism” (p. 6). This problem is not unique to service learning. As Jacoby (2009) notes, there are as many definitions of civic engagement pedagogy as there are practitioners of civic engagement pedagogy. Scholars like Saltmarsh and Hartley (2011b) seek to address these problems by offering a comprehensive framework for the pedagogy of democratic engagement based on the following six propositions: 1. Transforming change requires a broad-based consensus about purpose. 2. The democratically engaged university entails co-creating a different kind of educational experience with its students. 3. Leadership should model democratic values. 4. Graduate education must be realigned to promote a larger public purpose. 5. Evolving perspectives on knowledge generation must be validated. 6. Institutions must provide resources for faculty professional development for democratic civic engagement. According to Saltmarsh and Hartley (2011b), this unifying approach should “reveal new possibilities and new synergies” and allow future civic education advocates to “look back at some future point in time and see that the civic engagement movement was not stalled but merely poised to reshape American higher education and our society” (p. 299). Service learning, civic engagement, and political engagement are often operationalized based on a unidirectional flow of knowledge production (Saltmarsh & Hartley, 2011b). According to this view, higher education practitioners, acting as

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experts, send students out into the community to identify and solve problems. Democratic engagement is based upon reciprocity and co-creation of knowledge. From this perspective, community members and organizations and those affiliated with institutions of higher education have shared authority for knowledge production. In addition, students, faculty, and members of the community work collaboratively to address community problems. There is some evidence to suggest that those in higher education are moving to accept this approach. For example, the Carnegie Community Engagement Classification recognizes civic education programs that are designed to promote mutually beneficial and reciprocal relationships with the community (Saltmarsh & Hartley, 2011b). Ideologically and pedagogically, service learning, civic engagement, political engagement, critical engagement, and social justice are compatible with democratic engagement, but reciprocity and cocreation of knowledge are often not clearly articulated or promoted as necessary requisites (Woolard, 2015). The tenets of critical engagement are often invoked to justify civic engagement initiatives. Similarly, democratic empowerment has been used as a justification for civic education, rather than in programmatic or pedagogical development. Advocates of the threating neoliberalism perspective tend to focus upon the role faculty and institutions play in promoting neoliberalism rather than the development of civic education pedagogy. Taken as a whole, the critical engagement frame functions more ideologically, but positions civic engagement as an alternative to traditional, neoliberal practices by their advocates (Woolard, 2015). The democratic engagement and critical engagement perspectives highlight the need to reconsider the role academic culture and neoliberalism play in civic education. Kliewer (2013) argues that civic engagement proponents have yet to meaningfully consider the implications of neoliberalism for civic education pedagogy. Kliewer concludes that this oversight could ultimately undermine civic education. Boyte and Fretz (2011), Kliewer (2013), Giroux (2009), and Giroux and Giroux (2004) are situated in different ideological domains in the civic education movement, yet all of them address the need for a significant cultural change in higher education. As should be apparent, proponents of the various pedagogies of civic education, with the notable exception of Fish (2008), promote active student learning and engagement. However, as Kuh et al. (2007) note, meaningful student engagement also requires a substantial institutional commitment. At the institutional level, higher education administrators should support a variety of diverse civic education opportunities that promote service, civic responsibility, and political participation. Civic education requires a long-term strategy. A single course or program is not likely to produce the kind of citizens these pedagogies seek to cultivate (Colby et al., 2007; The National Task Force, 2012). Moreover, administrators should be mindful that faculty who integrate service learning into their course often focus on activities like volunteerism and may overlook, or intentionally avoid, political top-

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ics and action. On the other hand, faculty who focus exclusively on civic and political engagement may do disservice to the importance of service activities. As Musil (2009) argues, higher education should equip students with a wide variety of competencies that allow them to function along a continuum of civic action ranging from volunteerism to direct political action. Finally, programs that begin with the first-year experience and general education as the foundation to civic education can effectively prime students to take advantage of later civic or political engagement learning experiences (Hunt, 2010; Hunter & Moody, 2009; Spiezio, 2009). As faculty work to integrate civic pedagogy into the classroom, they should consider that these pedagogies require an open classroom where students feel comfortable expressing their opinions on often controversial topics (Campbell, 2008). Instructors should engage controversial and political topics in an open and nonpartisan fashion (Colby et al., 2007). Faculty should focus on facilitating students’ critical skills and allow them to develop their own opinions (Hess, 2009; Hess & Avery, 2008). There is substantial evidence that these pedagogies can be employed successfully to promote students’ knowledge, skills, and motivation without changing students’ political ideology or party affiliation (Colby et al., 2007). Faculty should also recognize the important role that communication plays in educating students for citizenship. First, faculty should appreciate that communication skills are the vehicle by which students “do” civic and political engagement. According to Hillygus (2005), the best predictor of future political engagement is training in communication. Her research suggests that “an educational system geared toward developing verbal and civic skills can encourage future participation in American democracy” (p. 41). Palczewski et al. (2012) affirm the critical role of communication in preparing students for citizenship, arguing that true civic “engagement occurs when human communication generates new areas for discussion, when people are willing to accept the risk of being wrong (and accept correction of their views), when people affirm a commitment to engage one another in discourse, and when creative forms of communication create social connections among individuals” (p. 14). Hikins and Cherwitz (2010) also argue that the discipline of communication should play a significant role in promoting civic education. Finally, Hunt et al. (2009) note that given their pedagogical content knowledge and the skills taught in the discipline (e.g., information literacy, argumentation and rhetoric, and small group communication), communication faculty are “uniquely qualified and distinctively competent to help students develop communication and political competence” (p. 23). Finally, our review also demonstrates that the discourse of civic education is often siloed and detached from other perspectives. Across perspectives, disciplines, institutions, and programs, good civic work is being done. This work deserves to be identified, celebrated, and critiqued; however, the current fragmentation of civic education prevents clear articulation at every level of civic education, making it difficult to secure student, faculty, and administrative support (Saltmarsh &

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Hartley, 2011a). The core values of civic education are important, and higher education is ideally suited for the task of educating citizens if advocates can effectively articulate a clear vision for civic education.

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22 Out-of-Classroom Interactions Between Teachers and Students: Advising, Tutoring, Mentoring, and Coaching Abstract: This chapter provides insights concerning different psychological and communicational challenges that come into play when teachers communicate with individual students in one-on-one interaction. At every level of education and training – from early school years through adulthood – much meaningful instruction takes place in the context of advising, tutoring, mentoring, and coaching, but these contexts involve communication-related challenges that impact the effectiveness and appropriateness of instruction. In this chapter, we review the findings of several strands of research, including direct instruction, peer tutoring, and expertlayperson communication as they provide helpful frameworks for identifying the challenges of out-of-classroom interactions between teachers and students. We also provide realistic scenarios to illustrate the principles of communication in oneon-one instruction, and we invoke the theories of politeness and facework to help explain some of the interpersonal dynamics of individualized instruction. Keywords: advising, tutoring, mentoring, coaching, out-of-class communication, expert-layperson communication, one-on-one-instruction, facework, politeness theory, technical language Teacher-student interactions are not restricted to classroom encounters. A good deal of instructional communication – some of it very important – occurs outside the classroom context. In after-class conversations to clarify course material, planned meetings to discuss academic progress, and one-on-one training/learning sessions, instructional messages frequently take the form of advising, tutoring, mentoring, and coaching. In this chapter, we provide conceptual and operational definitions for each of these four contexts and focus on some communication-related challenges instructors typically face in these out-of-classroom situations. Through the use of realistic vignettes, we illustrate these communication challenges and offer explanations and solutions from the findings of communication and learning research. We conclude the chapter with a synthesis of one-on-one instruction and offer directions for scholars to pursue this research area in the future.

Advising Providing academic advice to undergraduate students is often seen as the responsibility or the burden of faculty members (Swanson, 2006). They guide undergradu-

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ates through their college years and serve as knowledgeable communication partners in many areas relevant to student life (Tuttle, 2000). Compared to tutoring, advising may also include the personal concerns of the protégé (Taylor, Jowi, Schreier, & Bertelsen, 2011). Taylor and her colleagues asserted that students typically bring three interpersonal goals into advising sessions: instrumental, relational, and self-presentational. Instrumental goals are task-oriented and typically involve the student’s selection of a major, specific courses leading to the major, and any academic or course-related problems that occur during the semester. Relational goals address how physical or psychological distance between the adviser and student might be reduced (e.g., how to get the adviser to use the student’s first name). Self-presentational goals may address how one self-presents to the adviser (e.g., regarding self-disclosure or facework). In some instances, faculty advisers may take into account all three interpersonal goals of their student advisee. It is more common that they limit their activities to primarily instructional matters and hence focus on the instrumental goals. Conceptualizing advising as expert-layperson communication (Jucks, Brummernhenrich, Becker, & Bromme, 2014) helps to cast light on the challenges this communication context imposes on professors, especially when they offer academic advising. As instructors, they speak out of their academic expertise to provide insight for their advisees. Providing advice can be seen as a central function of experts who have to not only translate the specialized knowledge but also transform it by tailoring it to fit a concrete problem and, above all, by selecting and weighting information from the range of competing offers (Bromme & Jucks, in prep.). Hence, expert-layperson communication is not only about the transfer of existing knowledge, but also about solving practical problems and preparing advisees to make decisions for themselves in the future, though currently they are unable to make competent decisions rationally on the basis of their own knowledge without drawing on the expert’s own selections and judgments.

Finding the Right Words in Order to be Understood: Use of Technical Language Professor Luca is an old hand. He has been advising undergraduates for more than 20 years. Though times have changed and interactions with undergraduates take more time than earlier, the job has stayed mainly the same. Although Professor Luca, an IT expert, has a lot of practice in advising students, he sometimes struggles with providing explanations. Today Jeffery, a firstyear geography student, has asked him about how to enroll in a distance learning course. It took quite a while until Professor Luca realized that Jeffery did not understand expressions such as “Please enroll in a MOOC.” When trying to explain this more comprehensibly, he was astonished to find out that it was not the technical term “MOOC” that was causing Jeffery problems. Jeffery did not understand the precise meaning of “enroll” in the context of distance learning – though the word is indubitably a basic term at a university.

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Obviously, technical language can provide a barrier to a layperson’s or novice’s understanding, and unfamiliar terms like MOOC can not only reveal a student’s lack of knowledge but also cause feelings of insecurity or a lack of self-confidence. The use of technical terms such as MOOC is closely related to an expert’s own perspective: Experts use technical terms automatically because their own thoughts and disciplinary communication allow easy access and precise references (Jucks & Paus, 2012). Words like MOOC are easy to identify as technical terms, so both sides – experts and laypersons – are aware of the necessity to explain them. However, in this case, it was not only the term MOOC that caused Jeffery’s confusion. Here is an instance where an everyday word such as enroll can become equally problematic. In this conversation with his adviser, Jeffery did not understand the difference between enrolling in a course for college credit and enrolling in a MOOC. Such subtleties of language occur in every interpersonal context, including academic advising. Words that appear comprehensible are not easy to detect as incomprehensible or, in interdisciplinary communication, as referring to anything other than their well-known everyday meaning.

Taking the Recipient’s Perspective Providing advice is not restricted to an adequate, that is, comprehensible use of technical language. It also requires experts to build a precise model of the recipient’s knowledge base and to adapt their explanations accordingly. To achieve this, experts need first to reflect on the relationship between their own mental model and that of the recipient (Jucks & Bromme, 2011). Moreover, they need to consider how further information (e.g., technical words used by communication partners or scientific illustrations) influences their own perspective. They need to become aware of how their cognitive processes are stimulated by the available materials, and whether this is a non-shared external representation or a specific cue within an inquiry (e.g., the technicality of word use). They need to reflect on what they can do to convey the subject matter while simultaneously taking into account their recipient’s needs. Empirical research shows clearly that experts’ cognitive capacities for perspective taking are limited by situational variables such as time pressure (Jucks & Bromme, 2011). The cognitive processes relevant for perspective taking are not triggered automatically during the formulation of expert explanations. Instead, contextual variables such as available information and interlocutor’s word use have been shown to impact experts’ lexical and semantic decisions (Jucks, Becker, & Bromme, 2008). Although this is true for both face-to-face and written computer-mediated communication, it is aggravated in the latter case by the lack of direct feedback from the interlocutor (Jucks & Bromme, 2011). Researchers and practitioners aiming to improve the effectiveness of academic advice offered through computer-mediated interaction therefore need to take these contextual variables into account.

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Tutoring Tutoring is usually defined as a one-on-one interaction with the aim of the tutee mastering a certain task or learning a specific content (Graesser, D’Mello, & Cade, 2011). Tutoring comes in many varieties: In the standard case, tutors are more knowledgeable than the tutee or, ideally, are experts in the subject matter, and they are able to select from a wide range of suitable problems and solutions (Lepper & Woolverton, 2002). However, tutors who are experts in their field are not necessarily also experienced in teaching (Cohen, Kulik, & Kulik, 1982). As a result, the terms expert tutor and novice tutor are ambiguous because they can refer to topical or to pedagogical competence. Compared with advising, mentoring, and coaching, tutoring is the most content-focused context for out-of-class instructional communication: There is usually a specific topic or task with which the tutee requires help, and the tutor’s job is to support the tutee on the path to mastering the content. Regarding learning outcomes, tutoring is a very effective form of instruction: Learners routinely achieve higher learning gains in a tutoring context than in other forms of instruction such as classroom instruction or the use of learning materials by themselves (Cohen et al., 1982; Graesser et al., 2011). This is true for both expert and novice tutors, even though they unsurprisingly differ in their communication behaviors (Glass et al., 1999). Although expert tutors usually achieve higher learning gains, novice tutors operate at about the same degree of abstractness as their tutees, so their explanations might even be more immediately useful than those by content experts (Hinds, 1999). A common variant is peer tutoring, which can also be described as a form of cooperative learning and is often prompted and structured by an instructor. Even without an input of knowledge from an expert, this form of tutoring is effective if learners can be encouraged to ask each other deep questions and discuss the learning materials transactively (King, 1998). Transactive communication is characterized by reciprocal references to content, for example when a student asks a question about, gives an explanation of, or elaborates on a concept that another student has introduced into the discourse. Generating certain types of questions, such as those that concern relationships between different concepts, has been shown to foster social construction of knowledge (King, 2002). Tutoring exists in formal contexts, for example, as a supportive activity in colleges in which advanced or graduate students tutor undergraduates on the topic of a certain course. Tutoring is also often used at writing centers maintained by colleges and universities in the United States and Canada. Additionally, there is a large private tutoring market offering help for secondary and tertiary students struggling with certain subjects. Especially in parts of Asia, this market has become so ubiquitous that it has been labeled shadow education and shown to impact education policy – sometimes even adversely (Baker, Akiba, LeTendre, & Wiseman,

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2001). Tutoring in this commercial form is confronted with high expectations. Those who pay for private tutoring (mostly parents) want to see positive results (e.g., better grades in schools). However, crucial questions persist for both parents and education researchers: What exactly is tutoring able to achieve? To what degree does the success of a tutorial rest on the tutor’s communicative behavior? Can educational goals be reached equally effectively through computer-mediated forms of tutoring (e.g., Bromme, Brummernhenrich, Becker, & Jucks, 2012) and intelligent tutoring systems (ITS) – that is, software that uses simulated pedagogical agents as tutors (Rus, D’Mello, Hu, & Graesser, 2013). Indeed, some of these systems achieve learning gains similar to those achieved with human tutors (VanLehn, 2011). This is a promising area of research: ITS enable adaptive, individualized tutoring without the need for a single tutor for every learner. However, the development of these programs for a new set of content is still very time-consuming and thus expensive – especially for ill-defined problems. Nevertheless, because these systems usually try to emulate expert human tutors, this field of research has generated a lot of valuable insight into what makes expert tutoring so effective.

What Factors Make Tutorial Communication Effective? When addressing this question, detailed analyses have examined the ways in which experienced tutors structure interactions and the kinds of strategies they employ. The sequence of an expert tutoring session is often as follows (Lepper & Woolverton, 2002): The tutor first selects a problem that is suitable for the topic at hand and presents it to the tutee by describing its features. In the next phase, the tutee becomes more active and solves the problem while being supported by the tutor. After reaching the solution, the tutor encourages the tutee to reflect on the problem and its solution and, if necessary, provides additional information on the topic that had not been covered before. In contrast to sequencing tutoring exchanges in a structural manner, another approach has been to identify expert tutors’ dialogue modes, meaning clusters of moves that share a common goal (Cade, Copeland, Person, & D’Mello, 2008). The most common modes in Cade et al.’s study were scaffolding (collaborative problemsolving by the tutor and the tutee), lecturing (the tutor provides information to the tutee), and modeling (the tutor demonstrates the solution to a problem). Scaffolding and lecturing apparently often occur in cycles: Episodes in which the tutee tries to solve a task with intermittent input from the tutor are followed by the focused provision of information on the next subtopic, followed, again, by another problem-solving episode. Although this process is obviously very dynamic, expert tutors do not just react to the tutee’s actions. Instead they have distinct plans for their tutoring sessions and a clear goal structure for the interaction (Glass et al., 1999). They also have

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many domain-specific problems at their disposal that they can present to their tutees (Lepper & Woolverton, 2002). Studies at the micro or strategy level have investigated the specific strategies or kinds of speech acts tutors use. Common tutorial strategies include hinting, questions such as open-ended pumps, closed prompts, as well as comprehensiongauging questions, explanations (or direct instruction), and positive and negative feedback (Chi, Siler, Jeong, Yamauchi, & Hausmann, 2001; Cromley & Azevedo, 2005; Lepper & Woolverton, 2002; Merrill, Reiser, Merrill, & Landes, 1995). Feedback can be short, indicating only whether a tutee action or response was correct, or more verbose, detailing what was wrong or elaborating on the correct response. Examples of these strategies are listed in Table 1.

Table 1: Examples of Common Tutorial Strategies Tutorial strategy

Example

Hint Prompt Pump Comprehension-gauging question Explanation Short positive feedback Elaborate positive feedback

“Take a look at the plots.” “What else could it be apart from an interval scale?” “And what then?” “Did you understand that?” “Eta squared is a measure of effect size.” “Right.” “Exactly, it’s significant because the p value is smaller than .05.” “No.” “No, those aren’t categories.”

Short negative feedback Elaborate negative feedback

When comparing expert and novice tutors, expert tutors seem to be less direct and try to guide the tutee toward finishing the task (Lepper & Woolverton, 2002; Lu, Di Eugenio, Kershaw, Ohlsson, & Corrigan-Halpern, 2007). They seldom provide tutees directly with correct solutions. The aim is not just to motivate the student: “Experienced human tutors maintain a delicate balance, allowing students to do as much of the work as possible and to maintain a feeling of control, while providing students with enough guidance to keep them becoming frustrated or confused” (Merrill, Reiser, Ranney, & Trafton, 1992, p. 280). On the other hand, novice tutors more often provide direct instruction and correct answers and also seem to devote more time to motivating moves directly (Cromley & Azevedo, 2005). In contrast to these findings, other research suggests that expert tutors give very direct feedback (D’Mello, Lehman, & Person, 2010) and that this prevents the tutee from getting “off track” (Anderson, Corbett, Koedinger, & Pelletier, 1995). Determining which kind of feedback is most effective – direct or delayed, short or elaborate – presumably depends on factors such as the learner’s previous knowledge and confidence (Shute, 2008). Thus, it is not possible to state a general rule

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about which specific type of feedback is the best in a tutoring session, and expert tutors typically adapt their feedback according to situational variables. However, completely withholding feedback on incorrect responses or actions, or providing positive feedback in response to incorrect tutee actions, as novice tutors sometimes do (Person & Graesser, 2003), is very likely to be detrimental for learning.

Gauging the Recipient’s State of Knowledge Nicole is a senior student at a large Midwestern university, working hard at her degree in psychology. However, she also works as a tutor in the university’s tutoring program. She regularly tutors freshman and sophomore students in statistics, a course she has passed reasonably well but that she finds many other students are struggling with. Usually, the students come to her because they need help with a certain piece of coursework. Today, she has an appointment with Christopher, a sophomore. She has already tutored Christopher twice: The first time she explained the reasoning behind using histograms and helped him construct one from a list of values. The second time they worked on a problem with correlations and regression. This time it seems that the course has progressed to two-way analyses of variance, and Christopher is once again stuck with the coursework. Although his grasp of the concepts of sums of squares and the F test is, as Nicole finds by going through the task with him, surprisingly good, he has trouble interpreting disordinal interactions. Nicole draws some other, simpler patterns on the board and asks Christopher to explain their meanings. In this manner, they successively approach the case shown in the coursework, and Christopher finally manages the correct interpretation. Nicole then encourages him to transfer his newly acquired skill to a different problem. After the session, Nicole is quite exhausted: The topic itself is not new or demanding for her, but for a long time, she could not really tell where exactly Christopher’s understanding had failed. It was hard to get Christopher to consider both variables at the same time. Nicole thinks it might have been easier just to tell him what to do and how to think about the patterns, but then he would have been less active himself, and she is not sure whether the insight would have stuck or whether he might have found her too direct.

Tutoring offers great opportunities for learning. One crucial aspect of any instructional communication is to gauge what parts of the critical content the addressee has understood, what has not been understood, and whether the learner holds any misconceptions about the topic under discussion. Hence, diagnosing Christopher’s current state of knowledge is a major challenge: The result contributes to the effectiveness of Nicole’s tutoring session. In general, diagnosing what a tutee knows is important for making didactic decisions (Herppich, Wittwer, Nückles, & Renkl, 2014) and for maximizing the effectiveness of explanations (Wittwer & Renkl, 2008). Tutors’ models of their tutees’ knowledge are not always accurate: Novice tutors lack diagnostic skills and are unable to differentiate their own normative view of the subject matter from the tutees’ flawed understanding (Chi, Siler, & Jeong, 2004). However, expert tutors can also be led astray, because many tutees’ utterances are uninformative or misleading regarding their state of knowledge (Person, Graesser, Magliano, & Kreuz,

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1994). Thus, eliciting informative contributions from the tutee that will permit a valid diagnosis of the tutee’s knowledge is crucial if the tutor is to provide adaptive tutoring (Putnam, 1987). This might be exactly what expert tutors do when they alternate phases of lecturing with phases of scaffolding (Cade et al., 2008): Longer phases of semi-independent problem solving on the part of the tutee allow the tutor to diagnose at what point the tutee’s own attempts have failed. However, even if the tutee’s knowledge has been diagnosed correctly, the instruction might be insufficient: Even expert tutors sometimes ignore misconceptions altogether (Chi, 1996) or give positive feedback after errors (Graesser, Person, & Magliano, 1995). Knowing which strategies tutors use does not clarify which ones are effective. It is difficult to single out discrete strategies in naturalistic tutoring interactions in order to study them experimentally. However, detailed analyses of tutoring discourses can provide evidence on the point in the discourse at which tutee learning occurs. Such analyses indicate that expert tutors’ indirect mode of instruction leads to effective learning: In these discourses, tutees usually discover a piece of knowledge or correct a misconception themselves after receiving hints or being led to asking questions by the tutor (Chi, 1996). Letting the tutees encounter impasses in solving a task also seems to be beneficial because it helps them recognize which pieces of knowledge they lack in order to proceed (VanLehn, Siler, Murray, Yamauchi, & Baggett, 2003). Generally, episodes in which knowledge is co-constructed between tutor and tutee seem to be particularly beneficial for deep tutee learning (Chi, 2009; Chi et al., 2001).

Mentoring Of the four instructional contexts discussed in this chapter, mentoring is arguably the most intensive. Mentoring can be defined as “a nurturing process in which a more skilled or more experienced person, serving as a role model, teaches, sponsors, encourages, counsels, and befriends a less skilled or less experienced person for the purpose of promoting the latter’s professional and/or personal development” (Anderson & Shannon, 1988, p. 40). This implies a long-term commitment of both mentor and protégé as well as the development of a lasting and trusting relationship (Kalbfleisch & Davies, 1993). In contrast to the other contexts, mentoring does not have a specific content or goal at its end, but aims rather to socialize the protégé in the relevant business, institution, or community and support her or his career and development (Schrodt, Cawyer, & Sanders, 2003). Unlike coaches, tutors, and advisers, a mentor is not responsible for an outcome as much as for a person. As such, it is more appropriate to speak of a form of guidance than of instruction.

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To this end, mentors are usually senior, experienced, and/or influential members of the relevant context (Anderson & Shannon, 1988). They act as role models but also facilitate career advancement by, for example, providing information, establishing connections, and opening up networks for their protégé (Anderson & Shannon, 1988; Schrodt et al., 2003). This often leads to more satisfaction as well as to higher achievement and faster promotion for the protégé (Dreher & Ash, 1990; Schrodt et al., 2003).

Social Roles and Their Impact on Communication Anna is a post doc in the Communication Department. She received her PhD three years ago and is on her way to a successful career as a researcher. As in many other universities, her department has started a mentoring program for female researchers. The underlying idea has been communicated to Anna, and she knows that successful female professors serve as role models and help with questions arising on the way to tenure. Therefore, she decides to join the mentoring program. Last week Anna was introduced to Professor Malan, a senior professor from the Department of Chemistry. The administration of the mentoring program provides some information sheets that should help the two of them to get started with the mentoring and to document the process for subsequent generations. Anna is a bit worried about how the meetings with her mentor will proceed. She has heard from older colleagues that they had been very close to their mentors and found the program very helpful and rewarding. Anna, however, does not know Professor Malan and is unsure about what to expect and on what level they will communicate.

Mentoring encompasses two sets of functions or roles for the mentor: professional and psychosocial (Kram, 1983). Professionally, the mentor will try to advance the protégé’s career and will typically give feedback on the protégé’s professional performance. Psychosocially, the mentor can contribute to the protégé’s sense of competence and identity by lending affirmation and emotional support. However, these roles can be at odds: At the end of the semester, Anna’s teaching performance, as judged by student evaluations at the end of the course, has been sub-standard in comparison to other faculty. Professor Malan has to decide what to do: In his role as a professional mentor, he should give Anna explicit feedback and advice in order to enable Anna to learn and improve. (“Your teaching wasn’t too well-received. As far as I can tell, your lectures seem to lack interactivity.”) As a psychosocial mentor, he should focus more on supporting Anna, who is understandably upset about the dismal results, and keep her spirits up while enabling a productive appraisal. On a communication level, this also presents problems for Anna. Suppose that Professor Malan says, “Well, it’s hard to be a great teacher.” What does he mean by that? Is he showing sympathy, or does he expect her to try harder? According to relevance theory, ambiguous utterances are interpreted in a manner that maximizes their relevance or usefulness in a certain situation (Demeure, 2010). If Anna sees Professor Malan as a mentor with a professional focus, she will likely understand him as pushing her to work harder on her teaching success. If Anna under-

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stands his aim as providing support, she will also interpret this statement as a facesaving response in view of negative student feedback. Conversational rules have been proposed as a solution for situations in which it can be unclear as to what kind of communication is appropriate (Person, Kreuz, Zwaan, & Graesser, 1995). If Professor Malan states, “I would like to talk about your teaching performance and what you can do about it,” it is clear what Anna should expect from the following conversation. Ideally, a mentor should be able to fulfill both professional and psychosocial roles. Communicative adaptability, meaning the ability to adapt one’s communication to different contextual and relational demands, can help mentors cope with the sometimes conflicting strategies these roles can suggest (Kalbfleisch & Davies, 1993). Adaptability is a way to cope with the inherent risk of being a mentor: By opening up to the protégé, mentors are making themselves vulnerable. Regarding teaching evaluations, Professor Malan sometimes uses a subtle technique: He brings cookies to the last course session of a semester, nominally to thank the students for their hard work and commitment, but also because he suspects that it might help evaluation scores. He hesitates to share this technique because he fears that Anna might judge him as insincere and not a great teacher himself. In these situations, communicative adaptability is a means to judge what kind of information can or should not be disclosed. By applying appropriate disclosure, that is knowing what to divulge and when, mentors as well as protégés can balance the benefits and risks of the mentoring relationship (Kalbfleisch & Davies, 1993).

How to Structure the Communication? The concept of conversational rules hints at another aspect of professional mentoring, the importance of structuring the communication. Although mentoring often starts informally, it is beneficial to clarify the contents of the mentoring and the manner in which these will be discussed. Ideally, mentors and protégés should discuss their expectations and define what will and what will not be part of the mentoring relationship (Johnson, 2002). That will clarify for both parties the scope and tone of their mentoring meetings and make it easier to agree upon a clear agenda. Structuring the relationship also includes setting boundaries and defining what the communication should not include. For instance, mentors should make it clear in what areas they do not feel competent enough to give good advice (Williams-Nickelson, 2009): Professor Malan may be able to give very good guidance concerning Anna’s teaching but may be relatively inexperienced in leading committees. Explicitly structuring mentoring communication can help to avoid disappointment and confusion stemming from the different roles and tasks of mentoring. A friendly and supportive atmosphere in the meetings might than be clearly attributed to the context and might not be seen as an indicator of a mentee’s perfor-

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mance. Hence, frustration on the side of the mentee might be reduced when being confronted with a bad grade or other unpleasant evaluation, as the quality of the social relation is not an indicator of a mentee’s performance level (Kram, 1983).

Coaching Like the other instructional contexts discussed in this chapter, coaching is also usually a one-on-one interaction. The focus of coaching is usually a certain set of skills or a specific goal that the coach helps the learner to acquire. This can take place in diverse contexts: The three most salient variants are academic coaching (Griffiths, 2005), executive coaching (Stern, 2004), and athletic coaching (Hodges & Franks, 2002). In contrast to tutoring, the goal of coaching typically is not a specific task or content but rather a broader goal or acquired skill set. Thus, the process is usually implemented over a longer time-frame than in tutoring, and the role of the coach is rather to act as a resource and guide for the learner. Consequently, strong relationships can develop between coach and learner, though perhaps less enduring than in mentoring interactions. The process of coaching usually begins by formulating the goal or skill set that the learner wants to achieve. Coach and learner then discuss situations in which the goal or skill is relevant and what steps the learner could take next (Griffiths, 2005; Stowers & Barker, 2010). The coach supports the implementation of the steps, although the initiative lies with the learner. As such, important skills for an effective coach are observation, listening, and generating the right questions. At the end of a cycle, the effectiveness of the process will be assessed (Griffiths, 2005). Additionally, although learners typically benefit from more experienced coaches, especially in academia (Stowers & Barker, 2010), other models emphasize that coach and learner are on the same hierarchical level (Griffiths, 2005).

How to Coach Without Being Direct? Megan has just started as a trainee in the human resource department of a company in the technology industry. As part of the firm’s trainee program, every newcomer is provided with a coach: a more experienced employee from a different team who will help with challenging situations such as performance appraisal interviews. In Megan’s case, this is Brian, one of the firm’s human resource team leaders. Brian has been working for the company for about seven years now and will be trying to help Megan learn the ropes. This is his second coaching assignment, and he has just had his first meeting with her. His approach was to first tell her a little bit about himself and then to try and get her to talk about her own motivations, perspectives, previous experiences, and so forth. He will then go on to work with her on improving her experiences with the interviews. The way he sees it, he is not there to teach her but to enable and motivate her to make the most out of her time as a trainee and of her opportunities for building her career.

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Although the meeting was not unpleasant, Megan seemed to him a little intimidated. He was under the impression that Megan saw him less as a coach but more as a supervisor or boss: When he asked her about how her first appraisal interviews went, she seemed to try to present herself favorably. When he tried to find out whether she found anything problematic or challenging, her response was defensive. Consequently, Brian found it difficult to give her advice and was hesitant about making suggestions out of fear that she might understand them as directives. In order to remedy the situation, Brian wants to make the next meeting more informal. Instead of meeting in his office, he will ask Megan to meet him for lunch. He will try to adopt a more casual tone and to make the meeting appear less structured. He hopes that this will help her realize that he is not a superior but a coach.

Although this example of coaching is taken from the business environment, it can also be found in other contexts such as academia (Stowers & Barker, 2010). Coaching usually has a certain set of skills or a personal or career goal as its focus (Stern, 2004), and its content is as such not as well-defined as in tutoring. Although longer-term relationships can develop, they are usually not as substantial as in mentoring interactions. The distinction between coaching and mentoring is, however, not always clear-cut: In time, Brian might well develop into a mentor for Megan. The goal of our example is to demonstrate the importance of the social context in instructional communication. It should become clear that this aspect is relevant in all of the communication situations discussed in this chapter. Both Megan and Brian seem to be worried about the kind of impression they generate during their interaction. Megan wants to appear as competent and confident, and Brian as helpful and not too demanding. How the desire to maintain a certain kind of impression is played out in interaction has been the topic of the work of Irving Goffman. He introduced the notion of face that he defined as “the positive social value a person effectively claims for himself” (Goffman, 1967, p. 5). This would later become the basis for politeness theory, an influential framework that attempts to explain how interlocutors negotiate face linguistically (Brown & Levinson, 1987). This account defines certain communicative acts that threaten an interlocutor’s face wants – specifically the need for belonging and approval as positive face and the need for autonomy as negative face – as face-threatening acts. Because all individuals endeavor to maintain their face, and because communication is by its nature cooperative, people usually refrain from directly threatening their own or their interlocutor’s face. This explains why Megan’s and Brian’s communication has been difficult: Whereas Megan wanted to maintain her own (positive) face by not admitting to problems in her new job, Brian was reluctant to threaten Megan’s (negative) face by making suggestions. Instead of avoiding a face threat completely, communicators often use politeness strategies to mitigate it. These linguistic strategies work by actively acknowledging the desire to respect the other’s face, for example, by phrasing requests as a question (granting autonomy) or by using in-group slang (emphasizing belonging). When Brian, the coach in our example, thinks about being more informal, he considers a politeness strategy that addresses Megan’s posi-

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tive face. Brian might be reluctant to tell Megan directly, “You should really be open about what you think your most valuable skills are in the interviews.” Instead, he could include himself by saying, “I know the HR people. When I had my interviews, I found I could really be open about what my most valuable skills are, so maybe you should, too.”

How to Configure the Social Distance? Facework plays an important role in instructional communication: Learners who perceive threat-reducing facework being performed by their instructor are more motivated (Kerssen-Griep, Hess, & Trees, 2003; Trad, Katt, & Neville Miller, 2014) and rate the instructor’s feedback as fairer and more useful (Trees, KerssenGriep, & Hess, 2009). Polite communicators are also perceived as being more trustworthy (Miller, Wu, & Ott, 2012; Trad et al., 2014), more competent (Jessmer & Anderson, 2001; Miller et al., 2012) and more likable (Brummernhenrich & Jucks, 2015; Jucks, Päuler, & Brummernhenrich, 2014). Polite learning materials can lead to higher learning gains (Schneider, Nebel, Pradel, & Rey, 2015; Wang et al., 2008), although some studies have not found this effect (McLaren, DeLeeuw, & Mayer, 2011). Advice that is phrased politely is evaluated more positively and can be more effective than blunt or aggravatingly face-threatening advice (Feng & Burleson, 2008; Feng & MacGeorge, 2010; MacGeorge, Lichtman, & Pressey, 2002). This is especially important in coaching in which the learner must accept that someone else (the coach) only wants to improve her or his performance (Stowers & Barker, 2010). Whereas the use of politeness strategies varies with social distance (Holtgraves, 2005; Slugoski & Turnbull, 1988) and with the difference in power between the communicators (Holtgraves & Yang, 1992; Lee, 1993), speakers also use them to actively regulate these aspects of the relationship (Holtgraves, 2005). This shows that people not only use facework as a reaction to deal with face-threatening acts but also employ it more proactively. Hence, Brian could support his strategy of choosing a less formal context by using (especially positive) politeness strategies in order to emphasize a closer relationship and a smaller difference in power between Megan and him. Instead of more or less formally inviting Megan to the next meeting (“Megan, our next meeting is coming up. I propose 1 p.m. tomorrow. Please let me know if that fits your schedule.”), he will try something along the lines of “Megan, how about we two go grab some lunch tomorrow in place of our usual meeting? Does 1 p.m. sound all right to you?” Although most instructional research has focused on the positive effects of politeness, some has cautioned against its unreflected use: Instructors sometimes avoid necessary instructional face threats such as corrections or lengthy explanations out of face considerations (Bromme et al., 2012; Person et al., 1995). Politeness can also make communication ambiguous (Bonnefon, Feeney, & De Neys, 2011). It

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seems likely, however, that in most cases, learners will be able to distinguish between the social and content functions of politely phrased instruction (Brummernhenrich, 2014; Brummernhenrich & Jucks, 2013). Another social cue that can be used by instructors and that has been studied in conjunction with facework is immediacy. Immediacy is a set of nonverbal and paraverbal behaviors that are designed to reduce the perceived social distance between two interlocutors (Andersen, 1979) such as moving closer to the other person, orienting oneself in the other’s direction, smiling, eye contact, and other indications of interpersonal approach. The effects of using immediacy behaviors on motivation, learning, and perceptions of the teacher are similar to those of using facework (Kerssen-Griep & Witt, 2012, 2015; Witt & Kerssen-Griep, 2011). Similar effects to facework on perceptions and affective learning are also well-established. However, effects on cognitive learning outcomes are much smaller than on perceptions of interpersonal affect (Witt, Wheeless, & Allen, 2004). Research has shown that facework and immediacy are related and interact in a complex manner as they influence student outcomes (Kerssen-Griep & Witt, 2012, 2015; Witt & Kerssen-Griep, 2011). For example, these researchers found that facework positively influenced learner motivation and perceptions of instructor competence and character, but only when it was combined with immediacy cues. When it was used alone, facework was sufficient for improving perceptions of mentoring, caring, and feedback fairness. However, in e-mail communication where nonverbal immediacy cues are unavailable, facework alone might be sufficient to achieve the desired effects on learners and influence motivation, learning, and positive personal perceptions (Trad et al., 2014).

Multiple Demands for Those who Teach: Summary and Directions for Future Research Instructional communication in general poses multiple demands on those who teach (Jucks & Bromme, 2011). First, the content needs to be presented comprehensibly, which means it will be understandable for the specific recipient. This includes (a) gauging the recipient’s knowledge status and (b) adapting one’s wording (especially the usage of technical language) accordingly. We used an example of peer-to-peer tutoring to illustrate how tutors diagnose a tutee’s current state of understanding and an example of expert-layperson communication in which a faculty member advises an undergraduate in order to address the challenge of using technical language. Second, instructional communication is a social activity in which the social motives people encounter during communication need to be addressed. Advising, tutoring, mentoring, and coaching are highly interactive, and as such the interpersonal interplay is especially relevant. Facework and immediacy are two central communicative factors that not only shape but also, in turn, are shaped by the

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social context of instruction. We outlined these aspects referring to coaching in the business sector. Providing an example of a mentor-mentee relationship, we illustrated the need to structure the communication and to take social roles into account when describing the communication between two individuals. Future researchers should address both aspects: the conceptual dimension of instructional communication and the way the social dimension is addressed and encountered in the contexts of advising, tutoring, mentoring, and coaching. When doing so, mediated instructional settings need specific attention. Finally, future researchers should focus on the interplay between conceptual and social aspects. Intellectual ability and motivation seem to be the two main dimensions on which tutors categorize their tutees (Derry & Potts, 1998). Hence, if a tutee’s motivation and ability are judged to be high, expert tutors might, for example, invest less effort in encouraging the student but spend more time discussing theoretical and more abstract topics (Derry & Potts, 1998). This might also hold for the other out-of-classroom contexts addressed in this chapter. Hence, one major challenge for research on teacher-student interactions is to address both issues at the same time and to shed light on how providing conceptual understanding is related to building up a supportive relationship between teacher and student.

References Andersen, J. F. (1979). Teacher immediacy as a predictor of teaching effectiveness. In D. Nimmo (Ed.), Communication yearbook 3 (pp. 543–559). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books. Anderson, E. M., & Shannon, A. L. (1988). Toward a conceptualization of mentoring. Journal of Teacher Education, 39, 38–42. doi:10.1177/002248718803900109 Anderson, J. R., Corbett, A. T., Koedinger, K. R., & Pelletier, R. (1995). Cognitive tutors: Lessons learned. Journal of the Learning Sciences, 4, 167–207. doi:10.1207/s15327809jls0402_2 Baker, D. P., Akiba, M., LeTendre, G. K., & Wiseman, A. W. (2001). Worldwide shadow education: Outside-school learning, institutional quality of schooling, and cross-national mathematics achievement. Educational Evaluation and Policy Analysis, 23, 1–17. doi:10.3102/01623737023001001 Bonnefon, J.-F., Feeney, A., & De Neys, W. (2011). The risk of polite misunderstandings. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 20, 321–324. doi:10.1177/0963721411418472 Bromme, R., Brummernhenrich, B., Becker, B.-M., & Jucks, R. (2012). The effects of politenessrelated instruction on medical tutoring. Communication Education, 61, 358–379. doi:10.1080/03634523.2012.691979 Bromme, R., & Jucks, R. (in prep.). Expert-layperson-communication. In M. F. Schober, D. N. Rapp, & M. A. Britt (Eds.), Handbook of Discourse Processes (2 nd ed.). Brown, P., & Levinson, S. C. (1987). Politeness: Some universals in language usage. Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press. Brummernhenrich, B. (2014). Politeness in instruction: Utterance and perception of face threats in instructional communication (Unpublished doctoral dissertation). Westfälische WilhelmsUniversität, Münster, Germany. Brummernhenrich, B., & Jucks, R. (2013). Managing face threats and instructions in online tutoring. Journal of Educational Psychology, 105, 341–350. doi:10.1037/a0031928

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Brummernhenrich, B., & Jucks, R. (2015). “He shouldn’t have put it that way!” How face threats and mitigation strategies affect person perception in online tutoring. Communication Education. doi:10.1080/03634523.2015.1070957 Cade, W., Copeland, J., Person, N. K., & D’Mello, S. (2008). Dialogue modes in expert tutoring. In B. Woolf, E. Aïmeur, R. Nkambou, & S. Lajoie (Eds.), Intelligent tutoring systems (Vol. 5091, pp. 470–479). Berlin, Germany: Springer. Chi, M. T. H. (1996). Constructing self-explanations and scaffolded explanations in tutoring. Applied Cognitive Psychology, 10, 33–49. doi:10.1002/(SICI)1099-0720(199611)10:73.3.CO;2-5 Chi, M. T. H. (2009). Active-constructive-interactive: A conceptual framework for differentiating learning activities. Topics in Cognitive Science, 1, 73–105. doi:10.1111/j.1756-8765.2008.01005.x Chi, M. T. H., Siler, S. A., & Jeong, H. (2004). Can tutors monitor students’ understanding accurately? Cognition and Instruction, 22, 363–387. doi:10.1207 /s1532690xci2203_4 Chi, M. T. H., Siler, S. A., Jeong, H., Yamauchi, T., & Hausmann, R. G. M. (2001). Learning from human tutoring. Cognitive Science, 25, 471–533. doi:10.1016/S0364-0213 (01)00044-1 Cohen, P. A., Kulik, J. A., & Kulik, C.-L. C. (1982). Educational outcomes of tutoring: A metaanalysis of findings. American Educational Research Journal, 19, 237–248. doi:10.3102/00028312019002237 Cromley, J. G., & Azevedo, R. (2005). What do reading tutors do? A naturalistic study of more and less experienced tutors in reading. Discourse Processes, 40, 83–113. doi:10.1207/s15326950dp4002_1 Demeure, V. (2010). Facework and utilitarian relevance in the disambiguation of statements with two indirect interpretations. Journal of Language and Social Psychology, 29, 443–457. doi:10.1177/0261927X10377990 Derry, S. J., & Potts, M. K. (1998). How tutors model students: A study of personal constructs in adaptive tutoring. American Educational Research Journal, 35, 65–99. doi:10.3102/00028312035001065 D’Mello, S., Lehman, B., & Person, N. K. (2010). Expert tutors’ feedback is immediate, direct, and discriminating. In H. W. Guesgen & R. C. Murray (Eds.), Proceedings of the twenty-third international Florida Artificial Intelligence Research Society conference (FLAIRS 2010) (pp. 595–604). Menlo Park, CA: AAAI Press. Dreher, G. F., & Ash, R. A. (1990). A comparative study of mentoring among men and women in managerial, professional, and technical positions. Journal of Applied Psychology, 75, 539– 546. doi:10.1037/0021-9010.75.5.539 Feng, B., & Burleson, B. R. (2008). The effects of argument explicitness on responses to advice in supportive interactions. Communication Research, 35, 849–974. doi:10.1177/0093650208324274 Feng, B., & MacGeorge, E. L. (2010). The influences of message and source factors on advice outcomes. Communication Research, 37, 553–575. doi:10.1177/0093650210368258 Glass, M., Kim, J. H., Evens, M. W., Michael, J. A., & Rovick, A. A. (1999). Novice vs. expert tutors: A comparison of style. In U. Priss (Ed.), Proceedings of the tenth Midwest Artificial Intelligence and Cognitive Science conference (pp. 43–49). Menlo Park, CA: AAAI Press. Goffman, E. (1967). Interaction ritual: Essays on face-to-face interaction. Oxford, England: Aldine. Graesser, A. C., D’Mello, S., & Cade, W. (2011). Instruction based on tutoring. In R. E. Mayer & P. A. Alexander (Eds.), Handbook of research on learning and instruction (pp. 408–426). New York, NY: Routledge. Graesser, A. C., Person, N. K., & Magliano, J. P. (1995). Collaborative dialogue patterns in naturalistic one-to-one tutoring. Applied Cognitive Psychology, 9, 495–522. doi:10.1002/acp.2350090604

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23 Critical Communication Pedagogy Abstract: This chapter provides the philosophical and methodological tools to articulate and pursue a critical agenda with respect to communication and learning. To do so, we first trace the history of critical communication pedagogy (CCP) and its evolution as a discipline-specific form of critical pedagogy. Next, we define and clarify the ten commitments of CCP articulated by Fassett and Warren (2007), which lead us to reflect on the ways that research on communication and learning must occur within a framework that is sensitive to the economic, societal, and environmental challenges that are, and will continue to be, endemic to society without sustained analysis and intervention. In exploring the theoretical, methodological, and pedagogical components of CCP, we identify ways researchers and teachers have traditionally engaged it in order to highlight the unique contributions the framework engenders. Finally, we offer avenues for future scholarship with a strong emphasis on reflexivity and praxis. We argue that these two concepts not only encourage CCP scholars to continue using performative and automethodological research to reflect upon and intervene into their own culpability in systems of privilege/oppression, but also to push them to imagine ways that CCP can inform quantitative, qualitative, and rhetorical scholarship. Keywords: critical communication pedagogy, critical pedagogy, language as constitutive, praxis, reflexivity Education is … part of a selective tradition, someone’s selection, some group’s vision of legitimate knowledge. It is produced out of the cultural, political, and economic conflicts, tensions, and compromises that organize and disorganize a people. (Apple, 1996, p. 22) The classroom, with all its limitations, remains a location of possibility. In that field of possibility we have the opportunity to labor for freedom, to demand of ourselves and our comrades, an openness of mind and heart that allows us to face reality even as we collectively imagine ways to move beyond boundaries, to transgress. This is education as the practice of freedom. (hooks, 1994, p. 207) We have spent considerable time exploring what critical communication pedagogy is not: It is not exactly communication education, although a dedication to the communication classroom, as a point of analysis and examination, remains. It is also not exactly instructional communication, but the site of communication within classroom interaction continues. It is also not exactly critical pedagogy, even as we persist in our effort to maintain a critical orientation. Rather, critical communication pedagogy, as both a field of study and a pedagogical practice, is somewhere in the nexus of the overlapping areas of interest. (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 38)

Perhaps the simplest way to understand what critical communication pedagogy is begins with carefully examining each part of its name. Each term is and is not

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aligned with its etymological roots. Critical, though typically synonymous with negative or important, reflects a responsibility not only to explore how each of us participates in social systems that privilege some and marginalize others, but also to act on that analysis toward social justice. Communication highlights not only the behaviors and messages that people share with one another, but also how those practices give rise to individuals, cultures, and systems of power. Pedagogy refers to teaching (and typically children), but, in this case, refers not only to teaching and learning, more generally, but also to the study of teaching and learning. Collectively, critical communication pedagogy names a growing body of scholarship in the discipline of Communication Studies that utilizes critical and postmodern frameworks (e.g., Butler, 1990a, 1990b; deCerteau, 1984; Foucault, 1977, 1980; Freire, 1970/2003, 1992) in their examination of teaching, learning, and relating in educational contexts. Critical communication pedagogy (CCP), “as a field of study and a pedagogical practice” (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 38), extends and respecifies the academic fields of communication education and instructional communication by wedding them to critical pedagogy. Communication education (CE) refers to scholarship that takes as its central focus how best to teach communication as a distinct area of study (similar to, for example, mathematics education or science education). Instructional communication (IC), by contrast, refers to how communication functions to support or challenge teaching and learning across a variety of instructional contexts (from the parent-child dyad to the training seminar, though the vast majority of research addresses the university classroom). Taken together, these sub-disciplines form the body of scholarship in Communication Studies that explores communication and learning. Warren (2009) argued that CCP “serves as a framework that collects and provides coherence for the diverse work that takes a critical lens to issues of communication in pedagogical contexts” (p. 213). This framework is characterized by two equally important contributions: (1) raising “unasked questions” about concepts that have largely been overlooked by mainstream CE and IC scholarship, such as identity, context, and the goals of learning (e.g., Hendrix & Wilson, 2014; Rudick & Golsan, 2014; Sprague 1992, 1993, 1994, 2002); and (2) crafting research that not only incorporates those dynamics, but also traces the way power circulates and systemic inequality is (re)produced through communication about/for teaching and learning (e.g., Cooks & Sun, 2002; Cooks & Warren, 2011; Cummins & Griffin, 2011; Fassett & Warren, 2004, 2005; Warren, 2001a, 2001b). This perspective calls for research and teaching that focus on the ways communication creates shared social realities that reflect and produce the current socio-historical moment – one that is “rife with contradictions and asymmetries of power and privilege” (McLaren, 2002, p. 193). Since 2007, CCP scholarship has become an increasingly mainstream form of research and pedagogical practice, and it has been featured in communication and

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interdisciplinary journals, such as Communication Teacher, Western Journal of Communication, Liminalities, Text & Performance Quarterly, and Cultural Studies ↔ Critical Methodologies. Despite its heurism, very little CCP-inspired research (and, indeed, very little critical research of any type), has found its way into the pages of Communication Education. Although the dearth of critical scholarship in this discipline’s flagship journal may be a symptom of ongoing disregard or disinterest toward critical and postmodern research by post-positive scholars, we also wish to acknowledge that some of this fault may also lie in CCP scholars’ tendency to rely on performative and autoethnographic methods. It is somewhat hypocritical for CCP scholars to assert that post-positive scholars should explore quantitative methods other than cross-sectional self-report surveys (e.g., naturalistic experiments, longitudinal designs, or content analyses) when critical scholars themselves may similarly over-rely on one type of research practice. If CCP scholars are to make their full disciplinary contribution and change conversations about communication and learning to encompass questions concerning social justice, then it is vitally important that they use all methods at their disposal to create a critical mass within the discipline. Therefore, the purpose of this chapter is to provide new and continuing CCP scholars with the philosophical and methodological tools necessary to articulate and pursue a critical agenda with respect to communication and learning. To do so, we first trace the history of CCP and its evolution as a discipline-specific form of critical pedagogy (Freire, 1970/2003). The lineage of CCP is a paradigmatic shift in the Kuhnian (1996) sense; that is, its evolution is characterized more by fits and starts than by a neat, orderly, and linear development. Nevertheless, we will trace the history of CCP from a chronological perspective for purposes of clarity. At the same time, we wish to acknowledge all the little moments at conferences, in classrooms, and at keyboards that have gone into the emergent articulation of CCP – significant conversations that cannot be represented in this chapter (Fassett & Warren, 2007). Next, we will identify and explain the major conceptual components of a CCP framework by defining and clarifying the 10 commitments of CCP articulated by Fassett and Warren (2007). These commitments lead us to reflect on the ways that communication and learning takes a renewed sense of urgency within a framework that is sensitive to the economic, societal, and environmental disasters that are, and will continue to be, endemic to society without sustained analysis and intervention. In exploring the theoretical, methodological, and pedagogical components of CCP, we identify ways that researchers and teachers have traditionally utilized CCP to highlight the unique contributions the framework engenders. Finally, we will offer avenues for future scholarship with a strong emphasis on reflexivity and praxis. We argue that these two concepts not only encourage CCP scholars to continue using performative and automethodological research to reflect upon and intervene into their own culpability in systems of privilege/oppression, but also to push them to imagine ways that CCP can inform quantitative, qualitative,

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and rhetorical scholarship. Overall, our goal in this chapter is to articulate how CCP has the ability to expand conversations about communication and learning while simultaneously providing a specific contribution to an ongoing critical project about power, oppression, and privilege in contemporary society.

Historical Underpinnings In the last 30 years, critical communication teachers and scholars who investigate the ways that power, identity, and embodiment are negotiated in their classrooms (e.g., Cooks, 1993; Jackson & Heckman, 2002; Johnson & Bhatt, 2003; Pineau, 1994; Warren, 2011a, 2011b) found little in the communication and learning literature that explored these dynamics. The majority of CE and IC research has relied on state/trait-based research (e.g., verbal aggressiveness), decontextualized communicative behaviors (e.g., verbal immediacy), or interpersonal-level understandings of power (Sprague, 1992, 1994). As such, many communication scholars interested in understanding the ways that power, privilege, and oppression are communicatively (re)produced through educational systems had to look outside of the field of communication to read and produce scholarship (Fassett & Warren, 2007). Thus, it is no surprise that CCP owes much to social foundations of education (i.e., philosophy and sociology of education), and critical pedagogy literature in particular, due to their emphasis on these topics (Freire, 1970/2003; Giroux, 2003; Giroux & Penna, 1983; Kincheloe & McLaren, 2008). Critical pedagogy (CP) developed from the critical scholarship of Brazilian educator Paulo Freire (1970/2003) but has grown to encompass a worldwide movement of researching and teaching that identifies and challenges unjust power relationships perpetuated through education. Critical pedagogy is an umbrella term referring to many different social justice pedagogies, including feminist, postcolonial, postmodern, poststructural, and neo-Marxist (Kincheloe & McLaren, 2008). Giroux (1994) argues that CP connects the intricate relationships among structures, identities, and pedagogies: [Critical pedagogy] signals how questions of audience, voice, power, and evaluation actively work to construct particular relations between teachers and students, institutions, and society, and classroom and communities … Pedagogy in the critical sense illuminates the relationship among knowledge, authority, and power. (p. 30)

CP is predicated on the belief that learning, like all social interactions, is an act with political consequences and argues that it is in the “very nature” of pedagogy to be “a political, moral, and critical practice” (Giroux, 2006, p. 31). In other words, CP scholars take education to be an important site of intervention for resisting dehumanization, alienation, and oppression within society.

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Perhaps the most well-known instances of CP literature influencing the work of communication scholars are the series of essays written by Sprague (1992, 1994, 2002). In her opening essay, and subsequent rebuttal of Rodriguez and Cai’s (1994) critique, Sprague articulated a series of questions that, while rooted in CP literature, were meant to expand the scope and insightfulness of CE and IC scholarship. Importantly, her criticisms were not a matter of methodology but were rooted in a concern about the epistemological and ontological assumptions of CE and IC scholarship as it was practiced by the majority of scholars at that time. For example, in asking, “Why do schools exist?” Sprague (1992) challenged CE and IC scholars, who presupposed schools and schooling as an inherently positive endeavor (e.g., to gain knowledge or increase economic mobility), to reflect on their emphasis on affective learning and classroom management. She argued that, although schools may have some positive effects on individuals and society, they also have the function of enforcing conformity, deculturating groups (particularly racial minorities), and reproducing a class-caste system. In other words, she contended that CE and IC scholarship, by neglecting those issues, risked becoming culpable in those very systems of oppression. The questions Sprague asked, and the political, social, and economic implications of their answers, provided the primary reason why communication scholars interested in teaching and learning could not (and cannot) simply “agree to disagree” and stay in their respective areas of study. Rather, her work challenged scholars across and within the fields of communication and learning to grapple with tough questions about the nature of schools, teaching, development, knowledge, language, and power. Precipitated, in part, by Sprague’s essays, communication scholars began publishing CP-related literature in regard to communication and learning, perhaps best exemplified in the publication of a special issue of Communication Education (2003, issue 3–4) dedicated to identity, culture, and power. Hendrix, Jackson, and Warren’s (2003) comprehensive review of the journal showed that the field lacked a “prolonged, systemic investigation of the influence of race or the interplay of multiple cultural identities in academic settings … [instead] we only see periodic sparks of light” (p. 177). The journal issue created a space for a series of articles that spoke directly to that lack, and other critical work emerged near that same time. Nainby and Pea (2003) explored the process by which they, as self-identified working-class White males, had to unlearn childhood lessons in order to acquire and perform the scripts of middle-class academic identity. Nainby, Warren, and Bollinger (2003) theorized how Stewart’s (1995) notion of articulate contact productively challenges the real/communicative dualism that permeates Freire’s early work, developing an early application of a constitutive approach of language to understanding communication in and about pedagogical spaces. Fassett and Warren (2004) took up Nakayama and Krizek’s (1995) notion of strategic rhetoric to outline the ways that success/failure is communicated and created in higher education. They drew upon Freire’s (1992) work to argue for “examining and critiquing language as a way to

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uncover how power is situated and maintained” (p. 25) within classrooms. Similarly, Warren and Hytten (2004) utilized Conquergood’s (1985) moral map to identify the ways that students’ communication reveals different pitfalls that forestall emancipatory thinking, and they drew upon CP literature to posit the aspirational goal of the critical democrat. As critical communication scholars’ work utilizing CP began to appear sparely in communication journals (e.g., Alexander & Warren, 2002; Cooks, 2003; Treinen & Warren, 2001, in addition to the above), it began to appear more frequently in educational and interdisciplinary journals (e.g., Alexander, 2004; Gust & Warren, 2008; Hytten & Warren, 2003; Pensoneau-Conway & Toyosaki, 2008; Pineau, 1994; Toyosaki, Pensoneau-Conway, Wendt, & Leathers, 2009; Warren & Fassett, 2004; Zompetti, 2006). It was in reaction to CE and IC scholars’ continued neglect of the questions raised by Sprague (1992, 1994, 2002), as well as the desire to find a home more securely located within the Communication Studies discipline, that Fassett and Warren articulated critical communication pedagogy in their 2007 text of the same name. Although Fassett and Warren took care to note that they were not the first to describe or define critical communication pedagogy, their work did signal a significant turning point in terms of the coherence and vitality of the field of CCP for three reasons. First, the text was the first book-length work in communication and learning to take seriously the notion of communication as constitutive (Stewart, 1995). The dominant frameworks for other scholars (particularly IC scholars) have been action, interaction, and transactional models of communication (Mottet & Beebe, 2006), which are rooted in a social-psychological model of communication and rely on an individual level of analysis (e.g., teacher-to-student or student-tostudent). Subsequently, research utilizing those models has been concerned primarily with the effectiveness of messages, compliance-gaining, and relationshipbuilding without necessarily theorizing the sociological dimensions of communication (see Deetz, 1992). Conversely, Fassett and Warren (2007) exhort researchers and teachers to recognize how communication, and the production of meaning, is never simply a self-contained, isolable, and dyadic event, but rather draws upon and (re)produces the norms, rules, and identities that make meaning possible. Second, their work created a space where new and continuing scholars could find each other’s work, legitimizing communication scholarship that focuses on the study of teaching and learning from a critical frame. Before their text, a researcher or teacher would have to be familiar with educational foundations terminology (or have access to education journals) to find most critical communication research about education; however, Fassett and Warren’s articulation of CCP provided an umbrella term that critical communication scholars could use to identify and build upon each other’s work. Finally, citing the influence of Pineau (1994) and Pelias (2000), Fassett and Warren not only wrote about resisting hegemonic norms of researching and teaching about communication and learning, they also wrote their resistance in the form of the book’s text – evocative, vulnerable, and personable. This depar-

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ture from traditional social scientific writing not only showed CCP’s potential as a liberatory framework, it also set the stage for its primary mode of research for the next eight years: performative and automethodological writing. Overall, Fassett and Warren’s text heightened awareness of Sprague’s initial arguments while also placing them within a framework that ensured that critical conversations about communication and learning would become less sparse and more focused. Current CCP scholarship has taken up Fassett and Warren’s arguments (in both content and form) to explore areas that fall outside the purview of traditional CE and IC scholarship. The framework has been utilized in research concerning racism and racial stereotypes (Cummins & Griffin, 2012), institutional/performative logics of disability and ableism (Fassett & Morella, 2008), neoliberalism and educational practices (Jones & Calafell, 2012; Kahl, 2015), whiteness and critical race theory (Endres & Gould, 2009; Simpson, 2010; Warren, 2003, 2005), silence and intercultural communication (Hao, 2011, 2012), student-teacher relationships (Rudick & Golsan, 2014), dialogue and multiculturalism (De La Mare, 2014a, 2014b) and difference (Warren & Toyosaki, 2012). Additionally, it has been used as a pedagogical framework for teaching organizational communication and difference (Allen, 2011; Ashcraft & Allen, 2009), autoethnography (Kahl, 2010, 2011, 2013), masculinity movements and feminism (Kahl, 2015), queer identity, kinship and heterosexism (Gust & Warren, 2008; Jones & Calafell, 2012; McConnell, 2012); performance (Huber & McRae, 2014), and listening (McRae, 2015). Collectively, the quantity, quality, and breadth of these studies demonstrates that CCP continues to have a great deal of influence within critical communication scholarship, despite being relatively young as a framework. In the next section, we outline Fassett and Warren’s 10 Commitments of CCP to explain its primary tenets and terminology to those researchers and teachers interested in taking up and continuing the CCP tradition.

Theory, Method, and Pedagogy: 10 Commitments of Critical Communication Pedagogy Fassett and Warren (2010) situated CCP within the overlapping fields of CE, IC, and CP scholarship. As such, its study is not “a subdiscipline, on par with communication education or instructional communication, but rather an extension or respecification” (p. X). In other words, CCP denotes a critical paradigmatic approach for the study of communication and instruction – one that focuses on analysis of culture and power in the service of social justice. CCP also signals a critical paradigmatic approach to classroom practice – one that is fundamentally student-centered, dialogic, and attentive to power and privilege. CCP scholarship focuses on how to foster social justice both within the teaching of communication and within research about communication across a variety of disciplinary and social contexts. In articulating CCP, Fassett and Warren (2007) offered 10 Commitments to guide new and continuing critical communication scholars in their research and

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teaching. Each of the commitments is predicated upon a critical ethic (i.e., challenging systemic inequality) and a constitutive philosophy of communication (i.e., that language creates social realities). In doing so, their commitments address the limitations of mainstream CE, IC, and CP literature by articulating a communication-specific understanding of power, privilege, and oppression within educational spaces. We identify and discuss these commitments below. Commitment 1: Identity is constituted in communication (Fassett and Warren, 2007, p. 39). Mainstream CE and IC scholarship, when they have taken identity into consideration at all, often treat it as the amalgam of demographic information (e.g., academic major or class year) and traits (e.g., race/ethnicity, biological sex, or age). This type of analysis serves to posit identity a priori and thus runs the risk of “freezing” students into particular identity categories (e.g., Millennial students talk like …, First-generation students relate like …, or LGBTQ students learn like …). Fassett & Warren (2007) note that although these approaches have yielded helpful information about communication attitudes, behaviors, and skills, if emphasized to the exclusion of other paradigmatic perspectives and research methodologies, they do not fully address or acknowledge the relationship between identity and communication. For example, they argue identifying students as “at-risk” mobilizes a host of programs and actions that serve to address the very real and unique needs of this type of student. However, they also caution that this ethic, when taken too far, can harm students by creating institutional and discursive boxes that disempower students through top-down regulatory regimes (see also Fassett & Warren, 2004; Rudick & Golsan, 2014). Traditional CE and IC scholarship, by not interrogating their assumptions in ascribing identities to populations, serve to reify what are, in actuality, historically-informed and socially-constructed categories. CCP scholars seek to better understand the centrality of communication within teaching and learning by exploring how even the most mundane speech acts create identities. In doing so, they draw upon constitutive and performative frameworks that resist demarcating identity into a set of boxes to be checked (e.g., Lakoff & Johnson, 1980/2003; Stewart, 1995). For example, Butler’s (1990a, 1990b) notion of performativity pushes CCP scholars to identify the ways that cultural, institutional, and relational communicative codes, within a particular context, make identity material. Butler’s (1990a) oft-quoted description of gender is particularly illuminating: “Gender is in no way a stable identity or locus of agency from which various acts precede; rather, it is an identity tenuously constituted in time – an identity instituted through a stylized repetition of acts” (p. 270, emphasis hers). From this perspective, individuals do not simply communicate their gender but rather create it through their words, gestures, rituals, and habits. Repetition of these behaviors gives this aspect of identity, gender, the appearance of stability, but its materiality is a performative accomplishment rather than an a priori given. CCP scholars, by utilizing frameworks that stress the importance of communication in the creation

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of identity, challenge communication and learning scholarship to not take identity for granted, but rather to understand its emergent and dynamic nature. Commitment 2: Power is fluid and complex (Fassett and Warren, 2007, p. 41). With rare exceptions (e.g., Wood & Fassett, 2003), researchers in communication and learning have relied on an interpersonal, intentional, and strategic understanding of power to the exclusion of other conceptualizations. Specifically, research concerning power often reflects the philosophical biases of post-positive scholars, who dismiss the importance of engaging in a broader understanding of the nature of power. For example, the Power in the Classroom series (Kearney, Plax, Richmond, & McCroskey, 1984, 1985; McCroskey & Richmond, 1983; McCroskey, Richmond, Plax, & Kearney, 1985; Plax, Kearney, McCroskey, & Richmond, 1986; Richmond & McCroskey, 1984; Richmond, McCroskey, Kearney, & Plax, 1987) relied primarily on French and Raven’s (1959) understanding of power to generate Behavioral Alteration Techniques (BATs) and Behavioral Alteration Messages (BAMs) that teachers use to encourage positive classroom behaviors (e.g., time on task) and manage negative classroom behaviors (e.g., disruptive talking). Overall, these studies conceptualize power as a tool teachers should learn to deploy consistently and effectively to achieve desirable classroom outcomes Sprague (1992, 1994), drawing upon CP scholarship, critiqued mainstream communication and learning research concerning power on a number of fronts (e.g., conceptual fit, validity, and consistency). Perhaps most important to a CCP agenda was her assertion that CE and IC scholars have based their scholarship concerning power on a series of assumptions that produce a simplistic view of its nature and function. Drawing upon Lukes (1974), she argued that power in the classroom research relies on a one-dimensional conceptualization of power; that is, how an individual (e.g., a teacher) intentionally and explicitly attempts to get other individuals (e.g., students) to do something they would not have normally done. Although certainly this type of power is exercised in the classroom, she argued that it does not account for the indirect ways that an individual can get another individual to do something (i.e., a two-dimensional view) or the ways that institutional, cultural, and relational logics shape and constrain individuals’ abilities to know and pursue interests (i.e., a three-dimensional view). In arguing for an increased attention to the latter two understandings of power, Sprague did not seek abandonment of the first type. Rather, she clearly articulated that scholars across paradigmatic loyalties needed to take seriously each other’s contributions and good-faith questions in order to produce a multidimensional and communicationspecific view of power. Mainstream IC scholars have largely dismissed her claims while continuing to produce research that relies on a one-dimensional view of power (e.g., Goodboy & Bolkan, 2011; Turman & Schrodt, 2006). CCP scholars’ understanding of power attends to and extends Sprague’s (1992, 1994) calls. Drawing upon critical and postmodern perspectives, CCP scholarship has focused primarily upon how communicative interactions in pedagogical con-

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texts draw upon and reproduce a host of disciplinary regimes in ways that encapsulate, yet move beyond, viewing power as simply a matter of compliance gaining. As Cooks and Warren (2011) stated, “Schools and schooling … are sites for training bodies to behave in socially sanctioned ways. As such, they are primary spaces for the production of discourses and performances of citizenship, sociability, and competency, as well as evaluatory agencies for (dis)conforming bodies” (p. 211). Important in their assertion is the recognition that education is not inherently positive, but is comprised of complementary and contradictory goals that serve to produce students and teachers who are (less) likely to perceive and intervene into social injustices. This realization prompts CCP scholars to focus attention on the ways that (for example) a White teacher attempting to elicit compliance from a Black student moves beyond simple conversations about the effectiveness of such strategies to engender questions about racism, social justice, and cultural capital (e.g., how such discipline has evolved, in some sense, from a long history of education as a means of cultural genocide for African Americans, among others; see Cobham & Parker, 2007). This multi-dimensional view challenges researchers to be attentive to the ways that power in educational contexts circulates within and beyond the classroom to produce and (de)value identities. Simultaneously, it prompts teachers to consider how the exercise of power serves particular ideological perspectives that benefit from compliance and complacency and calls them to be more reflexive about their communication in the classroom. Commitment 3: Culture is central, not additive (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 42). As Rudick and Golsan (2014) noted, the way that culture has been treated in mainstream CE and IC scholarship reflects a disengagement from substantial conversations about the relationship between communication and culture (see also Hendrix et al., 2003; Hendrix & Wilson, 2014). On one hand, culture is simply not present in the research design, with IC researchers favoring the identity of “student” and “teacher” writ large. For example, many scholars do not report the racial demographics of their samples (e.g., Sollitto, Johnson, & Myers, 2013; Thweatt & McCroskey, 1998). Other IC scholars act as if their findings are generalizable “student” behaviors or traits, even though their samples are predominantly comprised of White students (e.g., Banfield, Richmond & McCroskey, 2006; Vallade & Myers, 2014). These oversights can have the unfortunate side effect of conflating dominant norms (e.g., masculine, whiteness, or bourgeoisie) with the prescriptions for or descriptions of the ways that students and teachers communicate (see Lorde, 1984). On the other hand, culture is viewed as added to the research design as a variable of analysis. Studies within this vein often take a cross-cultural approach, taking a construct created in a U.S. context to make comparisons about different cultures (e.g., East vs. West or High vs. Low Context; e.g., Barraclough, Christophel, & McCroskey, 1988; McCroskey, Richmond, Sallinen, Fayer, & Barraclough, 1995). Such a view implies that constructs (e.g., immediacy) can be imposed upon another culture rather than creating a culturally-specific instrument. In other words, it does

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not recognize the cultural situatedness of (in this case) U.S. scholars in their creation of measures and (through that elision) implicitly assumes their understanding as normal with other countries’ culture “added.” In contrast to these two tendencies, CCP scholars assume that culture is central to the process of communication, rather than simply added (or, even worse, erased). Fassett and Warren (2007) argued that research must be attentive to the ways that cultures are “created, sustained, and altered in communication” (p. 43). Minimally, this notion prompts CE and IC researchers to recognize the situatedness of their findings, particularly when so much of their scholarship relies on crosssectional self-report surveys conducted with predominantly White samples. Pushing beyond this (low) bar, CCP scholars draw primarily on ethnomethodological and qualitative research designs to understand how students and teachers “perform” or “do” culture. For example, Fassett and Morella (2008), through autoethnographic writing, traced the ways that dis/ability is embedded in the institutional logics that students with disabilities communicatively navigate in higher education. Through their work, they located the micro-moments that constitute the culture of ableism that permeates higher education. They demonstrated the ways that this culture shapes teachers’, administrators’, and staff members’ understanding of dis/abled students, constraining the ways those students can imagine and pursue resistance, subversion, and success within the educational system. Thus, rather than erasing disability or acting as if its analysis is simply a matter of adding it to characteristics of so-called normal students, CCP argues for an emic analysis to fashion particular, situated, and nuanced depictions of communication/culture. Commitment 4: CCP focuses on concrete, mundane communication practices as constitutive of larger structural systems (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 43). As noted above, CP scholarship has had an enormous influence on CCP. However, Fassett and Warren (2007) were careful to acknowledge the critiques of CP and attempted to address them within their framework. Perhaps the most damning critiques against CP were those leveled by feminist scholars who argued that it exhibits tendencies to be elitist, unwieldy, and totalizing as a discourse about society and education. In one of the most well-known instances, hooks (1994) confronted Freire over his masculinist writing style, asserting that it ignored the gendered dynamics of oppression. Ellsworth (1992) argued that critical pedagogy assumed a modernist rationality, and its notions of “‘empowerment,’ ‘student voice,’ ‘dialogue,’ and even ‘critical’ – are repressive myths that perpetuate relations of domination” (p. 91). Finally, Gore (1992) contended that much of the critical pedagogy literature was too far removed from actual classroom practice and was thus better understood as critical theory about pedagogy than a critical pedagogy. Some CP scholars have responded in ways that have kept conversations open and illuminating (e.g., Freire, 1998), whereas others’ rebuttals have been little more than attempted character assassination (Giroux, 1988; McLaren, 1988). Regardless of the

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response, the fact remains that critiques of CP have seriously challenged many of its core tenets. These conversations prompted Fassett and Warren (2007) to articulate a vision for CCP that incorporated these critiques from the very founding of its framework. Specifically, they argued that much of this criticism has, at its root, the common understanding of CP as too structural due to its neo-Marxist assumptions. They noted that, although (at its best) CP scholars trace the micro practices of classroom interactions and curriculum development (McLaren, 2002; Shor, 1996), too much of the work has had a strong top-down approach to theorizing social relations. As a result, traditional CP scholarship tended to overlook the very subjects of domination in its quest to theorize the causes and solutions to their plight. To avoid a similar fate, they argued that CCP scholars should analyze the everyday, concrete, and mundane communicative interactions within educational spaces as their primary site of intervention. For example, rituals within the classroom (e.g., desk arrangement, turn-taking, or honorifics) provide sites for CCP scholars to apprehend the ebb and flow of power within the classroom. Who speaks, who is heard, or who is rewarded/punished all take on a larger significance than simple classroom management concerns within a CCP analysis because these dynamics reflect the ways that identity, culture, and power are mobilized through seemingly innocuous interactions. By taking this focus, CCP scholars eschew creating scholarship that addresses only a small discourse community of like-minded academics; rather, they provide pragmatic advice to teachers and students by helping them identify the ways that seemingly innocuous communicative acts within classroom (re)produce systemic inequality. Commitment 5: Social, structural critique contextualizes concrete, mundane communication practices (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 45). Although Fassett and Warren (2007) exhorted CCP scholars and teachers to focus on the mundane aspects of communication, they asserted that this emphasis does not preclude structural critique. Rather, they argued that researchers must connect social analysis to the everyday social realities experienced by students and teachers. They embraced the co-constitutive role of the mundane with the social through the use of a performative philosophy of communication. For example, Butler (1990b) stated that gender is comprised of “a set of repeated acts within a highly rigid regulatory frame that congeal over time to produce the appearance of substance, of a natural sort of being” (p. 33). In other words, gender is made real or material through the mannerisms, jokes, and rituals that constitute (fe)male-ness, while at the same time, those actions only have pragmatic force (in the sociolinguistics sense of the term) because of the social structure that precedes and is constituted by those acts. In this analysis, the cultural and institutional logics that guide students’ and teachers’ communication (i.e., regulatory frames) are not the subject of abstract critique, but are made meaningful through ways that researchers identify how those norms can be sites of intervention into domination (i.e.,

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disrupting the repetition of hegemonic acts). Overall, the fifth commitment, when added to the fourth, requires CCP scholars to focus on the recursive relationship between individuals and structures to provide accounts that respect the agency, voice, and experiences of those who live within that dynamic. Admittedly, there has been very little scholarship (and none by CCP scholars to date) that has taken up this type of analysis. Perhaps the best example would be McMillan and Cheney’s (1996) rhetorical analysis of the student as consumer metaphor. In their essay, they examined the ways that this type of languaging does not simply describe the existing relationships between students and teachers, but instead prescribes certain understandings of those dynamics and mobilizes some actions while inhibiting others. For example, they argued that conceptualizing students as customers highlights certain prerogatives that they have, such as filling out customer satisfaction cards (i.e., course evaluations). Simultaneously, the metaphor also serves to devalue knowledge by equating choosing coursework with selecting one’s favorite food from a buffet. They offered new ways of languaging student-teacher relationships that serve to resist the imposition of marketplace logics on the academy to imagine critically-informed ways of relating. Thus, their work moved beyond simply identifying language in the abstract by pointing to the ways that students and teachers can begin articulating relationships that are not predicated upon the naked cost/benefit analysis that characterizes a neoliberal capitalist ethic. In doing so, they connected their structural critique to the everyday and (in our opinion) write through a CCP ethic. Commitment 6: Language (and analysis of language) is central to CCP (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 48). The notion that language is central to communication scholarship would seem, at first blush, to be a truism. If communication scholars do not study language, then who does? Yet, much traditional CE and IC scholarship does not examine actual sequences of talk, instead relying on (at best) self-reports of past communicative acts and (at worst) decontextualized psycho-communicative traits. As Sprague (1994) clearly articulated: I question whether a “communication based” theory can ever be generated from a methodology that relies on responses to hypothetical scenarios and on retrospective reports of static descriptors … I question the operationalization of messages as composite abstractions that have never been uttered by any specific teacher in any specific classroom … I wonder if research strategies like this are leading toward or away from a communication-based theory of teacher influence. (pp. 277–278)

At the heart of Sprague’s concern was the realization that mainstream CE and IC research has over-relied (and continues to over-rely) on simplistic methodologies (e.g., self-report, cross-sectional surveys) that cannot capture communicative behavior in situ. Although certainly the statistical methods used to analyze these surveys have grown increasingly sophisticated, they have not and cannot address the

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fundamental limitation of their design – that they do not examine actual communication. Fassett and Warren (2007), in recognizing the centrality of language, provided a foundation from which CCP scholars can fulfill their disciplinary mission to theorize communication as it emerges in educational contexts. To generate a communication-specific understanding of education and pedagogy, they argued that the methods of gathering data must be able to capture the complexity of communication in action. This realization pushes communication and learning scholars to utilize methodological tools that are sensitive to the ways that meaning is created within educational spaces. Automethodological and performance scholarship has the potential to fulfill this task through their focus on embodiment, tracing the ways that meaning (and power) circulate within micro-practices (see, for example, Calafell, 2007, 2010; Warren, 2011a, 2011b). Additionally, many empirical-qualitative research methods (e.g., interviews, focus groups, and ethnography of communication) are well suited to crafting a communication-specific understanding on communication and learning due to their emphasis on understanding participants’ meaning-making. Furthermore, critical-qualitative research methods (e.g., critical discourse analysis, participant action research, or indigenous methods) provide ways for CCP researchers to develop communication-based insights into privilege/ oppression. Moreover, rhetorical scholarship (e.g., critical-materialist, feminist, or ideographic rhetoric) has the ability to provide insights into the institutional, cultural, and mediated texts that function pedagogically to “teach” individuals to (de)value certain people, norms, and rules. Finally, quantitative methods (e.g., naturalistic experiments and content analyses) can capture and analyze actual sequences of talk between and among students and teachers within the classroom. In fact, although many might view quantitative methodologies and a critical paradigm as incommensurable, Fassett and Warren (2007) argued that such work is not only possible, but necessary for the vitality of communication and instruction research. Overall, a CCP perspective challenges scholars of all methodological stripes to ensure that their scholarship focuses on language use as its analytical point of entry. Commitment 7: Reflexivity is an essential condition for CCP (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 50). As Sprague (1992, 1994) noted, mainstream IC scholars have often relied upon a language of discovery when reporting their findings. The language of discovery assumes that research and researchers should remain (or, at least, pretend to be) neutral, objective, and dispassionate to produce research that is reliable and valid. She argues that using phrases such as “the researchers found …” downplay the interpretive role of the investigators and make it appear as if their results are a matter of uncovering an apprehendable, material fact. This ethic is common within post-positive social science due to the way that it tries to mirror the aims and language of natural science. Within this framework, finding the ways that humans

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interact is (or, at least, should be treated as) no different than finding the number of protons in an atom. Despite Sprague’s calls, mainstream IC scholars continue to use the language of discovery. For example, Sollitto et al. (2013) state in their discussion section, “The purpose of the study was to investigate how the different types of relationships students form with their classmates affect perceptions of classroom connectedness and classroom assimilation. Four major findings emerged” (p. 325, emphasis ours). Such assertions make it appear as if findings emerge like Athena from Zeus’ head – fully formed and perfect. CCP scholars, in building from Sprague’s (1992, 1994) insights, adopt a language of conversation/argument to recognize the role of the researcher in generating, producing, interpreting, or creating their findings. A language of conversation/ argument prompts CCP scholars to adopt a reflexive stance within their research projects, to realize that all research (like all communication) reflects and produces the norms, values, and prejudices of a given historical moment. As Fassett and Warren (2007) argued: Reflexivity is the critical communication educator’s ethical relationship to or with the phenomena and participants of our scholarship, whereby we situate knowledge, locating it in temporal, personal, and sociopolitical contexts that extend, enrich, and seek out multiple readings of our work. (p. 50)

This ethic not only recognizes the role of researchers in the research design process (e.g., the questions asked, the method chosen, or the explanations given), but also pushes researchers to situate their identity in relation to those dynamics. Of course, not all research must adopt performative or automethodological writing styles; however, researchers must recognize their role in the research process and meaningfully show how their own experiences shape and constrain its design and execution. Commitment 8: CCP educators embrace pedagogy and research as praxis (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 50). Throughout U.S. history, and intensifying sharply in the post-Reagan political landscape, education and those who work within it have always endured a certain level of scorn and distrust (well-documented by Berliner & Biddle, 1995 and reaffirmed by Berliner & Glass, 2014). Popular sayings such as, “Those who can, do. Those who can’t, teach,” or “There are lies, damned lies. And, then there are statistics,” highlight the anti-intellectualism that permeates the U.S. political landscape. Worse than the attacks on education from the outside are those internecine wars between those who identify primarily as either teachers or researchers. All too often, teachers blame researchers for being too abstract and disconnected from the lives of the students who inhabit their classes. Conversely, researchers often attack teachers for being anti-theoretical and disconnected from developments in research that should inform teaching methods and content. Complicating this matter is the increased pressure on instructors to publish research or pursue grants, even

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at universities that have not traditionally demanded these activities as a part of an instructor’s application or tenure file. Fassett and Warren (2007), in embracing both pedagogy and research as praxis, recognized the importance of both in creating public intellectuals who are able to advocate alongside marginalized people (see Giroux, 2010). Drawing upon Freire (1970/2003), they defined praxis as both theoretically-informed action and actioninformed theory. In other words, teaching and researching share a mutually informing role, creating pedagogical and research practices that resist a priori answers to craft specific, contextual, and nuanced solutions. Pedagogy as praxis encourages teachers and students to work together to “locate and name the takenfor-granted in pedagogical contexts, to decenter normative readings of a given phenomenon, experience or idea” (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 51). Research as praxis entails reflexively “working with others … [and being] explicitly reform oriented; researchers in this vein aim to change our world for the better” (Fassett & Warren, 2007, pp. 51–52). Kahl’s (2011, 2013) scholarship advocating for autoethnography as a form of praxical writing within service learning is an exemplar of this type of ethic. He argued that engaging in this mode of teaching/researching, students and teachers are able to create a space for both modes of activism, respecting their unique yet overlapping roles within movements for social justice. Overall, understanding research and pedagogy as praxis gives an incentive for both teachers and researchers to combine their efforts, respect each other’s contributions, and marshal their critical energies toward transforming the university and community landscape through their service as public intellectuals. Commitment 9: CCP educators embrace a nuanced understanding of subjectivity and agency (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 52). The role of subjectivity and agency remains a hotly contested issue within critical and postmodern theories. On the one hand, some critical scholars theorize social relations in such a heavy, top-down manner that it becomes difficult, if not impossible, to see how individuals can change their circumstances. On the other hand, some postmodern scholars give little attention to the ways that agency assumes structure and over-emphasize the ability of individuals to resist, subvert, or defer hegemonic discourses (see Best & Kellner, 1991; Giroux, 1983; Laclau & Mouffe, 1985). These debates, while showing no signs of ending, prompt CCP scholars to resist the morally and methodologically dubious propositions of viewing research participants as either mindless, programmable dupes living under false consciousness or as fragmented, ephemeral beings whose creative capacities transcend their material realities. CCP scholars, in navigating between the Scylla and Charybdis of critical/postmodern thought, focus on participants’ communicative behaviors to generate a dialectical portrait of subjectivity and agency. By engaging in a dialectical understanding of the relationship between structure and agency, CCP scholars respect the ways that “students and teachers take up, resist, defer, and subvert communicative expectations through their creative

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communicative improvisations” (Rudick & Golsan, 2014, p. 262). CCP scholarship is predicated upon the belief that communicative acts necessarily draw upon the cultural, institutional, and relational codes that make meaning possible. Simultaneously, agency is possible precisely because ideologies, in their overlapping, contradictory, and complementary dance, do not constitute a deterministic force. This dynamic gives students and teachers the ability to understand how communication, particularly mundane communication, is a site for intervention in oppressive ideologies by exploring “the possibility of a variation [within] repetition” (Butler, 1990b, p. 145). In other words, understanding the ways that structure shapes and constrains mundane signifying practices provides individuals with the means by which to identify and produce tactical responses to hegemony (see deCerteau, 1984). Furthermore, CCP researchers and teachers, by embracing a dialectical framework, seek to decenter themselves as the ones who (through their scholarship or training) inhabit a God’s-eye view of oppression, privilege, or power. This ethic challenges CCP scholars to recognize their limited and limiting ways of understanding social relations and embrace a reflexive stance within their research and teaching. Commitment 10: Dialogue is metaphor and method for our relationships with others (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 54). Although scholars’ conceptualizations of dialogue vary greatly, CCP relies primarily upon a CP understanding of dialogue. Freire (1970/2003) defined dialogue as an “encounter between men [and women], mediated by the world, in order to name the world,” (Freire, 1970/2003, p. 88). Dialogue is not simply a good or nice conversation; it is an intentional communicative ethic that challenges students and teachers to name the oppressive systems that constrain their ability to live freely in the world. Freire asserted that dialogue is comprised of five parts: (1) love for life and for people, (2) humility to realize one’s situatedness, (3) faith that all people can work toward social justice, (4) hope that a socially-just world can be realized, and (5) critical thinking processes that view society and culture as historical, contextual, and changeable. By engaging in dialogic contact, individuals work to undo the hegemonic belief that the world is given or immutable (e.g., “it is what it is”) and see it as a complex web of practices that they make and remake through intervention. Fassett and Warren (2007), in drawing from this ideal, posited dialogue as both a metaphor and method, highlighting how it helps individuals strive toward ethics of humanization and freedom while generating knowledge that is counter to dominant, oppressive ideologies. As metaphor, dialogue sets an aspirational goal of opening up new possibilities for seeing and being in the world. Within research, this ethic means that researchers do not view participants as a means to an end or data to be analyzed. Rather, participants are (minimally) empowered to make decisions about the research process (e.g., member-checking transcriptions) or (ideally) a part of the research project’s design and execution (e.g., critical ethnog-

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raphy or participant action research). Within teaching, dialogue is “characterized by open acknowledgement of each person’s naming of the world, though that acknowledgment need not imply acceptance” (Fassett & Warren, 2007, p. 54). Students and teachers strive to understand each other as beings-in-process; that is, they respect the historical, cultural, and institutional forces that make meaning, identity, and culture possible while holding themselves and each other accountable. As method, dialogue is an epistemic tool for naming oppressive social relations in order to challenge and change them. Fassett and Warren (2007) offered that dialogue constitutes a ‘‘process of sensitive and thorough inquiry, inquiry we undertake together to (de)construct ideologies, identities, and cultures’’ (p. 55). In this sense, dialogue is an intentional communicative process by which individuals learn to name and transform oppression. Fassett and Warren, in drawing upon feminist scholars, recognized that individuals are not autonomous, rational beings who will arrive at self-evident truths about social justice through the process of dialogue (Ellsworth, 1992; Lather, 1991). They cautioned that identities are constituted by overlapping, contradictory, and complementary discourses, and therefore even liberatory thinking is embedded within the dominant ideologies that individuals seek to change. However, they argued that rather than being a point of despair, recognizing the limitations of dialogue provides impetus for individuals to come together and commit to the hard work of changing themselves, each other, and society through articulating avenues for social-justice activism.

Conclusion and Next Steps In 2015, Communication Education editor Jonathan Hess, forums section editor Joseph Mazer, and guest co-editor Katherine Hendrix issued this call for brief position statements: Despite a few articles and even a 2003 special issue of Communication Education focused on racial, cultural, and gendered identities, the bulk of our scholarship originates from dominant male and Eurocentric perspectives. Looking at instructional communication mainly from one perspective excludes valuable insights to be found from other standpoints. It seems likely that our scholarship is missing out on significant development by a somewhat narrow perspective dominating the research. We might benefit from a vision of what scholarship that broadens our perspective would look like, and a path for how to produce strong scholarship which fits that vision. Thus, we ask: How can diverse perspectives (i.e., gender, age, race, nationality, able-bodiedness) enrich instructional communication research? How can our discipline foster the development of such scholarship? (Hess, 2015)

This is an important call for discussion, one that opens possibility and hope for a transformed, or, rather, transforming approach to the study of communication and instruction. As evidenced in the preceding pages, in the few years since the publi-

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cation of Critical Communication Pedagogy, critical approaches to the teaching and research of communication have grown in number and prominence. Such work stands as a response to, but is curiously unacknowledged within, the editors’ call. In response to the journal’s forum call, Fassett and Nainby (2016) articulated what CCP scholars would find to be the central challenge associated with such questions regarding diversity in the study of communication and instruction: Our fear is that the forum questions, as phrased, merely invite (only) instructional communication scholars to consider how we might better design instruments that encompass a broad array of ethnicities, gendered identities, or other coalesced groupings in our established research programs – in instructor immediacy, clarity or humor, for example. In this way, the idea is to draw from others to add to or expand instructional communication research; however, the real challenge is to invite others into the disciplinary conversations about communication and instruction in such a way as to change the discipline itself.

Taken to its logical conclusion, the forum call would exceed the inclusion of other perspectives, transforming scholarship on communication and instruction into something that only occasionally or remotely resembles what we have heretofore witnessed. Additionally, Rudick and Golsan (2016) responded to the call by arguing that scholars must “move conversations away from a language of diversity to a language of difference …” as “the concept of difference focuses attention on its communicative construction.” While diversity implies a kind of pluralism and neutrality, difference challenges researchers and teachers to reflexivity and praxis. This responsibility transforms and strengthens the study of communication and instruction by attending to Sprague’s (1992) initial challenge to create communicationspecific understandings of instructional communication’s domain of study: teaching, power, relationships, and learning. Critical communication pedagogy, as a paradigmatic perspective in scholarship and teaching practice, does not seek to simply supplement or supplant traditional communication education and instructional communication scholarship; rather it posits a hopeful future of intersectional, multi-method, collaborative, and issueoriented exploration, one that makes possible sustained dialogue within the academy, but, more importantly, between the academy and the communities that sustain it and to which it is accountable (see, for example, Frey & Palmer’s (2014) collection on communication activist pedagogy as a powerful exploration of critical communication pedagogy in situ.). Where critical communication pedagogy research has “stopped at the classroom door” (Frey & Palmer, 2014, p. 8), it is a reflection of the Communication Studies discipline in general and instructional communication in particular (though there is increasing interest in conversations in published communication scholarship that acknowledge the global reach and relevance of critical communication pedagogy – e.g., Gajjala, Rybas, & Zhang, 2010). As critical communication pedagogy continues to grow in breadth and depth, it will continue to grow in global reach and significance.

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Thus, future directions for critical communication pedagogy scholarship may well evolve into additional commitments that guide and shape our understanding of communication and learning. For example, although CCP theorizes and pursues social justice as both process and goal, social justice is not yet well-defined in the literature. Fassett and Warren (2007), in developing CCP as a response to disciplinary exigencies, focused more on what CCP is not than on what it is or what it is for. By engaging praxis as reflection and action for transformation (Freire, 1970/ 2003), teachers, students, and researchers are involved in what we might call social justice-ing, rather than social justice as an end goal. Articulating what social justice looks and feels like, as well as what it achieves and for whom, both in and beyond the classroom, is an essential next step. Here we return to the epigraphs that open this chapter. Critical communication pedagogy, as a field of study and pedagogical practice, is fundamentally shaped – through exclusion and inclusion – by the Communication Studies discipline’s vision of what is legitimate and meaningful scholarship. Discipline is yet another word that does and does not readily align with its etymological roots. To discipline entails a certain degree of structure and order, often accompanied by punishment for deviance. However, a discipline is not a stable or static entity, or an overarching law; comprised of scholars with shared interests, a discipline is also a home, a space for dialogue (however thorny and difficult) and growth. In this sense, it is not at all coincidental that a discipline is also a field of study, possessed of the potential to be, as hooks (1994) observes, “a field of possibility” (p. 207). Critical communication pedagogy, as a hopeful and analytical approach, has been and continues to be essential to nuanced and meaningful understandings of communication and instruction.

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Teaching and Learning Communication Across the Lifespan

Jessa Reed, Kathy Hirsh-Pasek, and Roberta Michnick Golinkoff

24 Meeting Children Where They Are: Adaptive Contingency Builds Early Communication Skills Abstract: Communication competence in preschoolers begins in infancy. By offering both prompt and meaningful responses to children’s communicative bids, caregivers support emerging language (e.g., vocabulary) and social skills so that preschoolers can become savvy conversationalists. Here we introduce the idea of adaptive contingency as a shared mechanism that sustains adult and child interactions and promotes communication competence across four developmental periods: early and later infancy, toddlerhood, and the preschool years. Adaptive contingency is expressed differently over time, accommodating children’s growing cognitive, social, and motor skills. With infants, caregivers scaffold exchanges by mirroring infants, establishing expectations of reciprocity and turn-taking. In the second half of the first year, caregivers capitalize on infants’ explorations, offering input that builds upon (rather than mirrors) their actions. Toddlerhood is characterized by shared referential contexts between adult and child (i.e., common ground) that facilitate vocabulary growth. Finally, conversations during the preschool years allow young children to practice budding pragmatic skills. Although the content and quality of caregivers’ input change over time, adopting a panoramic view reveals the import of adaptive contingency (prompt timing and meaningfulness) as the foundation for a series of cascading behaviors between adult and child that fosters communication competence. Keywords: parent-child interactions, contingency, word learning, language development, pragmatic skills, communication competence

Words are also actions, and actions are a kind of words. Ralph Waldo Emerson

A child’s first word is a moment to be celebrated. Across cultures, babies’ earliest vocabularies often consist of words to describe family members (e.g., “daddy”) as well as functional terms such as “hi” (Tardif et al., 2008). The transition from babbling may feel abrupt, like a green shoot that emerges above ground from the pea planted below. Much, however, is going on beneath the surface, and science is beginning to chart that development. Through the Human Speechome Project, for example, Roy and colleagues pioneered an approach that allowed the “birth” of a word to be monitored through continuous recordings of a child at home from birth

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to three years (Roy, Frank, DeCamp, Miller, & Roy, 2015). Eight million words were transcribed, and in his Ted Talk, Roy (2011) chronicled the emergence of the word “water” in his son’s lexicon. The word did not suddenly appear; the longitudinal recordings demonstrate its nascent form in babbles and abbreviated attempts. The outcome – here, baby’s growing vocabulary – is rooted in a process that unfolds over time and is shaped by interactions with supportive caregivers. How can caregivers foster children’s emerging communication competence? Before this question can be addressed, it is imperative to recognize that communication consists of more than just words. First, effective communication consists of talking and listening (Ironsmith & Whitehurst, 1978). Second, eye gaze and gestures are part of our arsenal for communicating with others (Tomasello, 2008). Even as young as 9 months, infants recognize that pointing is a useful tool to communicate with others (Krehm, Onishi, & Vouloumanos, 2014). Third, words are not the only means by which we communicate. Infants’ earliest exchanges are infused with positive affect. When speaking to babies, for example, caregivers use a particular style of infant-directed speech that conveys affective information (for a recent review, see Golinkoff, Can, Soderstrom, & Hirsh-Pasek, 2015; see also Soderstrom, 2007). The “conversational duets” (Hirsh-Pasek et al., 2015) that caregivers have with children, in which they seamlessly integrate nonverbal behaviors (e.g., eye gaze, smiles, and gestures) and words during back-and-forth exchanges, lay the basis for communication competence. In this chapter, we introduce the concept of adaptive contingency – defined as prompt and meaningful responses to children’s bids – and argue that adaptive contingency is the foundation of communication that sustains these duets. Central to our thesis is the idea that communication competence in preschoolers is a result of a developmental process that begins in early infancy and embodies both language development (e.g., vocabulary and grammar) and the social skills that support language. For example, longitudinal work by Adamson and colleagues (Adamson, Bakeman, Deckner, & Nelson, 2012, 2014) demonstrates the predictive power of early interactions on later communication development. After defining adaptive contingency, we address how caregivers foster communication competence through adaptive contingency during four developmental periods: early infancy (birth to six months), later infancy (6 months to 1 year), toddlerhood (1–3 years) and the preschool years (3–5 years). The dyadic exchanges within each period are structured to support developmentally appropriate communication skills.

Adaptive Contingency The literature on caregiver-child interactions is replete with terms and constructs that address complementary facets of the dyadic relationship. For example, Feld-

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man (2015) defined infant-caregiver synchrony as the “the online coordination of social behavior between parent and infant in the gaze, vocalization, affect, and touch modalities” (p. 394). Responsiveness captures the timely and appropriate feedback to children during the next stage of development (Landry, Smith, & Swank, 2006; Tamis-LeMonda, Bornstein, & Baumwell, 2001), when gross motor milestones such as sitting independently and crawling allow children to interact with their environments in new ways. Children’s first birthdays mark yet another transition in the nature of parent-child interactions. Emerging theory-of-mind skills allow young toddlers to participate in episodes of joint attention, in which dyads mutually share a common focus, as when a fire truck roars by or a jack-in-the-box unexpectedly pops. Initially, children jointly attend to an object or event when the shared referent is physically present; when a puppy passes by, toddlers cannot help but point it out to their nearby caregiver. In time, preschoolers begin to reminisce about the past or anticipate future events. These conversations are a sophisticated form of joint engagement (Adamson et al., 2014), in which parent-child dyads are no longer limited to the here-and-now. While at first glance, these constructs appear to be mere stepping stones along the way to mature communication, a panoramic lens across the four developmental periods reveals a common thread – adaptive contingency. Critically, we will argue that each of these constructs, however, captures a particular moment of adaptive contingency across time. Prompt and meaningful responses to a child depend on where that child is developmentally. This idea is well captured in developmental psychopathology (Cicchetti, 1993; Sroufe & Rutter, 1984) where the term heterotypic continuity is used to describe the way a process or behavior is expressed differently over time (e.g., Lavigne, Gouze, Bryant, & Hopkins, 2014). Here we offer a dynamic approach to understanding the ways in which caregivers foster adaptive contingency but do so differently across development.

Temporal Coordination of Social Exchanges: Prompt Timing Matters Timing is the first necessary component of successful social interactions. Adult conversation partners quickly adapt to one another, converging on a shared rhythm (e.g., Manson, Bryant, Gervais, & Kline, 2013). Indeed, the transition from one speaker to another is shorter than other reaction time measures because we anticipate what the other person will contribute to the exchange (Magyari, Bastiaansen, de Ruiter, & Levinson, 2014). Cross-cultural observations demonstrate that parents around the globe and their 5.5-month-old infants engage in temporally coordinated interactions (Bornstein, Cote, Haynes, Suwalsky, & Bakeman, 2012). Evidence that temporal contingency helps to sustain social interactions can be found through two complementary lines of research. The first examines what happens after a caregiver responds contingently to an infant’s initial bid and finds that

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contingency carries an exchange forward by prompting back-and-forth turn taking. For example, Dix, Cheng, and Day (2009) reported toddlers between 14 and 27 months were more likely to make additional bids for attention to their caregivers if infants’ smiles moments before were promptly acknowledged in some way by caregivers. A second line investigates the consequences when the timing of social interactions is “off.” Longer latencies to respond reveal our distraction or otherwise disengagement from the conversation at hand. Do young children perceive these “hiccups” when interacting with others? Experimental manipulations suggest that they do. For instance, Henning and Striano (2011) delayed the video feed of parents interacting with their 3-month-old infants via closed circuit television and found infants smiled less relative to the live video feed condition. Relatedly, mothers with depression have been found to respond less contingently to their children, with cascading effects on the child. In a longitudinal design, Yan and Dix (2014) asked mothers to rate their depressive symptoms and the degree to which their child withdraws from social interactions via the Child Behavior Checklist. Assessments began when children were two years and continued until first grade. Additionally, parent-child interactions were coded for mutual responsiveness (Kochanska, 1997). Structural equation modeling revealed that maternal depression at 24 months predicted both higher withdrawal scores and lower ratings of mutual responsiveness. Withdrawal scores and mutual responsiveness ratings then predicted maternal depression, one year later. This pattern ultimately predicted children’s social skills, school success, and conduct problems in first grade. When the timing is not quite right, there can be profound consequences on both in-the-moment engagement as well as later behavioral outcomes that affect children’s communication competence.

Children “Make Sense” of Meaningful Input Adaptive contingency also requires the relevance or meaningfulness of caregivers’ responses to the child’s focus. In her intentionality model, Bloom (1993, 2000) argued that language results from the confluence of two processes – engagement and effort, and the principle of relevance is a driving force behind children’s engagement. Bloom (2000) draws upon Fauconnier’s (1985) brick wall analogy to explain how relevance facilitates engagement. When building a wall, any brick will work in any spot. At any one moment in the building process, the next brick to be laid must go in a particular spot (not helter-skelter). Likewise, as children engage in their world, relevant responses “fit” in that moment. Grice’s (1975) principles influence what information we share with others as well as the inferences we make about others’ communicative intentions. We expect our conversational partners to be truthful (principle of Quality), relevant, and concise (Quantity principle), and these same rules apply to our own contributions to

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the exchange. Meaningful input adheres to these principles. Even when semantic content is absent – as in the case of caregivers interacting with their newborns – the meaningfulness dimension can be flexibly applied to refer to the affective nature of these earliest exchanges. For example, the earliest exchanges in infancy are characterized by synchrony (Feldman, 2007a, 2007b). Here, caregivers and infants engage in tightly coupled back-and-forth exchanges (Jaffe, Beebe, Feldstein, Crown, & Jasnow, 2001). An infant’s smile begets one in return from an attuned caregiver, who mirrors the infant in affect and hence in emotional meaning. Caregivers can “read” an infant’s affective state and respond appropriately, reflecting how even prelinguistic exchanges are infused with meaning (Papoušek, 2007). These synchronous interactions are highly rewarding for children and caregivers. Feldman, Gordon, and Zagoory-Sharon (2010) found increased levels of oxytocin (associated with social rewards; Feldman, 2012) in both parents and 4- to 6-monthold infants following a face-to-face interaction, with higher levels of oxytocin predicted by the degree of shared affect during the exchange. Just as temporal contingency facilitates back-and-forth exchanges, so too does meaningful input. Dunham, Dunham, Tran, and Akhtar (1991) tested this idea directly with the help of a friendly robot. In their paradigm, the robot always responded promptly to the two-year-old participants. The content of the robot’s contributions, however, either built upon the child’s topic or was completely irrelevant. Imagine asking the robot about trains, only to have it respond that there is a frog under the table. How frustrating! Did the toddlers mirror our imagined frustration? Indeed they did, evidenced by fewer conversational turns with the untoward robot. Timing alone cannot sustain a social exchange. Consequently, adaptive contingency refers to the prompt delivery of meaningful content; the two dimensions depend upon one another.

It Takes Two: The Bidirectionality of Adaptive Contingency Critical to our conceptualization of adaptive contingency is its dyadic, bidirectional nature. Parents most effectively teach communication competence when they meet children where they are developmentally (for a review, see Harrist & Waugh, 2002). As a result, the mechanism of adaptive contingency must take into consideration children’s current social, cognitive, and motor competencies for caregivers to provide prompt and meaningful content in that moment. By adopting a developmentally appropriate approach to adaptive contingency, its expression within each developmental period reflects how caregivers offer prompt and meaningful responses that take into account children’s current level of functioning and current emotional states. Empirical evidence for caregivers’ intuitive modification of their language offers a portrait of how caregivers might adjust their responses to children at varying levels of development. Sokolov (1993) analyzed three longitudinal corpora from the

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Child Language Data Exchange System and found support for this transactional process in the ways parents modify their language input to introduce and reinforce grammatical concepts such as auxiliary verbs and pronouns. Sokolov offers this example, in which a caregiver expands a child’s “Lilly fix” into a more complete “Lilly will fix it” (1993, p. 1019). As children begin to form more grammatically complete sentences, caregivers need to add less to children’s utterances. Instead, caregivers adopt different ways of building upon children’s language to bolster emerging skills (also see Hirsh-Pasek, Treiman, & Schneiderman, 1984). For instance, pronouns are practiced as caregivers substitute a child’s “I do it” by affirming, “Yes, you do it.” Further support comes from Adamson, Bakeman, and Brandon (2015), who asked caregivers to provide novel labels (e.g., felly, nupa) to their children during semi-structured lab-based interactions. Some families had toddlers diagnosed with autism spectrum disorders, while others had children with Down syndrome. There was also a sample of typically developing children, who were younger (18 months) to better equate the three diagnostic groups on language scores. While caregivers were fairly consistent in their strategies to teach the novel target words to their children across all groups, differences did emerge in the strategies used by caregivers depending on where children were developmentally. For example, when introducing a new word to a child with autism, parents engaged in more attention management strategies, whereas children with Down syndrome heard more frequent repetitions of the target words themselves. Two programs of research also highlight the bidirectional nature of adaptive contingency. Tamis-LeMonda et al. (2001) observed dyads longitudinally. The ways in which children engaged during the semi-structured free play session changed from 9 to 13 months, with more frequent play behaviors (instead of mouthing or manually manipulating objects) as one example. Relatedly, caregivers responded differentially over time to their children. They were more likely to describe what was unfolding to the infant at 9 months but instead offered more frequent play prompts at 13 months. This pattern consequently predicted various language milestones. For example, contingent and meaningful verbal responses to play behaviors in the form of questions at 13 months predicted when children began to talk about the past, a more advanced language milestone. A child pretends to feed a doll; her mother responds by asking whether the child remembers who came over for dinner last night. This sequence is an example of the tailored responses that depend on children’s current competencies. If the child does not yet have words, then reminiscing is not as facilitative as offering a label when the child attends to the doll. Adaptive contingency meets the child where he or she is developmentally. Evaluating only the caregiver’s contributions will not offer a complete picture; instead, adaptive contingency takes into account the child’s contributions in order to determine what will be most appropriate. A second program of research that illuminates the bidirectional nature of adaptive contingency is that which studies how caregivers respond differentially to

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walkers and crawlers. Research by Adolph and colleagues (Adolph & TamisLeMonda, 2014; Karasik, Tamis-LeMonda, & Adolph, 2014) and Iverson (2010) has identified different patterns of parental responsiveness to infants’ gestural bids, depending on the child’s current locomotion style. For example, the most likely response to a walking child’s socio-communicative showing gesture with a toy in hand was a prompt to do something with that object. A walking child who showed a block to her mother by extending the object in the air was likely to hear the mother suggest a particular way to play with that block. On the other hand, caregivers were less likely to offer any kind of feedback following a crawling child’s socio-communicative bid. Karasik and colleagues also examined how children made their bids – either while in motion or while still. Crawlers overwhelmingly made stationary bids, but in the rare instances of bidding while locomoting, caregivers were more likely to offer an action gesture, such as a prompt to place the block on top of the tower. As such, this study was the first to empirically demonstrate how motor skills affect children’s engagement in their environments, which “sets in motion a cascading effect that ultimately affects the language infants hear” (Karasik et al., 2014, p. 394). Once again, we find evidence for the bidirectional nature of adaptive contingency. The child’s current developmental status affects how the caregiver responds, which in turn affects the child, with adaptive outcomes linked to responses that are tailored to where the child is developmentally. Woven across developmental time is adaptive contingency, and the panoramic lens allowed us to distill a common thread from within each particular developmental period that draws on different constructs in the evolution of communication competence. In the sections that follow, the ways in which caregivers scaffold children’s emerging communication competence within each developmental period are reviewed. Moving from early to later infancy, toddlerhood then the preschool years, the foundational skills for communication competence are laid through temporally contingent and meaningful exchanges between children and their caregivers.

Fostering Communication Competence in Early Infancy In this earliest developmental period, caregivers are largely responsible for sustaining dyadic interactions, providing contingent responses during infants’ limited bouts of sustained attention. “Serve and return” is a common (and apt) metaphor to describe this early dynamic (Shonkoff & Bales, 2011). For example, when an infant vocalizes (his “serve”), the caregiver can coo in response (the “return”). By providing temporally and meaningfully contingent responses to infants’ gaze, smiles, and vocalizations, caregivers are effectively keeping their analogous game of social tennis in play. Research has demonstrated that infants as young as six

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weeks old participate in contingent back-and-forth exchanges, coordinating their eye gaze in response to caregivers’ vocalizations (Crown, Feldstein, Jasnow, Beebe, & Jaffe, 2002). Biological rhythms such as heart rate become co-regulated during moments of shared affect and proto-conversations (Feldman, Magori-Cohen, Galili, Singer, & Louzoun, 2011).

Defining Adaptive Contingency via Synchrony Studies that examine the first glimpses of adaptive contingency in infancy refer to the “back and forth” exchanges by examining synchrony. Synchrony refers to the moment-by-moment coordination of caregivers and infants (Feldman, 2007a). The timescale coupling infant actions with responses from the caregiver is quite narrow, often measured in milliseconds, with evidence for both universal patterns and cultural variation in structure and timing of these earliest exchanges (Gratier, 2003; Van Puyvelde, Loots, Gillisjans, Pattyn, & Quintana, 2015). Gratier’s observational work with mother-infant (2- to 5-month olds) dyads from France, India, and the United States, as well as a cohort of Indian families who immigrated to America, revealed that overall levels of synchronous behaviors and vocal matching or rhythmic structure (e.g., the “beat” of the interaction) are relatively similar across the globe. Some variations did emerge, however. For example, Indian mother-child dyads had a greater proportion of overlapping speech (9.4 %) than either the American (5.1 %) or French (3.2 %) families. Perhaps relatedly, Indian dyads had the shortest between-speaker pause, relative to their American and French cohorts. The cohort of Indian immigrants living in California highlights the role of culture: Their scores on a variety of measures fell in between those of native dyads living in India and America. The tightly coupled structure of synchronous interactions at the millisecond level reflects infants’ more general cognitive ability to detect temporal contingencies in their environment. Initially, infants prefer perfect contingencies (Zmyj & Klein-Radukic, 2015). A perfect temporal contingency exists when a stimulus is always met with a response; the consequent splash that follows after jumping in a puddle is an example. Perfect contingencies can be expressed in “if-then” statements. “If I jump in this puddle, then there will be a splash” (mud optional). In the classic Rovee and Rovee (1969) mobile paradigm, infants distinguished between mobiles activated by their leg kicks – a perfect contingency – and when mobile activation was not contingent on their actions. Social contingencies are imperfect, for not every single infant action is met with a corresponding response from the environment. Evidence that infants can detect social contingencies emerges by age 2 months (Bigelow & Rochat, 2006). Before reviewing how adaptive contingency contributes to children’s fledgling communication competence, it is necessary to address a critical gap in the literature. Research during this earliest development period has focused almost exclu-

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sively on the temporal rather than on the meaningful dimension of adaptive contingency. The findings discussed below come from research designs that confound timing with the presence of meaningful content. Only the timing of responses has been observed or manipulated experimentally, not the content. For example, Bigelow and Power (2014) coded whether or not a caregiver smiled back at infants within one second of an infant’s smile. Meaningfulness – here defined as an appropriate affective response to the child’s own smile – is held constant. It remains an open question as to whether or not timing alone drives dyadic interactions in this earliest developmental period. Nevertheless, we maintain the relevance of our central thesis that timing and meaningfulness matter, even in the first few months. We draw on work concerning maternal mind-mindedness, or the extent to which mothers infer or attribute intentionality to very young infants (Meins, 2013). This literature finds that appropriate comments – not just any talk about infants’ mental states – are predictive of infants’ later development (Meins et al., 2012). Bigelow, Power, Bulmer, and Gerrior (2015) provide compelling evidence, effectively closing the hypothesized loop between maternal mind-mindedness and meaningfulness via mirroring behaviors. In their paradigm, mothers first engaged in a short face-to-face interaction with their 5-month-old infants. Afterwards, the mothers watched the interaction with an experimenter, and their comments related to infants’ mental states were coded. Mind-mindedness positively correlated with how the caregivers interacted with their babies, suggesting that “in mirroring the infants’ behavior, mothers recognize and respond appropriately to their infants’ mental states” (Bigelow et al., 2015, p. 265). The work on mind-mindedness carves the space for us to consider how the appropriateness of responses may be an undercurrent responsible – in tandem with timing – for successful parent-child interactions in early infancy.

Laying the Foundation for Fluid Turn-Taking through Adaptive Contingency Adult conversational partners will converge on a mutual pace, matching pause durations in between speaker changes, for instance (Stivers et al., 2009). Failure to make these micro-adjustments in conversational rhythms can lead to lower ratings on a variety of social outcomes, such as likeability and perceived engagement (Crown, 1982; Koudenberg, Postmes, & Gordijn, 2013; Warner, Malloy, Schneider, Knoth, & Wilder, 1987). Prior to babbling, infants will coordinate eye gaze with maternal vocalizations (Crown et al., 2002), demonstrating perhaps the earliest evidence of nascent interpersonal timing. Indeed, Crown and colleagues write, “The temporal coordination between the adult and the 6-week-old infant is a shared rhythmic behavior” (2002, p. 19). By four months, parent-child interactions exhibit several of the hallmark features of coordinated interpersonal timing, such as matching the length of pause between speakers (Beebe, Alson, Jaffe, Feldstein, & Crown,

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1988). This is a critical foundational communication skill. Difficulty in maintaining fluid conversational rhythms – a skill that emerges in infancy – has recently been identified as a risk factor for later language delays (Northrup & Iverson, 2015). Northrup and Iverson pinpointed several features of dyadic interactions at 9 months that predicted lower language scores at age 3 years among a high-risk cohort of younger siblings of children with autism spectrum disorders, including a higher proportion of overlapping speech and less convergence on mutual pause duration between speaker changes (i.e., from mother-to-child and from child-to-mother). Expectations for the tight coupling of infant-caregiver behaviors are formed as a result of these early social interactions. Experimental manipulations of caregiver responsiveness via delayed video feed during closed circuit television interactions (Henning & Striano, 2011; Stormark & Braarud, 2004) or the Still-Face paradigm (Bigelow & Walden, 2009; Goldstein, Schwade, & Bornstein, 2009; Mcquaid, Bibok, & Carpendale, 2009) reveal that infants respond differentially to perturbations during what was expected to be a naturally unfolding, fluid exchange. For example, infants smiled less when contingencies were manipulated. Dyads construct a turn-taking structure, and naïve observers can differentiate mother-child from stranger-child dyads (Bigelow, Power, Mcquaid, Ward, & Rochat, 2008). Using eyetracking technology, Thorgrimsson, Fawsett, and Liszkowski (2015) designed a study in which infants watched as one actor initiated verbal contact with a second individual onscreen via speech or non-speech (e.g., cough) sounds. In line with their hypothesis that infants would expect (and thereby anticipate) the back-andforth structure of conversations, infants shifted their gaze more quickly toward the as-of-yet silent partner in the speech condition, relative to the non-speech stimuli. Bornstein, Putnick, Cote, Haynes, and Suwalsky (2015) studied mother-infant interactions in 11 different countries in North and South America, Europe, Africa, and Asia when infants were 5.5 months old. Across cultures, dyads engaged in protoconversations characterized by temporal contingency; infant vocalizations predicted maternal talk in response. This cross-cultural look suggests that participating in synchronous exchanges is a human universal that sets the stage for reciprocity. Recent work suggests that synchrony also has a direct impact on infants’ affect (MacLean et al., 2014). Second-by-second coding of parent-child interactions during the Still Face paradigm revealed real-time change in infants’ affect following moments of mutual gaze. In line with a developmental systems approach (Molenaar, Sinclair, Rovine, Ram, & Corneal, 2009), such “in the moment” consequences of synchrony can be integrated with findings that link high-quality parent-child interactions in early infancy to later developmental outcomes (e.g., Lickenbrock & Braungart-Rieker, 2015). Prospective studies demonstrate how early exchanges marked by prompt and meaningful responses to infants’ socio-communicative bids – what we refer to as adaptive contingency – have a lasting impact on later development, in line with the thesis of this chapter. The roots of communication competence begin in infancy.

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Fostering Communication Competence in Older Infants Emerging motor, social, and cognitive skills in the second half of the first year allow children to begin to autonomously explore their environments and make communicative bids to caregivers. When infants reach developmental milestones such as sitting independently and gesturing to show, the nature of parent-child interaction adapts to dynamically reflect these co-evolving roles. Caregivers once mirrored infants’ earliest socio-communicative bids (smile for smile, coo for coo) via processes of attunement. Now, in this next developmental window, caregivers capitalize upon babies’ developing sense of initiative by providing labels for those objects and events that have captured their children’s attention. This responsive style has been linked to positive child language outcomes (Bornstein & Tamis-LeMonda, 1997; Goldstein & Schwade, 2009).

Defining Adaptive Contingency via Responsiveness A critical element of communication competence is the ability to express oneself verbally. Frustration builds when children are unable to verbalize their desires or needs to caregivers or peers, which can lead to behavioral challenges (Carpenter & Drabick, 2011). Caregivers can facilitate word learning in later infancy (approximately 9 to 18 months) through adaptive contingency in the form of responsiveness (Baumwell, Tamis-LeMonda, & Bornstein, 1997; Lohaus, Keller, Ball, Elben, & Voelker, 2001). Here, caregivers respond contingently (operationally defined as within a 1- to 5-second window following infants’ initiations) and appropriately. How do we define appropriateness? Goldstein and Schwade (2009) tackled this question directly in their longitudinal investigation of early parent-child interactions and later language development. Infants, when approximately 9 months old, begin to engage in object-directed vocalizations, whereby they make vocalizations while manually exploring new objects in their environments. For example, while holding and turning a toy train in her hands, an infant can babble, “gaga.” Such vocalizations signal a readiness to learn (Goldstein, Schwade, Briesch, & Syal, 2010). Caregivers, in response to these vocalizations, can either offer a proximal label (i.e., shaping the infant’s “gaga” into “game”) or an object match label (i.e., labeling “train” in response to the infant’s object-directed vocalization of “gaga”). Through their prospective design, Goldstein and colleagues found that a particular responsive style predicted higher language scores several months later – that of proffering object match labels that corresponded with the child’s visual focus. This finding directly aligns with our thesis that only temporally contingent and meaningful responses will benefit language growth, with the corollary that the relevance of input depends on the child’s current functioning.

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Adaptive Contingency Encourages Communication Engagement Responsiveness not only shapes children’s word learning but also the likelihood that children will engage in verbal communicative exchanges, even before they can use words. Participating in these proto-conversations sets the foundation for later conversations and signals intentionality as well as agency. Gros-Louis and colleagues have offered empirical support for this developmental pattern through both observational (Gros-Louis, West, & King, 2014) and experimental (Miller & GrosLouis, 2013) designs. Observational data come from Gros-Louis and colleagues, who followed dyads longitudinally from 8 to 14 months, and found that contingent feedback from caregivers increased infants’ communicative use of prelinguistic vocalizations. In a classic ABA design, Miller and Gros-Louis directed caregivers to first engage naturally with their infants (the A component of the study). In the experimentally manipulated B portion of the experiment, caregivers were instructed to either respond to children’s bids (i.e., provide meaningful input that builds upon the previous utterance) or redirect them (i.e., shift the child’s focus to something new and unrelated). This design revealed real-time changes in infants’ behaviors, demonstrating how sensitive infants are to maternal styles of interactions. This is one of the few studies to experimentally manipulate the meaningfulness of input, such that caregivers either followed the child’s focus or introduced something unrelated. The results suggest that not just any response will sustain a dyadic interaction. Instead, the meaningfulness of the caregiver’s content as a function of the child’s focus must be taken into account. By responding promptly with meaningful content, caregivers model how to share a common focus, effectively sustaining the exchange as children then continue to add to the unfolding interaction.

Fostering Communication Competence in Toddlerhood The transition from dyadic (i.e., caregiver-child) to triadic (i.e., caregiver-childshared object) interactions marks another shift in the evolution of adaptive contingency across developmental time. Longitudinal observations document the emergence of joint attention prior to children’s first birthdays, but it is not until toddlerhood that dyads spent a significant portion of their time together engaged in joint attention (Carpenter, Nagell, & Tomasello, 1998). This ability to jointly attend allows children who once directed their caregivers’ attention to actively participate in sustaining a shared focus.

Defining Adaptive Contingency via Joint Attention Common ground, or the shared referential context (Clark, 1996; Tomasello, 2008), is co-constructed by communicative partners. For example, when dyads share a

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common task – whether playing with dinosaurs or cleaning up – there is a joint focus through which input is filtered, as if the common ground provides a lens that makes salient only that which is temporally contingent and meaningful in that particular moment. Work by Bourdais, Danis, Bacle, Santolini, and Tijus (2013) demonstrates how 13-month-olds (but not their 10-month-old peers) point to share information with caregivers, such as the location of a hidden toy. This finding highlights the tightly coupled connection between developing socio-cognitive skills such as theory of mind and the development of communication competence. When children recognize that their experience and knowledge are not implicitly available to others, theory of mind begins to develop. Pointing to inform is, as Liszkowski, Carpenter, and Tomasello (2007) write, “already a fully communicative act involving an understanding of mental states … infants understand others as persons who have psychological relations toward the environment with specific knowledge states and attitudes about it” (p. F6). Consequently, children can become more active partners in dynamic social interactions. Children use common ground to make inferences about speakers’ communicative intent (Egyed, Király, & Gergely, 2013; Grassmann, Stracke, & Tomasello, 2009; Liebel, Behne, Carpenter, & Tomasello, 2009; Schulze & Tomasello, 2015). To test this notion, experimental studies traditionally present toddlers with an ambiguous request, nested within a jointly shared activity. Evidence for the use of common ground emerges if children respond appropriately to ostensive requests but indiscriminately to accidental requests. Schulze and Tomasello’s work with 18-montholds demonstrates this. While child and experimenter worked together on a puzzle, a puzzle piece was suddenly discovered to be missing. The experimenter held up a large key, which had previously been used to open boxes together. Did the toddlers infer that the key could be used to reveal the missing piece, hidden inside? Only when the experimenter used ostensive communicative signals via joint attention did the young participants rely on their knowledge of the key (information within the common ground space) and act accordingly to sustain the ongoing joint activity. These findings highlight children’s active participation in communicative exchanges that depend, in part, on temporal coordination and meaningful input.

Building Lexicons on Common Ground Successful dyadic interactions require social coordination, whereby partners flexibly monitor one another, complementing actions in pursuit of a common goal. At first, supportive caregivers bear the responsibility through heavy scaffolding during unfolding interactions (Adamson & Bakeman, 1984). Initially, children’s word learning is optimized when caregivers follow the child’s focus, instead of redirecting them (Dunham, Dunham, & Curwin, 1993; Hollich, Hirsh-Pasek, & Golinkoff, 2000; Tomasello, 1988; Tomasello & Farrar, 1986; Tomasello & Todd, 1983).

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By their first birthdays, typically developing children are seasoned joint attenders, following caregivers’ shifts in eye gaze and points. By then, child and caregiver are jointly responsible for establishing and maintaining a joint focus that is built upon a foundation of temporal and meaningful exchanges. For example, as children’s social cognition skills emerge, they actively contribute to joint attention (Baldwin, 1991, 1993; Baldwin et al., 1996; Moore, Angelopoulos, & Bennett, 1999). Toddlers begin to rely on referential cues from speakers (e.g., eye gaze) when mapping a novel label to an object. They check to see what the speaker is attending to when labeling, recruiting nascent theory-of-mind skills to facilitate word learning. The degree to which dyads coordinate during structured lab-based tasks predicts how well the children learn novel labels for unfamiliar referents (Pereira, Smith, & Yu, 2008). It is likely that the ability to fully engage during dyadic interactions paves the way for rapid word learning. Indeed, this active participation from both partners reflects children’s evolving role in the creation and maintenance of common ground, a critical component of communication competence. Communication is a collaborative act (Tomasello, 2008), and toddlers at this stage in development contribute a shared commitment to the unfolding joint activity. As in a game of ping-pong or tennis, dyads establish a rhythm as they jointly pursue a common goal. If one player refuses to play, progress is halted; we would cajole or otherwise pursue our partner to get back in the game. As in earlier developmental periods, timing alone cannot sustain the rhythm of interaction. Where previously caregivers responded appropriately to infants’ affective signals, meaningful responses in this later developmental period need to be semantically related to the shared focus. Toddlers likewise demonstrate an understanding that collaborative acts require both partners, and will attempt to re-engage experimenters who seem to suddenly become uninvolved (Hamann, Warneken, & Tomasello, 2012; Warneken, Gräfenhain, & Tomasello, 2012). As evidence has amassed in support of toddlers’ collaborative proclivities, recent research has begun to tackle the question of individual differences. With a sample of German toddlers, Schuhmacher and Kärtner (2015) asked what could account for variability in toddlers’ likelihood to collaborate. Relevant to this chapter is the finding that the quality of previous peer-to-peer interactions at the start of the study predicted toddlers’ decisions either to play with a peer or alone on a subsequent task. Again, we find evidence that children are sensitive to the quality of engagement of their social partners. To bolster children’s communication competence within this developmental epoch, caregivers can employ a variety of strategies to provide rich lexical input within meaningful social exchanges. Consequently, children can glean cues from their shared common ground in order to make sense of the new input. Among a vulnerable yet understudied population – families experiencing housing instability – O’Neil-Pirozzi (2009) drew upon different parental strategies to augment dyadic engagement. Parents in the intervention were trained on particular strategies

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designed to build upon children’s utterances and promptly recast them into more sophisticated sentences while also eliciting children’s participation in the ongoing dialogue. Various intervention programs, such as Parent-Child Intervention Therapy (Garcia, Bagner, Pruden, & Nichols-Lopez, 2015) and The Incredible Years Parent-Toddler Programme (Gridley, Hutchings, & Baker-Henningham, 2015), offer converging evidence that through prompt and meaningful responses – here, reformulations that build upon children’s contributions – children’s language skills improve relative to their peers in wait-list controls. Consider the relative challenge in discerning children’s focus when embedded within a dynamic, visually complex (e.g., a well-stocked play room) environment. “Gimme that” can be an opaque request when possible contenders compete – is the child referring to the dinosaur figurine on the left or his copy of the Velveteen Rabbit beside it on the shelf? In order to provide meaningful content within this developmental period, caregivers must be particularly attuned to their shared common ground. Within the context of jointly constructing a jungle scene with blocks, the once-ambiguous “gimme that” request becomes clear. Otherwise, a comment about Margery Williams’ (1922) classic – however good-intentioned – can potentially disrupt the ongoing activity because of its inappropriateness. Imagine asking for directions and getting the time in return; there is little room for a conversation to build. In addition to remaining attuned to children’s communicative intentions, open-ended questions is another strategy for caregivers to use in order to reinforce children’s developing communication competence, for they require children to put ideas into words without fear of making mistakes (Whorrall & Cabell, 2016).

When Technology Falls Short: The Case for Adaptive Contingency Children’s television programming offers a test case for the role of adaptive contingency within this developmental period. Although shows such as Dora the Explorer and Blue’s Clues attempt to engage viewers via questions, pauses, and affirmations, this style of media relies on contingency, not adaptive contingency. Television can only offer generic timing and content whereas children’s language development depends on prompt timing and meaningful content that is tailored to each particular child. Roseberry, Hirsh-Pasek, and Golinkoff (2014) capitalized upon Skype technology to contrast word learning under three different conditions: live (control), Skype, and video. Only live and Skype interactions preserved adaptive contingency, and it was only in those conditions that children demonstrated word learning at test. Critically, the same content was presented in the yoked video condition, demonstrating how the two elements (temporal coordination and meaningful content) work together. This finding echoes McGillion and colleagues’ (2013) observational data, in which only the frequency of maternal responses that were both temporally prompt and semantically relevant to the child (as opposed to either prompt or relevant) predicted children’s language scores months later.

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Similarly, when adaptive contingency is momentarily disrupted because of an interrupting cell phone call, children fail to learn novel words (Reed, HirshPasek, & Golinkoff, under review). In this within-subjects design, mothers taught their children two novel words, one at a time. The experimenters instructed mothers to answer the lab’s cell phone in order to receive instructions concerning when to teach each word. Additionally, the experimenter mentioned that sometimes they would simply chit-chat, as if they were friends in the real world. The teaching of one word was uninterrupted whereas a cell phone conversation interrupted the mother while she taught the other word (order counterbalanced). During this interruption, experimenters chatted with the mothers about her morning coffee routine before ending the call with a reminder to continue to teach the target word. The design allocated 60 seconds for each teaching period; the interrupted teaching period consisted of two 30-second windows. Toddlers’ preference for a target action depended on whether or not the teaching was interrupted. Children only learned the novel word in the absence of interruptions.

Fostering Communication Competence in the Preschool Years The final developmental hub of early childhood – that of the preschool years – reflects yet another shift in the way adaptive contingency works between caregivers and their increasingly independent children. Adamson and colleagues (2014) describe this period as the transition “from interactions to conversations” (p. 941). Prospective observations of parents and their children revealed that dyadic exchanges became more balanced over time from 3.5 years to 5.5 years.

Defining Adaptive Contingency via Conversations Children become increasingly adept at navigating the common ground with their interlocutors. For instance, Schmerse, Lieven, and Tomasello (2015) investigated how preschoolers handle potentially ambiguous requests from experimenters that required them to select one among three similar objects such as three spoons that differed only in size. Three-year-olds preferentially selected a particular object that had been shared previously with the experimenter only in response to a prompt with a definite article (e.g., “Where is the pencil?”). There was no preference when an indefinite article was used (i.e., a/an). These budding conversationalists recognize subtle differences in communicative intent, relying on their shared experience with the experimenter to interpret grammatical input.

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Adaptive Contingency Fuels Conversations: Practicing Pragmatic Skills Successful communicative exchanges demand that partners fluidly and flexibly alternate between speakers and listeners. Further, listening cannot be a simply passive task; adult conversationalists engage in a phenomenon known as “back channeling” to signal active engagement (e.g., “mhm”, “uh-huh”). Before preschoolers exhibit such skills, they must first recognize and acknowledge the differences inherent to speaker and listener roles (Nilsen & Graham, 2012). Preschool children demonstrate emerging understanding of the complementary different roles that speakers and listeners fulfill during conversations. For example, Nilsen and Mangal (2012) manipulated the social context between child and experimenter, such that sometimes the dyad shared the same visual scene while other times they did not. The experimental task required that children request particular stickers from the experimenter; such requests were not immediately fulfilled by the adult, thereby necessitating the child to “repair” the request (Golinkoff, 1986). This paradigm revealed that children were sensitive to the state of the listener, offering more detail in their initial request when the dyad did not share the same visual information. Second, the way in which the experimenter signaled her lack of understanding differentially affected children’s follow-up requests. Only when the adult offered the wrong sticker did children provide new information to distinguish the target from non-targets; simply expressing confusion (e.g., “Huh?”) did not. Adaptive contingency in the preschool years reflects how partners actively monitor how well they understand (and are understood by) one another. Turn-taking skills are further refined in this developmental period. Following a U-shape trajectory, perceptions of temporal contingency depend once again on a time frame measured in milliseconds, mirroring that which is found among the earliest dyadic instances of synchrony. In this final developmental hub (i.e., 3–5 years), conversations between children and caregivers are structured quite similarly to those between grown-ups; overlapping speech is relatively rare (Bedrosian, Wanska, Sykes, Smith, & Dalton, 1988; Craig & Washington, 1986). Children make considerable gains in pragmatic skills or meaningfulness as well (Clark, 2014). First, Gricean principles are taken into account when evaluating the meaningfulness of speakers’ input, although a mature grasp of all is not in place until the elementary years (Eskritt, Whalen, & Lee, 2008). Second, children begin to use “referential pacts” with communication partners (Graham, Sedivy, & Khu, 2014; Köymen, Schmerse, Lieven, & Tomasello, 2014; Matthews, Lieven, & Tomasello, 2010). When we talk, we consistently use particular labels across time with specific individuals – what are known as “referential pacts” in the literature. For example, before heading to the park, we may ask our sibling to run upstairs and grab our running shoes from our closet after she finds her keys. Later that day, we will continue to refer to those sneakers as our running shoes, even when the

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adjective is no longer necessary to distinguish them from the other possible pairs, as when they are the only pair in the car, post-jog. When asked to direct their peers to re-construct a particular order of pictures from behind a screen, preschoolers will establish such referential pacts to aid performance when the three pictures are similar. Further, such labels are maintained across trials, even when pictures now come from different categories, such as clothing, animal, and food (Köymen et al., 2014). Third, cultural knowledge becomes part of the implicit common ground (Liebal, Carpenter, & Tomasello, 2013). In Liebal and colleagues’ experimental study, pairs of pictures were presented to children. Experimenters’ prompts of “What is that?” elicited different patterns of responses, depending on whether the question’s prosody signaled recognition or uncertainty. Children preferred the culturally shared image from within the pair when the experimenter’s prosody suggested that he already knew the answer. Again, we find evidence that partners tailor their responses, with preschoolers providing what they inferred would be an appropriate and meaningful response to the experimenter’s inquiry, depending on the communicative intent behind the question. How do caregivers facilitate communication competence among children who have a relative mastery of basic conversation skills? Research suggests that when caregivers talk about mental states (e.g., wishes, desires), children’s language and theory of mind skills benefit (Adrian, Clemente, Villanueva, & Rieffe, 2005; Turnbull, Carpendale, & Racine, 2008). Similarly, when the goal of communication is to craft stories and preserve them (in the tradition of oral histories and story-telling), then parent-child interactions centered on reminiscing become paramount. The literature has distinguished between high and low elaborators (reviewed in Cleveland, Reese, & Grolnick, 2007), in which caregivers who are highly elaborative utilize open-ended questions, drawing the child into the active construction of the memory. Here again optimal engagement depends on adaptive contingency, whereby the quality and content of the exchange shapes the ways in which such conversations influence children’s development. Cross-cultural work with the Māori culture in New Zealand (Reese & Neha, 2015) reveals that although talking about the past may be a human universal, the focus of these conversations may be culturally dependent. Indeed, while American and other European cultures may emphasize specific events in a child’s life (e.g., “Remember when we went to Kiawah Island when you were 4?”), reminiscing among Māori parent-child dyads tends to center around family historical events. The data, however, hinted of a shift toward a more child-centered approach, perhaps “Because contemporary Māori parents frequently ascribe to multiple ethnicities (Morton et al., 2013), it could be that parents are simultaneously adopting European and Māori reminiscing practices with their children” (Reese & Neha, p. 107). This work reflects the role of culture (for more cross-cultural differences in content and style of parent-child reminiscing, see Schroder, Kärtner, & Keller, 2015). These more advanced forms of communication competence – from repairing to reminiscing – depend on social exchanges infused with temporal and meaningful

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contingency. Implicit in these studies is the assumption that communicative partners will respond promptly and appropriately to one another. While exchanges in infancy are highly scaffolded by caregivers, interactions in the preschool years look less like a game of “follow the leader.” Instead, as if putting together train tracks, dyads share a common goal and adapt in real time to accommodate one another. There is no set path for either the train track or the conversation about its construction; instead, pieces (and words) are flexibly chosen in response to what came before. How might the case for adaptive contingency and its role in communication competence be tested in the preschool years, when timing and meaning are so often conflated? One possible test case that remains yet unexplored are the ways in which disorganized attachment might affect various language outcomes via inconsistent or inappropriate responses. When children do not form expectations of reciprocity in infancy and toddlerhood, how might their social exchanges with caregivers differ in the preschool years, when the default may not be to view one’s contributions through the lens of common ground? This remains an open question that will further refine our understanding of the complementary dimensions of timing and meaningfulness across development.

Current Challenges and Future Directions This chapter has argued that parents foster communication competence in their children through adaptive contingency during social interactions that embrace both temporal and meaningful contingency. We argued that across developmental epochs, seemingly very different constructs like synchrony and joint attention share adaptive contingency as a core theme. We further argued that the nature of temporal and meaningful contingency will need to adapt across developmental time such that meaningfulness for the young infant might rest on emotional attunement between partners, whereas meaningfulness during exchanges with toddlers will undoubtedly be more related to semantic consistency of message. Though this heterotypic view is suggested when looking across studies within the vast literature in early communication, future research will be charged with the task of teasing apart these two dimensions to determine the relative weight of timing and meaningfulness at each point in development for each element of communication competence. For example, caregivers’ strategy of vocal matching in early infancy to reinforce particular sounds and patterns in their native language (Papoušek & Papoušek, 1989) relies on both dimensions. To reinforce the development of interpersonal timing, however, would temporal contingency alone be sufficient? In the later years, perhaps the semantic relevance of input can carry conversations forward, even when responses lag or are otherwise temporally delayed.

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Given that social exchanges dynamically unfold over time, timing and meaningfulness undoubtedly reinforce one another. The appropriateness of responses often depends upon their timely delivery. A first step may be to examine how children of all ages respond to meaningful input that follows various windows of silence. Is there a certain point after which children no longer perceive caregivers’ responses as meaningful? By decoupling the two dimensions, future research can identify whether they have additive or multiplicative effects on various language and communication outcomes. A challenge for this work also concerns the ways in which coding systems capture and measure real-time adaptive contingency. It is considerably more difficult when the dyad serves as the unit of analysis instead of coding one particular individual or another. Nonetheless, bidirectional constructs deserve to be operationalized as such. While measures have been developed to capture the quality of parent-child interactions at the global (or macro) level (for a recent review, see Funamoto & Rinaldi, 2015; Hirsh-Pasek et al., 2015), analyses at the micro-level are still in their infancy. Leading the field in this aim are Smith, Yu, and colleagues, with their head-mounted eye-trackers (reviewed in Smith, Yu, Yoshida, & Faucey, 2015). This methodology allows researchers to collect two streams of visual data (from the child and from the caregiver) that then can be overlapped to identify episodes of shared attention (Yu & Smith, 2013). Advances in neuro-imaging will uncover the neural networks engaged when infants and children perceive and participate in temporally contingent and meaningful exchanges, providing new insights into adaptive contingency. Finally, though this chapter highlighted the social foundations of adaptive contingency, we realize that there is a wealth of evidence that points to non-social processes at work when children learn language. Statistical learning is but one well-studied phenomenon that children rely on (for a recent review, see Smith, Suanda, & Yu, 2014). Similarly, mechanistic, bottom-up approaches to word learning minimize the role of dyadic social engagement (Pereira, Smith, & Yu, 2014; Smith et al., 2014), although new models that integrate social and non-social mechanisms have gained increased recognition in the field (Frank, Goodman, & Tenenbaum, 2009; Goldstein et al., 2010). As the field moves forward, cross-talk among those who ascribe to a constructivist approach and those who adopt a reductionist perspective will only strengthen and deepen our understanding.

Concluding Thoughts Well before children utter their first words, adults are laying the foundation for language and for learning through their dyadic communicative exchanges. Terms used to define these early interactions – synchrony, responsiveness, and joint attention (among many other terms) – often mask the inherent constancy across

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developmental epochs as communication takes shape. Adaptive contingency, the idea that temporal and meaningful contingency might be the essential ingredients that drive early communication across time – is offered as a new framework for investigating the communicative competence that undergirds early language. Future research should more fully explore how each of these constructs jointly and independently contributes to this competence as the child grows.

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Golinkoff, R. M., Can, D. D., Soderstrom, M., & Hirsh-Pasek, K. (2015). (Baby)talk to me: The social context of infant-directed speech and its effects on early language acquisition. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 24, 339–344. doi:10.1177/0963721415595345 Graham, S., Sedivy, J., & Khu, M. (2014). That’s not what you said earlier: Preschoolers expect partners to be referentially consistent. Journal of Child Language, 41, 32–48. doi:10.1017/S0305000912000530 Grassmann, S., Stracke, M., & Tomasello, M. (2009). Two-year-olds exclude novel objects as potential referents of novel words based on pragmatics. Cognition, 112, 488–493. doi:10.1016/j.cognition.2009.06.010 Gratier, M. (2003). Expressive timing and interactional synchrony between mothers and infants: Cultural similarities, cultural differences, and the immigration experience. Cognitive Development, 18, 533–554. doi:10.1016/j.cogdev.2003.09.009 Grice, H. P. (1975). Logic and conversation. In P. Cole & J. Morgan (Eds.), Syntax and Semantics (Vol. 3; pp. 41–58). New York, NY: Academic Press. Gridley, N., Hutchings, J., & Baker-Henningham, H. (2015). The Incredible Years Parent-Toddler Programme and parental language: A randomized controlled trial. Child: Care, Health, and Development, 41, 103–111. doi:10.1111/cch.12153 Gros-Louis, J., West, M. J., & King, A. P. (2014). Maternal responsiveness and the development of directed vocalizing in social interactions. Infancy, 19, 385–408. doi:10.1111/infa.12054 Hamann, K., Warneken, F., & Tomasello, M. (2012). Children’s developing commitments to joint goals. Child Development, 83, 137–145. doi:10.1111/j.1467-8624.2011.01695.x Harrist, A. W., & Waugh, R. M. (2002). Dyadic synchrony: Its structure and function in children’s development. Developmental Review, 22, 555–592. doi:10.1016/S0273-2297(02)00500-2 Henning, A., & Striano, T. (2011). Infant and maternal sensitivity to interpersonal timing. Child Development, 82, 916–931. doi:10.1111/j.1467-8624.2010.01574.x Hirsh-Pasek, K., Adamson, L. B., Bakeman, R., Owen, M. T., Golinkoff, R. M., Pace, A., Yust, P. K. S., & Suma, K. (2015). The contribution of early communication quality to low-income children’s language success. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 26, 1071–1083. doi:10.1177/0956797615581493 Hirsh-Pasek, K., Treiman, R., & Schneiderman, M. (1984). Brown & Hanlon revisited: Mothers’ sensitivity to ungrammatical forms. Journal of Child Language, 11, 81–88. Hollich, G. J., Hirsh-Pasek, K., & Golinkoff, R. M. (2000). Breaking the language barrier: An emergentist coalition model for the origins of word learning. Monographs of the Society for Research in Child Development, 65, 1–135. Ironsmith, M., & Whitehurst, G. J. (1978). The development of listener abilities in communication: How children deal with ambiguous information. Child Development, 49, 348–352. Iverson, J. (2010). Developing language in a developing body: The relationship between motor development and language development. Journal of Child Language, 37, 229–261. doi:10.1017/S0305000909990432 Jaffe, J., Beebe, B., Feldstein, S., Crown, C. L., & Jasnow, M. D. (2001). Rhythms of dialogue in infancy. Monographs of the Society for Research in Child Development, 66, 1–132. Karasik, L. B., Tamis-LeMonda, C. S., & Adolph, K. E. (2014). Crawling and walking infants elicit different verbal responses from mothers. Developmental Science, 17, 388–395. doi:10.1111/desc.12129 Kochanska, G. (1997). Mutually responsive orientation between mothers and their young children: Implications for early socialization. Child Development, 68, 94–112. doi:10.2307/1131928 Köymen, B., Schmerse, D., Lieven, E., & Tomasello, M. (2014). Young children create partnerspecific referential pacts with peers. Developmental Psychology, 50, 2334–2342. doi:10.1037/a0037837 Koudenburg, N., Postmes, T., & Gordijn, E. H. (2013). Conversational flow promotes solidarity. PLoS ONE, 8, e78363. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0078363.

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Molenaar, P. C. M., Sinclair, K. O., Rovine, M. J., Ram, N., & Corneal, S. E. (2009). Analyzing developmental processes on an individual level using nonstationary time series modeling. Developmental Psychology, 45, 260–271. doi:10.1037/a0014170 Moore, C., Angelopoulos, M., & Bennett, P. (1999). Word learning in the context of referential and salience cues. Developmental Psychology, 35, 60–68. Morton, S. M. B., Carr, P. E. A., Grant, C. C., Robinson, E. M., Bandara, D. K., Bird, A., … & Wall, C. (2013). Cohort profile: Growing up in New Zealand. International Journal of Epidemiology, 42, 65–75. doi:10.1093/ije/dyr206 Nilsen, E. S., & Graham, S. A. (2012). The development of preschoolers’ appreciation of communicative ambiguity. Child Development, 83, 1400–1415. doi:10.1111/j.1467-8624.2012.01762.x Nilsen, E. S., & Mangal, L. (2012). Which is important for preschoolers’ production and repair of statements: What the listener knows or what the listener says? Journal of Child Language, 39, 1121–1134. doi:10.1017/S0305000911000432 Northrup, J. B., & Iverson, J. M. (2015). Vocal coordination during early parent-child interactions predicts language outcome in infant siblings of children with Autism Spectrum Disorder. Infancy, 20, 523–547. doi:10.1111/infa.12090 O’Neil-Pirozzi, T. M. (2009). Feasibility and benefit of parent participation in a program emphasizing preschool child language development while homeless. American Journal of Speech-Language Pathology, 18, 252–263. doi:10.1044/1058-0360(2008/08-0006) Papoušek, M. (2007). Communication in early infancy: An arena of intersubjective learning. Infant Behavior and Development, 30, 258–266. doi:10.1016/j.infbeh.2007.02.003 Papoušek, M., & Papoušek, H. (1989). Forms and functions of vocal matching in interactions between mothers and their precanonical infants. First Language, 9, 137–157. Pereira, A. F., Smith, L. B., & Yu, C. (2008). Social coordination in toddlers’ word learning: Interacting systems of perception and action. Connection Science, 20, 73–89. doi:10.1080/09540090802091891 Pereira, A. F., Smith, L. B., & Yu, C. (2014). A bottom-up view of toddler word learning. Psychonomic Bulletin and Review, 21, 178–185. doi:10.3758/s13423-013-0466-4 Reed, J., Hirsh-Pasek, K., & Golinkoff, R. M. (under review). Learning on hold: Cell phones sidetrack parent-child interactions. Reese, E., & Neha, T. (2015). Let’s konero (talk): The practice and functions of reminiscing among mothers and children in Māori families. Memory, 23, 99–110. doi:10.1080/09658211.2014.929705 Roseberry, S., Hirsh-Pasek, K., & Golinkoff, R. M. (2014). Skype me: Socially contingent interactions help toddlers learn language. Child Development, 85, 956–970. doi:10.1111/cdev.12166 Rovee, C. K., & Rovee, D. T. (1969). Conjugate reinforcement of infant exploratory behavior. Journal of Experimental Child Psychology, 8, 33–39. Roy, D. (2011, March). The birth of a word [Video file]. Retrieved from http://www.ted.com/talks/ deb_roy_the_birth_of_a_word. Roy, B. C., Frank, M. C., DeCamp, P., Miller, M., & Roy, D. (2015). Predicting the birth of a spoken word. Procedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, 112, 12663–12668. doi:10.1073/pnas.1419773112 Schmerse, D., Lieven, E., & Tomasello, M. (2015). Young children use shared experience to interpret definite reference. Journal of Child Language, 42, 1146–1157. doi:10.1017/S0305000914000555 Schröder, L., Kärtner, J., & Keller, H. (2015). Telling a ‘baby story’: Mothers narrating their preschoolers’ past across two cultural contexts. Memory, 23, 39–54. doi:10.1080/09658211.2014.931974

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25 Teaching Communication to School Children and Adolescents Abstract: Several communication-related issues have profound implications in contemporary primary and secondary education, both nationally and internationally. The use of communication technology for instruction and communication has impacted student learning and revolutionized parent-teacher communication. Crisis communication has also become an important issue for schools everywhere, and cutting-edge research is now being conducted to better understand communication practices before, during, and after crises. This chapter addresses communication in the curricula of primary and secondary schools and reviews recent research on parent-teacher and school crisis communication. These areas of research speak to the key role played by communication as educators, administrators, and parents deal with rapidly changing learning environments and complex global issues in education. Keywords: communication technology, parent-teacher communication, parental academic support, social support, school crisis communication, P-12 education Communication issues are prevalent in education both nationally and internationally at the P-12 level (primary to twelfth grade), ranging from communication being infused into the curriculum, the use of communication technology, parent-teacher communication, and school crisis communication. This chapter provides an overview of contemporary issues in communication at the forefront of P-12 level education, including an overview of an increased emphasis on communication in the curricula, as well as a review of recent research examining how new communication technologies affect the communication between parents and teachers and how schools communicatively respond to crises. Increased emphasis in the curricula and research focusing on the role of communication in children and adolescents’ educational experience highlight the importance of communication issues in P-12 education both nationally and internationally.

Communication in the Common Core News and popular media regularly feature extensive discussions about how to strengthen primary and secondary education in the United States (Porter, 2015). Although these conversations often contain a range of opinions, the common thread is that these issues are normally situated in the domain of politicians and

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P-12 teachers. Primary and secondary education are rarely addressed by researchers who publish in national journals that feature scholarship at the intersection of communication and instruction. In tandem with the rapid evolution of higher education, primary and secondary education are also undergoing a transformation through the adoption of the Common Core State Standards (CCSS) by many states. The development of these standards began in 2009 when two state organizations (National Governors Association and Council of Chief State School Officers) worked to develop common standards in response to students’ lack of preparedness for college, which resulted in significant increases in college remediation courses (Rothman, 2013). Forty-eight states assisted in the development of the CCSS, and since the release of the standards in 2010 a majority of states have adopted the standards which include elements of communication (Rothman, 2013). Unfortunately, few scholars are paying attention to this new set of standards. Recently, Weintraub (2014) reminded communication educators of the importance of communication being entrenched into the CCSS. Oral communication has historically had a relatively minuscule place in the P-12 curriculum despite its importance in both social and professional contexts. Rothman (2013) argued, “For years, college professors have said that oral communication is one of the most important skills needed for success in postsecondary education – and that too few entering freshmen display oral communication competency” (p. 18), and unfortunately, “Studies of classrooms consistently show that students tend to have few opportunities for speaking and listening” (p. 21). Thus, the inclusion of oral communication in the CCSS marks a monumental opportunity for Communication scholars in the U.S. to play a meaningful role in the curriculum students take prior to entering a college or university. Indeed, communication instruction will not automatically be inserted into the CCSS. Scholars must be proactive in their approach to create well designed and researched curricular strategies that position students for success in this environment. Speaking and listening represent two communication elements that will be part of new standards associated with student readiness for both college and their career (Rothman, 2013). In the CCSS, speaking and listening encompass two standards (Comprehension and Collaboration; Presentation of Knowledge and Ideas), which each include elements of speaking and listening: “The standards expect students not only to listen to other speakers and assess their arguments, but also to participate actively in discussions and express their own points of view. Students should expect to speak, as well as listen” (Rothman, 2013, p. 20). For instance, for the Comprehension and Collaboration standards, students are expected to successfully “evaluate a speaker’s point of view, reasoning, and use of evidence and rhetoric” as well as “integrate and evaluate information presented in diverse media and formats, including visually, quantitatively, and orally” (Rothman, 2014, p. 20). In terms of how the standards are addressed, they can be met in a variety of ways because the standards are broad. Thus, states address the requirements in different

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ways. In some school districts, teachers meet the speaking and listening requirements through book reports and peer evaluation, some implement impromptu speeches, while others combine research and speeches on the same topic (M. Beall, personal communication, June 17, 2014). Thus, the types of speaking and listening objectives and competencies differ across states as well as districts within each state. Work towards more standardization could help in terms of both training and assessment for how the CCSS are met. While the primary focus on the speaking and listening standards is at the high school level, schools do address some elements at the primary level. Rothman (2013) summed up the inclusion of speaking and listening in the primary grades and beyond: In [kindergarten], students are expected to participate in conversations with partners about “kindergarten topics and texts”; ask and answer questions; describe familiar people, places, things, and events … and express thoughts audibly and clearly. By grades 11 and 12, students should be able to integrate multiple sources of information; evaluate a speaker’s point of view; present information, findings, and supporting evidence such that listeners can follow the line of reasoning. (p. 20)

In terms of listening, some learning objectives are addressed in kindergarten through third grade by introducing students to listening, and these elements are then reinforced at secondary level with new learning objectives and activities (M. Beall, personal communication, June 17, 2014). Unfortunately, states face significant challenges in implementing the speaking and listening standards. Rothman (2013) suggested, “Many teachers are unprepared to instruct students in these abilities, and there are few assessments that measure students’ abilities to communicate effectively” (p. 18). While states have made efforts to train teachers and provide resources to assist teachers in addressing the standards, Rothman pointed out that “surveys of teachers suggest that they still feel unprepared to teach them” (2013, p. 21). Many states do not offer specific licensure for oral communication; thus, those certified as English teachers typically address the speaking and listening standards, often with minimal or no training for doing so. On a more positive note, some states are beginning to make progress in providing more training in the university setting, helping to prepare teachers to teach students how to speak and listen more effectively. Typically, the Department of Education in each state helps set the agenda for what is taught in teacher education programs at the university level. Focus on preparing future teachers for teaching speaking and listening elements in the CCSS as well as providing current teachers workshops on teaching speaking and listening at the P-12 level is imperative. Some communication scholars trained in pedagogy are drawing from speaking and listening objectives outlined by the National Communication Association (NCA) to assist P-12 teachers in helping students to meet the speaking and listening standards in the CCSS (M. Beall, personal communication, June 17, 2014). For example, Morreale, Rubin, and Jones (1998) developed a document for NCA entitled “Speak-

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ing and listening competencies for college students,” in which they outlined expected outcomes for college students completing the basic communication course in general education. Pedagogues can draw from this document to assist P-12 teachers in setting learning objectives to help meet the CCSS. The first overarching objective from this document addresses speaking: “In order to be a COMPETENT SPEAKER, a person must be able to compose a message and provide ideas and information suitable to the topic, purpose, and audience” (Morreale et al., 1998, p. 7). In order to be considered a competent speaker, the student should exhibit a number of competencies outlined within the document, ranging from determining and developing the purpose for a speech, establishing effective transitions, utilizing vocal variety, and supporting the message through nonverbal communication. Learning objectives such as these can help P-12 teachers develop more specific learning objectives to help teach and assess students’ speaking and listening abilities in connection with the CCSS. While P-12 schools do not address elements of interpersonal communication as part of the CCSS, they do address elements of human interaction indirectly. According to Beall (personal communication, June 17, 2014), schools do try to help students interact more effectively through mentoring programs and by helping them to work well with others as well as through active listening components in the classroom. Additionally, some schools have speech teams and drama programs (often run by an English teacher) where students can advance their speaking skills. In sum, children at the primary and secondary levels are being introduced to key communication elements (especially speaking and listening). However, many strides are yet to be made in terms of teacher training and a more focused and strategic ways to develop competent communicators as students advance to the post-secondary level.

Communication Technology and Learning Over the past decade, scholars have devoted considerable attention to understanding how the rapid growth of communication technology fosters connections among technologies, classroom environments, and student learning. O’Sullivan, Hunt, and Lippert (2004) examined mediated immediacy – “the communicative cues in mediated channels that can shape perceptions of psychological closeness between interactants” (p. 471) – and found that factors such as font-use, language, and punctuation all affect student perceptions of teacher communication via computermediated channels. Furthermore, they found students who viewed a teacher’s website with high levels of mediated immediacy, including forms of self-disclosure, reported high levels of motivation and affective learning, indicating positive attitudes toward the course, recommended behaviors, and the teacher.

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In subsequent years, communication scholars explored the rapid rise of social network use and how teachers and students can interact in these virtual spaces. Across a series of studies, Mazer, Murphy, and Simonds (2007, 2009) found that students exposed to a high self-disclosing teacher on Facebook reported greater motivation and affective learning, perceived the classroom climate more positively, and perceived the teacher as having more credibility than a low self-disclosing teacher. These studies set the stage for future examinations of social network research in the communication discipline. Additionally, Timmerman and Kruepke (2006) applied media richness theory to computer-assisted instruction (CAI) and found that CAI provided students with the most natural language and cues produced the highest performance outcomes. Thus, computer-mediated communication offers benefits to instruction, which has direct implications at the P-12 level. Scholarly investigations at the P-12 level are often challenging to undertake due to Institutional Review Board guidelines that serve understandably to protect minors. As a result, research at the P-12 level is lacking in this area.

Parental Involvement, Support, and Communication One area that has been heavily researched at the P-12 level both nationally and internationally is parental involvement. Although research associated with parental involvement dates back decades (and parental involvement existed in previous decades both nationally and internationally), advancements in communication technology required additional research to account for changes in parental involvement.

Research on parental involvement in the United States In the United States, parental involvement in education has historically navigated from one pole to another, alternating between parents being too involved (e.g., helicopter parents) and fears about dependent students, to pleas from educational circles for parents to become more involved to enhance academic performance (Rury, 2002). At the beginning of the 20th century, parental involvement became more formalized with the development of Parent-Teacher Associations (PTAs) (Pulliam, 1991). However, a youth culture developed following World War II, and children experienced more freedom in the educational context (Rury, 2002). As the 1960s dawned, parental involvement moved to the forefront again and led to research that examined connections between parental involvement and academic success during the 1970s and 1990s (Epstein, 1996). This research fostered a sustained movement that has made parental involvement a linchpin in efforts to en-

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hance student success (Epstein, 1996). In fact, this push created an expectation for parents to become more involved in their children’s schooling. The associations between parental involvement and academic performance led educational practitioners to call for increased parental involvement (Baumgartner, Byran, Donahue, & Nelson, 1993; Cutrona, Cole, Colangelo, Assouline, & Russell, 1994; de Carvalho, 2001; McKay, Atkins, Hawkins, Brown, & Lynn, 2003), educational policies (e.g., “Goals 2000” and “The No Child Left Behind Act”) aimed at forming partnerships between schools and families (de Carvalho, 2001; Lewis, 2002; Sheldon & Epstein, 2002), and parental initiatives to increase communication with teachers (Fatt, 1999; Ludwig, 1999; Nichols & Read, 2002). In essence, educational literature suggests that the push from researchers, policy makers, and parents resulted in increasing parental involvement (Brazenberg, 2001; Jennings & Wartella, 2004; Levin-Epstein, 2004). The current parental involvement movement generated a demand for more convenient and efficient forms of parent-teacher communication. Traditionally, parents typically communicated with teachers during designated times (e.g., scheduled conferences) or when a problem arose at school (Baumgartner et al., 1993; Cameron & Lee, 1997; Epstein, 1995; Nichols & Read, 2002; Shinn, 2002). The emergence of parent-teacher e-mail assisted in making the goal of increased parental involvement a more achievable reality. In fact, educational literature embraced parent-teacher e-mail as an academic panacea, arguing that e-mail both increased and enhanced parent-teacher communication (Jennings & Wartella, 2004; Johnson, 2000; Levin-Epstein, 2004; Skipp & Campo-Flores, 2003). Some even suggested that computer-mediated communication (CMC) improved parent-teacher relationships (Christenson & Sheridan, 2001; Fatt, 1999; Johnson, 2000).

Cross-cultural research Researchers have compared outcomes of parental involvement internationally. Cross-cultural psychologists have indicated that some constructs transfer differently across cultures (Chirkov & Ryan, 2001). Relevant to this line of research, Chirkov and Ryan compared elements of parental support in Russia and the U.S. Specifically, the researchers focused on how parental and teacher autonomy-support differed in authoritarian and democratic cultures. Parental support was operationalized as Parental Controllingness (e.g., “My parents try to tell me how to run my life”) and Parental Autonomy-Support, (e.g., “My parents help me to choose my own direction”) using Robbins’ (1994) Perceptions of Parental Autonomy-Support and Control Questionnaire (as cited in Chirkov & Ryan, 2001, p. 618). Chirkov and Ryan found that “autonomy-support of parents and teachers showed that these constructs were interpreted similarly by both Russian and U.S. students” (2001, p. 631). However, they found a “lower level of autonomy-support and well-being in Russian participants” (2001, p. 631). Interestingly, “in both samples, parental autonomy-

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support had a greater influence on adolescents’ general well-being than did such support from teachers, whereas parental autonomy-support was linked with identification, but not intrinsic motivation” (2001, p. 631). Accordingly, Chirkov and Ryan suggested teachers “appear to more greatly affect students’ experiences of interest and challenge in the academic domain” (2001, p. 631). Thus, this cross-cultural study has broad implications that can inform parental support research internationally. In a study analyzing the impact of family involvement on math scores in 41 separate countries, Chiu and Xihua (2008) found that support in two-parent families correlated positively with student math achievement. Further, the researchers reported that “students in families with more resources and fewer competing family members scored higher in mathematics in most countries” (2008, p. 333). The researchers concluded that individualistic cultures or in countries with high wealth, family investment and involvement in their children’s education was higher and contributed to higher math scores. Thus, with respect to parental support, this research suggests that parental support is higher in wealthier or individualistic cultures. Researchers have also investigated how living in single versus two-parent households influences student achievement. In the U.S., research has shown mixed results in terms of whether or not household structure negatively impacts student achievement (Hampden-Thompson & Pong, 2005). Because European countries are beginning to experience more single-parent families, Hampden-Thompson and Pong analyzed potential differences in these family structures across fourteen countries in Europe. The researchers found “the achievement gap between the two family structures is wider in social democratic countries than in the conservative regimes” (2005, p. 243), due in part to the time parents have to spend assisting children with academics. This finding suggests that “In social democratic countries, while achieving full employment is a social goal, more women in the workplace may result in less parental time inputs for children, resulting in lower achievement scores” (2005, p. 243). Additionally, Buchmann and Dalton (2002) examined parents’ and peers’ roles in students’ academic goals across countries, trying to determine if the organization of the educational system influences the effect of parental involvement. In their analysis of twelve countries, the researchers found significant differences in parental support in countries based on whether or not the secondary schools were differentiated or undifferentiated. In undifferentiated countries (e.g., the United States) parents have much greater influence on students’ educational aspirations than in differentiated countries (e.g., Great Britain), where school type strongly affects students’ aspirations and parents have little influence. In differentiated systems, students’ “ability differences are detected early and used to sort students into either academic or vocational secondary school” (Buchmann & Dalton, 2002, p. 102), leaving little room for parental influence on their children’s educational

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aspirations. Buchmann and Dalton specifically examined parental expectations with respect to students’ aspirations by measuring a mother’s attitude through statements such as “My mother thinks it is important for me to do well in mathematics in school” (2002, p. 106). The results indicated “strong effects of parental attitudes in open, undifferentiated educational systems and weak effects in highly differentiated systems” (2002, p. 110). Interestingly, the results “reinforce the point that peers and parents are separate influences and indicate that they may function differently across institutional contexts” (2002, p. 113). The researchers suggested it is logical that institutional arrangements would have larger influence on student effects because this changes the peers students interact with in the education setting. Accordingly, Buchmann and Dalton posited “that parental expectations and attitudes are more influential for students’ ambitions than are peers” (2002, p. 113). While results of parental support have some intriguing differences internationally, the effects of communication technology on parental support are significant, meriting scholarly attention. Since the advent of parent-teacher e-mail communication at the end of the 20th century, educational literature heralded the expansion of parent-teacher communication. Some reports suggested e-mail contact starts at the beginning of the school year, continuing throughout the year with weekly reminders making parents more aware of and involved in their child’s academic life (Gill & Schlossman, 2003; Johnson, 2000; Ludwig, 1999). However, no empirical research existed to document the reported growth in parental involvement via CMC to academic success, creating a need for research that examined the role changes in parent-teacher communication played in student achievement. As expectations for parent-teacher communication changed from semester conferences to weekly obligations in some cases, research became merited to assess this change. Therefore, instructional communication scholars set out to empirically explore and measure the effects of changes in parent-teacher communication.

Parental involvement and changes in communication technology Over a period of two decades, research demonstrated positive associations between parental involvement and student success (Chen, Yu, & Chang, 2007; Cutrona et al., 1994; Dubow, Tisak, Causey, Hryshko, & Reid, 1991; Fatt, 1999; Hashima & Amato, 1994; McKay et al., 2003; Rodriguez, 2002). However, as the nature of parent-teacher communication changed, it became imperative to re-assess the role parental academic support played in enhancing student achievement. Beginning in 2008, Thompson initiated a program of research focusing on parent-teacher communication to explore how CMC might be changing the nature of parent-teacher communication. Through interviews with parents and teachers about their communication as well as analysis of parent-teacher e-mails, Thompson (2008b) identified primary topics parents and teachers communicated about via email, who initiated e-mail communication, the length of the messages, how parents and teachers com-

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bined e-mail communication with other modes, and some important outcomes stemming from parent-teacher e-mails. Parents voiced a preference for e-mail for most topics but cautioned about using CMC for more serious topics such as student behavior. Thus, parents advised using a combination of modes to communicate with teachers. Importantly, although Thompson’s (2008b) qualitative data illustrated a preference for e-mail in the parent-teacher context, analysis also showed parent-teacher e-mail did not occur as often as espoused in educational literature. In fact, teachers indicated they spent roughly 30 minutes to an hour per week e-mailing parents and teachers across levels, typically only communicating with a handful of parents (two to five) on a weekly basis. Interestingly, Thompson (2009) found that e-mail communication also brings with it a set of challenges, and that perhaps it was not the panacea as hailed in educational literature. Thompson’s (2009) research revealed disadvantages associated with parentteacher communication such as increased chances that a message will be misinterpreted, decreases in face-to-face communication, and potential effects on student responsibility. It is important to note that parents and teachers developed strategies for e-mail communication to minimize these negative elements, including ways to regulate the tone of the message, reduce misinterpretations, and foster student responsibility amidst increased contact between parents and teachers. Despite some of the negative elements of parent-teacher CMC, parents and teachers still had a positive perspective on communication via e-mail.

Development of the Parental Academic Support Scale The next important step in the study of parent-teacher communication in the 21st century entailed developing a scale to determine the frequency and importance of parent-teacher e-mail communication. Due to changes in communication technology, a need developed for a scale that could measure parent-teacher communication at the P-12 level and assess changes in parental academic support. Thompson and Mazer (2012) developed the Parental Academic Support Scale (PASS) to measure the frequency and importance of parent-teacher communication. This represented an important step in parental support research because Thompson and Mazer argued the PASS was the first to exclusively address parental academic support and examine specific items related to academic support items across communication modes. Building on Thompson’s (2008b) exploratory research, Thompson and Mazer developed an initial item pool consisting of 35 topics to serve as a starting point for scale development. Exploratory factor analysis resulted in a five-factor scale, and confirmatory factor analysis validated this structure: academic performance, classroom behavior, preparation (academic and social), hostile peer interactions, and health (medical issues that might affect academic performance). Thompson and Mazer found parents communicated most frequently with teachers about academic performance. However, in accordance with Thompson’s (2008b) claim,

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Thompson and Mazer’s data suggested weekly communication between parents and teachers at the P-12 level is still not the norm even with access to electronic communication. They did, however, find that parents viewed the items in the PASS as important to their child’s academic success. Recent research in this area has revealed associations between parental academic support and similar measures (e.g., Teacher-Parent Contact Scale), providing concurrent validity evidence (Mazer & Thompson, 2016). More importantly, associations between parental academic support and a child’s success in school suggest that the PASS construct is related to other theoretically similar constructs, providing initial evidence for construct validity (Mazer & Thompson, 2016). Thompson and Mazer (2012) found that parents employed a combination of modes including traditional and computer-mediated forms of communication, and though parents preferred CMC, they found FTF and phone communication valuable due to the increased number of cues, especially when topics were more complex.

Smartphones and recent changes in parent-teacher communication Although Thompson and Mazer’s (2012) research represented a crucial step in assessing the changes in parent-teacher communication and parental academic support since the adoption of e-mail, recent advances in communication technology (e.g., smartphones) warranted further research to explore the changes in parentteacher communication. In fact, Ho, Hung, and Chen (2013) posited that these advances in communication technology were likely to result in increases in communication between parents and teachers. Thompson, Mazer, and Flood-Grady (2015) explored the changes in parentteacher communication since smartphones have saturated the market. Whereas scholars have investigated smartphone use in the school setting (“Living and learning,” 2014; Sykes, 2014), Thompson et al.’s (2015) work broke new ground in how parents incorporate smartphones into parent-teacher communication. Furthermore, they expanded the PASS to include Skype/Facetime and texting as modes of parentteacher communication. Results indicated that smartphone use increased parents’ preference for e-mail to communicate with teachers and that text messages and social media are beginning to play a larger role in parent-teacher communication.

Theoretical analysis of parent-teacher communication Two theories have been particularly relevant in the analysis of CMC in the parentteacher context: social information processing theory (SIP) and media richness theory (MRT). First, due to anecdotal claims in educational literature that e-mail communication improved parent-teacher relationships, Thompson (2008a) applied

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Walther’s (1992) SIP to empirically analyze the development of parent-teacher relationships via CMC. Thompson’s study revealed how relational communication develops between parents and teachers via CMC, including the mechanisms or strategies parents and teachers use to accomplish this interaction. Walther (1992) argued that CMC can produce relational elements at similar or greater levels than face-toface (FTF) communication; however, it takes more time to do so. Walther’s (1993, 1994, 1995) initial research found that communicators using CMC scored higher on relational constructs (i.e., immediacy, affection) and impression development than those who communicated face-to-face (FTF) when given the chance to communicate over time. This notable finding led Walther (1996) to claim that relationships can become hyperpersonal when certain features of CMC enable communicators to develop more favorable impressions than when meeting FTF. To summarize, SIP posits that CMC becomes interpersonal when people have the goal of developing a relationship, experience commonalities, form impressions through continued messages, and utilize strategies to facilitate relational communication (Walther, 1996). Walther’s research eventually shifted to analyzing how communicators adapt their messages in CMC to foster relational communication, identifying specific mechanisms (verbal, linguistic, and textual) used to adapt to constraining factors in CMC (Tidwell & Walther, 2002; Walther, Loh, & Graka, 2005). Thompson (2008a) directly applied SIP’s propositions to parent and teacher interview data, as well as parent-teacher e-mails collected for analysis. Parentteacher e-mail communication represented an important new context in which to test SIP, extending SIP research outside of the experimental setting with college students. Thompson found parents and teachers can develop relationships through e-mail, but relationships only emerged between a small number of parents and teachers who communicated frequently via CMC. Equally important, these interpersonal relationships could be better characterized as pedagogical partnerships rather than social in nature. Thompson’s research both supported and extended SIP’s propositions. Supporting Walther’s (1993, 1994, 1995) research in the experimental context, parents and teachers who communicate over an extended period developed relationships via CMC (Thompson, 2008a). In fact, in a few cases, parent-teacher relationships became hyperpersonal due to the time they had to frame e-mail contents and produce more effective messages and create better impressions. Further, e-mail generated more opportunities for parent-teacher communication due to better access. When communication occurred over an extended time period, parent-teacher e-mails became more relational due to sharing personal stories and addressing non-school related topics through e-mail. Further, the messages changed in terms of length, formality, and humor over time as relational communication developed. However, it is critical to note that hyperpersonal qualities were rare, as a majority of parents did not communicate with teachers enough via CMC to facilitate hyperpersonal communication. Thus, Thompson’s findings challenged anecdotal claims suggesting e-mail increased the quantity and quality

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of parent-teacher relationships (e.g., Jennings & Wartella, 2004; Johnson, 2000; Skipp & Campo-Flores, 2003) as on average, only two to five parents per teacher communicated frequently over time. Further, in some instances e-mail exchanges detracted from parent-teacher relationships due to the focus on student problems with assignments as well as their behavior (Thompson, 2008a). One of SIP’s key propositions focuses on the importance of the goal of the communication in developing relationships (Walther, 1992). Since the primary aim of parent-teacher communication is to enhance student success (Thompson, 2008a), developing a stronger relationship between parents and teachers is only a secondary outcome. Thompson’s (2008a) research added to SIP’s micro-structure by identifying mechanisms parents and teachers used to develop relational communication. Similar to the mechanisms identified in experimental settings (Walther, 1992), Thompson (2008a) found parents and teachers adapted to CMC restrictions by utilizing a variety of linguistic cues ranging from parentheses and punctuation to alternative spellings. Textual cues consisted of bolding words, spacing, and using all capital letters to offer cues to interpret the message. Verbal cues included messages that contained positive statements or statements of affection. Disclaimers were also a prominent verbal feature, providing specific clues about the teacher’s intention and attitude toward a message to minimize the chance for misinterpretations. According to Walther et al. (2005), relational cues such as these help communicators better understand the message, helping parents and teachers create the message tone. Second, application of MRT as a theoretical framework has enhanced understanding of parent-teacher communication, while simultaneously making important theoretical contributions through suggested additions to the theory. MRT has provided key explanations for why parents select specific modes to communicate with their children’s teachers. MRT addresses how medium richness influences selection of appropriate media to foster successful communication, drawing connections between the richness of the media and task complexity (Daft & Lengel, 1986). Selecting the medium with appropriate richness increases the likelihood for effective communication. Media richness stems from the level or capacity for four elements: (1) immediate feedback, (2) multiple cues (auditory, visual, and physical), (3) natural language, and (4) message personalization (Daft & Lengel, 1986). Based on how high the media ranks for these elements, media are deemed rich (e.g., FTF) or lean (e.g., e-mail). The theory posits that leaner media such as e-mail are not as effective for complex communication tasks because feedback is delayed, contains fewer nonverbal cues, and features less personal focus. In 2012, Thompson and Mazer applied MRT in the parent-teacher context. Interestingly, the researchers discovered parents most frequently selected e-mail to communicate with teachers – regardless of the complexity of the message – due to the convenience of leaner modes. Later, Thompson et al. (2015) applied MRT to parentteacher communication at the P-12 level to analyze changes in parent-teacher com-

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munication since the proliferation of smartphones, finding convenience played an even stronger role in media selection. In fact, the data showed parents’ preference for e-mail rose from 2:1 to 5:1 from 2012 to 2015. MRT posits that richer media provide more immediate feedback based on physical presence (Timmerman & Kruepke, 2006); however, Thompson et al.’s (2015) findings demonstrated parents’ perspectives that leaner modes such as e-mail offered more immediate feedback due to the timeliness of e-mail responses as opposed to communicators’ ability to react and adapt immediately. This led Thompson et al. (2015) to assert, “Convenience represents an overriding factor in the modes parents select, and even more so now with the availability of new communication technologies” (p. 203). Based on their findings, Thompson et al. (2015) proposed the tenets of MRT should be extended to include convenience as a component to explain why individuals select specific media. Not only did convenience help to explain why parents select e-mail more frequently even for objective topics, but it also provided insight into why parents select new communication technologies such as text messaging, social media, and Skype to communicate with teachers. Though few parents currently use these modes on their smartphones, the data suggested these modes may increase in the future due to their convenience and, in the case of Skype, the ability to combine synchronous and asynchronous communication capabilities. Interestingly, although parents selected e-mail most frequently across all five factors (Thompson et al., 2015), parents chose FTF communication more frequently when compared to Thompson and Mazer’s (2012) research, leading the researchers to surmise that, in some cases, parents selected FTF communication because it sent a message to students how seriously they viewed the issue. While the current tenets of MRT did not fully explain some elements of parent mode selection, the theory did help to explain the mode combinations parents employed to facilitate effective parent-teacher communication. The most popular combination involved both synchronous and asynchronous communication (e.g., e-mail and FTF). However, Thompson et al. (2015) identified four additional combinations used in the smartphone era (text, note, synchronous, and asynchronous). For instance, some parents combined text messaging and synchronous modes to facilitate effective parent-teacher communication. As communication technology continues to advance, it is imperative that scholars continue to investigate how parent-teacher communication changes to assess appropriate communication practices that can enhance students’ educational success.

Future research linking parent-teacher communication with learning outcomes The next step in parent-teacher communication research is to make direct connections with student learning outcomes, assessing the connections between parental academic support and student learning. Two steps can move research in this direc-

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tion. First, collecting student data represents a critical step in measuring learning outcomes. Research that examines relationships between items on the PASS and cognitive learning, affective learning, student motivation, and engagement is warranted. Second, longitudinal research can help to better determine learning outcomes. Extant research using PASS has focused on perceptions of parental academic support over a 30-day period; however, studies conducted over extended periods can offer a broader picture of how frequently parent-teacher communication occurs and the importance that frequency plays in the parental academic support process. Tracking student performance longitudinally is warranted to better understand the effects of parental academic support and how this might function differently at different stages of students’ educational experience. Longitudinal research could be particularly helpful in assessing effects on student motivation and persistence.

School Crisis Communication Another communication issue at the forefront of P-12 education both nationally and internationally concerns crisis events. The onslaught of school crises, particularly school shootings, represents one of the most terrifying developments in P-12 schools internationally over the past two decades. In the U.S., well over 300 school shootings transpired (stoptheshootings.org, n.d), with notable increases in the past 10 years (Thomas, Cloherty, & Levine, 2014), making school shootings an urgent issue schools need to address in their emergency planning (Mazer et al., 2015). Although school shootings are more frequent in the U.S. (23 school shootings between 2000 and 2010 in which multiple student deaths occurred), 28 school shootings occurred across 36 other countries in that time span using the same measure (Foxman, 2012). Notably, in 2009, Germany experienced a school shooting at the secondary level in Winnenden where 15 students were killed (Dougherty, 2009). Although the length of time a school shooting lasts is short (12 minutes on average) (Schweit, 2013), the impact of these events continues for years (Mazer et al., 2015; Regan, 2013; Thompson et al., unpublished manuscript). Despite the increased frequency of the events, schools are not well prepared for the accompanying communication challenges associated with school crises (Ashby, 2007; Barker & Yoder, 2012; Carr, 2009, Mazer et al., 2015; Thompson et al., unpublished manuscript). Though communication is a key element in the crises schools face (Barker & Yoder, 2012; Hale, Dulek, & Hale, 2005; Seeger, 2006), surprisingly, little research exists on communication in the school crisis context (Barker & Yoder, 2012; Thompson et al., unpublished manuscript). Thus, a clear need resulted for empirical research exploring the communication elements that can assist schools before, during, and after school crises (Mazer et al., 2015; Thompson et al., unpublished manuscript). Research investigating communication associated with school

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shootings is imperative in the educational context due to the emotional impact it has on students and the potential impact on student learning (Littleton, Axsom, & Grills-Taquechel, 2009; Mazer et al., 2015; Suomalainen, Haravuori, Berg, Kiviruusu, & Marttunen, 2011).

Communication challenges associated with school crises The communication challenges associated with school crises are daunting. School crisis communication has become more complex due to social media (Carr, 2009; Mazer et al., 2015). First, the immediate need for information represents a challenge, as schools that experience a shooting make the difficult decision of prioritizing expediency or accuracy regarding the release of information (Barker & Yoder, 2012; Hale et al., 2005; Thompson et al., unpublished manuscript). The demand to release information almost immediately creates a situation that breeds ineffective communication, as school officials do not have adequate time to evaluate their decisions; this often leads to poorly constructed messages (Barker & Yoder, 2012; Hale et al., 2005). Second, the immediate demand for information from parents, media, and the general public is made even more challenging due to social media (Mazer et al., 2015). Social media use during and after school crises poses a major problem for P-12 schools. The management of information reported over social and mainstream media has been an ongoing issue associated with school shootings (Barker & Yoder, 2012; Carr, 2009; Mazer et al., 2015). Third, school crises represent a time when effective communication is essential, but unfortunately, this is made even more difficult due to the severing of normal communication channels (e.g., phone lines jamming, cell towers and Internet crashes) (Hale et al., 2005; “When catastrophe strikes …,” 2013). Fourth, aftermath communication represents a major challenge for which schools are often the least prepared (Regan, 2013). In 21 interviews with school crisis teams, Thompson et al. (unpublished manuscript) identified aftermath communication as the area crisis teams were least prepared for in managing a school crisis. The researchers identified four key aftermath communication challenges: communicative management of emotions, legal communication, donation management, and commemoration. First, the emotional impact of school crises lasts for years and has a profound impact on the school and community (Stein, 2006; “When catastrophe strikes …,” 2013). Second, legal communication represents an element schools often do not consider fully in advance of a crisis. However, a variety of legal elements arise in the aftermath of a crisis, such as identifying which information released could affect court cases in the future, communicating to employees about what they can and cannot say, and preparing for impending lawsuits. Third, donations that come into the district are overwhelming and require management strategies both to log the high volume of donations and to make deci-

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sions about what to do with the donations, including how to disseminate financial contributions. Fourth, the commemoration of the school shooting across time markers (month, two months, six month, and year anniversary) requires a variety of critical communication elements and decisions within the school district and larger communication. Thompson et al. discovered that each marker has a corresponding set of communication challenges related to the media, students, teachers, parents, and community in addition to new threats. They identified important strategies to assist schools in addressing each of these elements, including what events to hold in commemoration, who should speak at the events, and the focus of the message(s).

Limitations of extant research on school crises at the P-12 level While crisis communication represents a large body of research, the focus on communication related to school crises is minimal. This is unfortunate because as Barker and Yoder (2012) noted, the unique context of schools makes it difficult to cross-apply crisis communication from other arenas. Thompson et al. (unpublished manuscript) argued that one of the most important steps to take in understanding the school communication process is to develop a theoretical model to better understand the unique challenges associated with school crises at the P-12 level and develop communication strategies specific for the educational context. Crisis scholars have developed stage models to identify the steps involved in a crisis. However, there are limitations to these models, primarily their linear nature. Existing stage models range from three to five stages, but typically cover three distinct areas: pre-crisis, crisis, and post-crisis (Barker & Yoder, 2012; Hale et al., 2005). The Department of Education (DOE) divides active shooter events across five phases: prevention, protection, mitigation, response, and recovery (U.S. Department of Education, 2013). The first two phases (prevention and protection) focus on pre-crisis communication elements, the third (mitigation) addresses the time during the crisis itself, and the final two phases (response and recovery) deal with the post-crisis phase. While the phases represent relevant markers, they fail to paint a comprehensive picture of the school crisis communication process. School crises have unique communication challenges due to contextual factors associated with young children, as well as the distinct and lasting impact a school shooting has on a community (Thompson et al., unpublished manuscript). Consequently, school shootings represent a unique type of crisis that existing crisis models simply cannot account for in their linear structure. Due to the unique nature of the school context, as well as the idea that shootings are a unique type of crisis, it is important to develop a broader process model depicting the school crisis communication process. Seeger (2006) argued for the importance of considering both contextual and situational factors in developing communication strategies for crises.

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Development of a comprehensive, theoretical approach to school crisis communication Due to the limitations of a linear crisis model, Thompson et al. (unpublished manuscript) sought to develop a more comprehensive school crisis communication model. The development of a process model represents what crisis scholars have identified as one of the most significant gaps in crisis communication research because linear models are not equipped to address the complex nature of the communication process associated with a crisis (Barker & Yoder, 2012; Hale et al., 2005). In order to develop a process model, Thompson et al. took a grounded theory approach. Grounded theory models consist of six elements that create a broad picture of how different aspects of a process are tied together: central phenomenon, challenges, contextual conditions, intervening conditions, strategies, and outcomes (Strauss & Corbin, 1998). Taking a process approach enabled Thompson et al. to offer school districts a more detailed and broader picture of key aspects of communication that merit consideration to better prepare for crisis, the communication challenges present during a crises, and important communication strategies during and after a school crisis. Thus, the model can still help inform the three key stages identified in extant crisis research, as well as the DOE’s 5-step model in their guide for managing active shooter crises. The grounded theory model helps to discover specific examples of the communication challenges associated with school crisis communication, as well as specific communication strategies developed by school crisis communication teams to deal with the chaos and communication barriers experienced in the face of a crisis, including media, social media, and aftermath communication challenges. The theoretical model also identifies intervening factors (every crisis differs, and school level) and contextual factors (school context, school locale, community concerns, and language/poverty) that influence and affect the strategies employed. These factors represent key contributions to school crisis communication literature because as Seeger (2006) argued, “Widespread adaptation of best practices should be undertaken cautiously with a firm understanding of contextual factors and situational variables” (p. 233). The theoretical model has the potential to assist school crisis teams both nationally and internationally.

Social media analysis One element that has made school crisis communication an even greater challenge is social media (Carr, 2009; Mazer et al., 2015). To add to the level of knowledge regarding social media in the school crisis context, Mazer et al. (2015) analyzed two school shootings (Fern Creek and Albemarle High Schools) that occurred during the Fall 2014 semester. They used Salesforce Marketing Cloud’s Radian6 software, a platform that provides users with the ability to listen, measure, and engage

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in over 650 million sources of social media conversations across the Web by capturing publicly available data from Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, blogs, online communities, and mainstream news outlets. The Radian6 summary dashboard shows a graphic display of social media content to convey sentiment, share of voice, trend information, geolocation data, and more. Analysis of over 5,000 posts across social media provided important information to schools about the volume of posts, misinformation that occurs, as well as strategies for managing social media during an active shooter event. Mazer et al. identified five overarching topic areas: details on the shooting, emotional reactions to the event, personal connections, prayers, and demands for action. Analysis revealed that social media spikes occurred when the names of the victim and shooter were released, leading researchers to advise school districts and media to delay the release of names due to the spikes. Further, the level of praise and level of criticism for how the district and media handled the event corresponded with the timing of the release of information; more positive trajectories occurred when the release of information was delayed. Analyses indicated that Twitter contained the highest percentage of posts, with Facebook as a close second. Parents posted more frequently than students. Mazer et al. (2015) used media dependency theory to analyze the frequency and informational versus emotional nature of posts. Theoretical analysis revealed that a majority of posts during an active shooter crisis were information-based. Interestingly, prior crisis communication research related to weather had a higher percentage of emotion-based posts (Lachlan, Spence, Lin, & Del Greco, 2014), illustrating the unique nature of crisis communication in the school context. Other important findings centered on the public’s frustration with school shootings and the sentiment that not enough is being done about them, as well as the general disbelief that a school shooting had occurred in one’s own community (Mazer et al., 2015). Additionally, Mazer et al. identified trends related to misinformation disseminated via social media. Misinformation developed regarding the location of the shooting and reunification site, number of victims, age and sex of the shooter and/ or victim, as well as posts that suggested the shooting itself was a hoax. Knowing about the specific types of information that occur via social media can assist schools in the preparation for managing social media during a school crisis. Mazer et al. suggested districts acquire a means to monitor social media during potential crises, whether that be hiring an outside company in advance or obtaining their own social media analysis system. Finally, they recommended school districts incorporate social media policies for crisis situations in the acceptable use policies for technology, as well as in their emergency response guidelines.

Implications for student learning Instructional communication research links negative emotional experiences with effects on learning (Mazer, McKenna-Buchanan, Quinlan, & Titsworth, 2014), so it

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is not surprising that Suomalainen et al. (2011) found that the trauma that follows school shooting hinders student learning. Instructional communication research links other negative emotional experiences with effects on learning (Mazer, McKenna-Buchanan, Quinlan, & Titsworth, 2014). Further, Littleton et al. (2009) found that the loss of interpersonal and intrapersonal resources due to a school shooting affects students’ adjustment to a school crisis. Mazer et al. (2015) argued that these preliminary results illustrate that student learning is adversely effected by school shootings.

Development and dissemination of best practices in communication for school crises The ultimate goal of this school crisis research is to develop best practices for communication to assist schools both nationally and internationally. The grounded theory model represents a comprehensive approach to school crises, with particular focus on school shootings. It is important to conduct future research with school districts both nationally and internationally to verify and expand the grounded theory model so it is transferable across school districts. Once the model has been verified, the next critical step is to make the findings accessible to districts in a user-friendly format. We are in the process of securing funding to develop and pilot test a School Crisis Communication Mobile App that contains comprehensive information and strategies stemming from the grounded theory model to make the research findings accessible to schools districts internationally in a user-friendly format organized into the categories relevant to school districts (prevention, response, and recovery). The app represents technology that will develop a comprehensive picture of the school crisis communication across all phases of a crisis, including communication strategies to increase school safety. In each phase, the app will contain the most critical information and strategies stemming from the grounded theory model for use by school districts internationally in preparation for and during every stage of a crisis. The app will be web interactive so that it can be used on any device with Internet access and available in multiple languages. In addition, because school districts are unique, it is imperative that the app be customized to fit the needs of each district. For example, the communication challenges in a small district may be quite different from a district in a major metropolitan area. Further, there may be differences in the communication challenges nationally and internationally. The app will be developed so that it can be individually branded for each school district based on their needs, location, and size. Thus, schools will be able to click on information designated specifically for the unique characteristics of their district. For instance, in the pilot app, the challenge and strategy links would differ based on district size. Additionally, schools will be able to upload their own plans, messages, and documents into their version of the app so that they will have ready access when a crisis occurs. In

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addition to links regarding the communication challenges, considerations, and strategies across the three phases, the app will also give districts Radian6 analysis to assist them in analyzing social media during and after a school crisis. Finally, the app will contain a fourth stem containing crisis simulations that can be used for training. This stem will include scenarios developed by the researchers focusing on a variety of communication elements that are key factors during and following crises. These scenarios will include questions about assigning tasks in the given scenario, how they will do the task, and what people would do when/if certain things happened during the crisis. This training stem could be useful to districts in preparation for school crises. The proposed app will paint a more comprehensive view of the communication challenges present in school crises, a crucial step in school crisis research because school districts must consider key communication elements prior to crises in order for the communication to be effective during and after the crisis (Barker & Yoder, 2012; Seeger, 2006). The app and the content it contains can increase the effectiveness and efficiency of school crisis communication through the communication strategies available at the touch of a finger for school districts.

Summary and Conclusion This chapter provided an overview of current communication issues at the forefront of P-12 education, with a specific focus on issues relevant to school children and adolescents. Over the past decade, major research streams in this area have explored the role of communication in curricula, the use of new communication technologies, communication between parents and teachers, and how schools function and communicate during crisis events. These bodies of work have underscored the fact that communication issues are nationally and internationally prevalent in P-12 education. Collectively, the findings from the bodies of research reviewed in this chapter offer important insights into communication issues pertinent to the development of school children and adolescents. In addition to offering P-12 educators and administrators methods of improving their communication with students, parents, and teachers, the research reviewed here can facilitate a healthy dialogue that fosters growth in the scope and impact of communication at the elementary, junior high, and high school levels in the United States and across the globe. As Sprague (1992) argued, “Instructional communication research needs to broaden its agenda if it is to fulfill the organizational mission of providing insights about communication to educators” (p. 2). Given the attention granted in the popular and scholarly presses to the Common Core State Standards specifically and parental involvement in education generally, the research reviewed in this chapter can offer researchers and practitioners opportunities to better understand how communication functions

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in the educational context and, at the same time, increases the scope and visibility of communication scholarship at the P-12 level.

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Morreale, S., Rubin, R. B., & Jones, E. (1998). Speaking and listening competencies for college students. Retrieved from http://www.natcom.org/uploadedFiles/Teaching_and_Learning/ Assessment_Resources/PDF-Speaking_and_Listening_Competencies_for_College_ Students.pdf Nichols, S., & Read, P. (2002). ‘We never knew it was that bad’: Parent-school communication about children’s learning difficulties. Australian Journal of Language and Literacy, 25, 49–63. O’Sullivan, P. B., Hunt, S., & Lippert, L. (2004). Mediated immediacy: A language of affiliation in a technological age. Journal of Language and Social Psychology, 23, 464–490. doi:10.1177/0261927X04269588 Porter, E. (2015, May 12). More in school, but not learning. The New York Times, p. B1. http://www.nytimes.com/2015/05/13/business/economy/as-global-number-of-pupilssoars-education-falls-behind.html?_r=0 Pulliam, J. D. (1991). History of education in America. New York: Macmillan. Regan, M. F. (2013). A false sense of security: Managing the aftermath of a crisis in what the author calls a new normal for school communities. School Administrator, 70, 26–29. Rodriguez, J. L. (2002). Family environment and achievement among three generations of Mexican American high school students. Applied Developmental Science, 6, 88–94. doi:10.1207/S1532480XADS0602_4 Rothman, R. (2013, September). Communication and the Common Core. Spectra, 49(3), 18–21. Rury, J. L. (2002). Education and social change. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum. Schweit, K. W. (2013, May 7). Addressing the problem of the active shooter. FBI. Retrieved March 30, 2014 from http://www.fbi.gov/stats-services/publications/law-enforcement-bulletin/ 2013/May/active-shooter Seeger, M. W. (2006). Best practices in crisis communication: An expert panel process. Journal of Applied Communication Research, 34, 232–244. doi:10.1080/00909880600769944 Sheldon, S. B., & Epstein, J. L. (2002). Improving student behavior and school discipline with family and community involvement. Education and Urban Society, 35, 4–26. Shinn, K. (2002). Luring high school parents onto our turf. Education Digest, 67, 34–36. Skipp, C., & Campo-Flores, A. (2003, August 3). School: The web ate my homework. Retrieved from http://www.newsweek.com/school-web-ate-my-homework-135447 Sprague, J. (1992). Expanding the research agenda for instructional communication: Raising some unasked questions. Communication Education, 41, 1–25. doi:10.1080/03634529209378867 Stein, A. (2006). We thought it could never happen here: The crisis communications response to the Thurston High School shootings. Journal of Promotion Management, 12, 99–128. doi:10.1300/J057v12n03_07 Stoptheshootings.org (n. d.). Retrieved March 30, 2014 from http://www.stoptheshootings.org/ Strauss, A., & Corbin, J. (1998). Basics of qualitative research: Techniques and procedures for developing grounded theory. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE. Suomalainen, L., Haravuori, H., Berg, N., Kiviruusu, O., & Marttunen, M. (2011). A controlled follow-up study of adolescents exposed to a school shooting: Psychological consequences after four months. European Psychiatry, 26, 490–97. doi:10.1016/j.eurpsy.2010.07.007 Sykes, E. R. (2014, May/June). New methods of mobile computing: From smartphones to smart education. TechTrends, 58, 26–37. doi:10.1007/s11528-014-0749-2 Thomas, P., Cloherty, J., & Levine, M. (2014). US active-shooter cases spike at a ‘troubling’ rate. Retrieved from http://abcnews.go.com/US/us-deadly-mass-shootings-spike-troubling-rate/ story?id=25736640 Thompson, B. (2008a). Applying social information processing theory to parent-teacher relationships. RCA Vestnik, 6, 45–65. Thompson, B. (2008b). Characteristics of parent-teacher e-mail communication. Communication Education, 57, 201–223. doi:10.1080/0363452070

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Thompson, B. (2009). Parent-teacher e-mail strategies at the elementary and secondary levels. Qualitative Research Reports in Communication, 10, 17–25. doi:10.1080/17459430902756203 Thompson, B., Mazer, J., & Flood-Grady, E. (2015). The changing nature of parent-teacher communication: Mode selection in the smartphone era. Communication Education, 64, 187– 207. doi:10.1080/03634523.2015.1014382 Thompson, B., & Mazer, J. P. (2012). Development of the parental academic support scale: Frequency, importance, and modes of communication. Communication Education, 61, 131– 160. doi:10.1080/03634523.2012.657207 Thompson, B., Payne, H. J., Jerome, A., Mazer, J. P., Kirby, G., & Pfohl, B. (2015). School crisis communication at the P-12 level: Development of a grounded theory model. (Unpublished manuscript). Tidwell, L. C., & Walther, J. B. (2002). Computer-mediated communication: Effects on disclosure, impressions, and interpersonal evaluations: Getting to know one another a bit at a time. Human Communication Research, 28, 317–348. Timmerman, C. E., & Kruepke, K. A. (2006). Computer-assisted instruction, media richness, and college student performance. Communication Education, 55, 73–104. doi:10.1080/03634520500489666 U.S. Department of Education. (2013. Guide for developing high quality school emergency operation plans (Contract Number EDESE1200036). Retrieved from http://rems.ed.gov/docs/ REMS_K-12_Guide_508.pdf Walther, J. B. (1992). Interpersonal effects in computer-mediated interaction: A relational perspective. Communication Research, 19, 52–90. doi:10.1177/009365092019001003 Walther, J. B. (1993). Impression development in computer-mediated interaction. Western Journal of Communication, 57, 381–398. doi:10.1080/10570319309374463 Walther, J. B. (1994). Anticipated ongoing interaction versus channel effects on relational communication in computer mediated interaction. Human Communication Research, 20, 473–501. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2958.1994.tb00332.x Walther, J. B. (1995). Relational aspects of computer-mediated communication: Experimental observations over time. Organization Science, 6, 186–203. Walther, J. B. (1996) Computer-mediated communication: Impersonal, interpersonal, and hyperpersonal interaction. Communication Research, 23, 3–43. doi:10.1177/009365096023001001 Walther, J. B., Loh, T., & Graka, L. (2005). Let me count the ways: The interchange of verbal and nonverbal cues in computer-mediated and FTF affinity. Journal of Language and Social Psychology, 24, 36–65. doi:10.1177/0261927X04273036 Weintraub, S. (November, 2014). Why communication teachers should care about the Common Core. Spectra, 50(4), 12–17. When catastrophe strikes: A Q&A with Janet Robinson on the emotional impact, protocols to emulate and her lessons to colleagues. (2013, October). School Administrator, 22–25.

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26 Teaching Communication to College and University Students: The Basic Course in Higher Education Abstract: The basic course is an entry-level communication course that is required or recommended for undergraduate students and serves as an introduction to fundamental communication knowledge, skills, and theory. In this chapter, we describe the presence of the basic communication course in American general education programs. We illustrate the specific contributions of the course that can benefit curricula around the globe, as higher learning and vocational institutions continue their efforts to reshape their systems of education. We first provide a brief history of the basic communication course and explain why and how it holds such a key role in general education. We then unpack the large body of research the discipline has devoted to the basic course over the past fifty-plus years, and in doing so demonstrate the knowledge we have gleaned from these scholarly efforts. We situate the findings from this work within the context of contemporary trends in American and global higher education and vocational training, before finally, offering suggestions for moving forward basic communication course scholarship, teaching, and administration in the coming years. Keywords: basic course, general education, public speaking, interpersonal communication, hybrid course, vocational training, higher education The first encounter most students have with the field of Communication, at least in Western colleges and universities, is through the basic communication course, “that beginning entry level communication course either required or recommended for a significant number of undergraduates; the course which the department has, or would recommend, as a requirement for all or most undergraduates” (Morreale, Myers, Backlund, & Simonds, in press). As such, the basic course serves as an introduction to fundamental communication knowledge, skills, and theory. There are various iterations of the course that depend on the constituencies it serves. On many campuses, the course meets a general education requirement, whereas on others, it is tailored to specific majors. The course is typically taught as an introduction to public speaking or a broader survey of the discipline including interpersonal and small group communication in addition to public speaking (hybrid approach). The course is so integral to the field that a former president of the National Communication Association referred to it as the discipline’s “front porch” (Beebe, 2013, p. 3), the place where students get introduced to Communication Studies and ultimately find their way to the major. As essential as the course is in the United

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States, it is not as widely taught in other areas of the world, but with recent developments in global higher education, there is a chance that may change. Over the past several years, the European model for education has undergone a revolutionary change. With the advent of the voluntary Bologna and Copenhagen processes, two intergovernmental education initiatives, skills formation in higher education and vocational training have been radically changed. The Bologna process focuses on higher education and has sought to increase cross-country mobility, quality control and assurance for educational programs, recognition of credentials achieved throughout Europe, and standardization of degrees in areas of study. The Copenhagen process is concerned with vocational training and seeks to establish a unified framework of qualifications and competencies, credit transfer processes, common criteria and content, and improved access (Powell, Bernhard, & Graf, 2012). These changes in some ways appear to be an effort to implement some structural elements of the model of higher education that exists in American colleges and universities. In similar fashion, the United States is experiencing a renewed push for education reform, as economic and societal pressures have been exerted on public and private universities throughout the country. Rising costs for college, the resultant burgeoning student loan debt, and cuts to state budgets over the past decade have increased pressure on American universities to account for what they claim to produce. The Obama administration also paid heightened attention to the role of community colleges and vocational schools primarily because of their role in job training (Stratford, 2015). One of the reactions to these challenges has been an effort to revise general education, a unique component of the American higher education model, so that its goals and outcomes are both clear and assessed. One of those common goals of general education, as forwarded by the American Association of Colleges and Universities (AACU, n.d.), is the development of communication skills. The rationale for highlighting communication instruction for college students applies to both the vocational and higher education models. Communication is one of the oldest areas of study, tracing back to the days of Classical Greece and Rome, and it is as important in Western societies today as it was then. From a vocational perspective, communication competence remains one of the most sought-after skills by employers. Job candidates also need to be able to communicate effectively in a variety of contexts to be successful in a global economy. In terms of higher education, communication is central to creating ethical citizens who engage their communities on issues of civic importance. In most American universities, training in communication skills takes place in the basic communication course, a class that is designed primarily for freshmen and is sometimes a graduation requirement for all students regardless of their major. In this chapter we describe the presence of the basic communication course in American general education programs. We illustrate the specific contributions of

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the course that can benefit curricula around the globe, as higher learning and vocational institutions continue their efforts to reshape their systems of education. We first provide a brief history of the basic communication course and explain why and how it holds such a key role in general education. We then unpack the large body of research the discipline has devoted to the basic course over the past fiftyplus years, and in doing so demonstrate the knowledge we have and can glean from these scholarly efforts. We situate the findings from this work within the context of contemporary trends in American and global higher education and vocational training, before finally, offering suggestions for moving forward basic communication course scholarship, teaching, and administration in the coming years.

Providing Basic Communication Training for College Students Higher Education vs. Vocational Training Compared with Europe’s education systems, the United States places a greater premium on higher education than vocational education. In fact, as Powell, Bernhard, and Graf (2012) point out, “In continental Europe, far more than the United States or Great Britain, vocational education training (VET) and higher education (HE) are viewed as jointly crucial to provide the needed skills to successfully compete globally” (p. 241). In the United States, higher education takes place at colleges and universities, whereas vocational education takes place in community colleges or on the job in a format that resembles apprenticeship. As a result, communication training is fairly widespread in higher education but, strangely, not as available in many vocational contexts. Moreover, there is no corollary for the basic communication course in the European educational model, or in other nations. These are interesting facts because communication skills serve both the function of higher education to create engaged citizens and the purpose of vocational training to develop a competent workforce. The history of higher education in the United States follows a dual track based on two distinct philosophies or conceptualizations of post-secondary education. Beginning in 1636 with the founding of Harvard College in the Massachusetts Colony, many American universities have followed the traditional British model of addressing the broad education of students, with a concern for the whole person, an appreciation for the arts, history, and science, as well as the formation of character and the quality of life after college. This approach has come to be known in the United States as liberal arts education, and in this type of institution the basic course helps students understand ways to use communication to engage in civic life. A second and contrasting approach to higher education was introduced in the 19th century, when the Industrial Revolution prompted an urgent need for agri-

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cultural engineers, technicians, and business leaders to fuel rapid growth in the market place (Wehlburg, 2010). In this context, communication training prepared students with the communication knowledge and skills needed in a particular industry. In 1965, the United States government passed the Higher Education Act, which created scholarships and loans for students, thus opening the doors of colleges and universities to more people than ever before. As a result, the boom of new students demanded a curriculum that would help prepare them for the workplace (Boning, 2007; Gaff, 1983), and so the balance between higher education and vocational training seemed to shift back toward preparation for the workplace. As institutions attempted to respond, they created a complicated and confusing educational curriculum that, in 1977, the Carnegie Foundation for the Advancement of Teaching chastised as chaotic (Carnegie Foundation, 1977). During this period, the basic communication course remained a key component of many general education systems, but the perception of the course as providing instruction central to developing an engaged citizenry was lost in the milieu. The 21st century has seen a concentrated effort to examine, evaluate, and redesign general education in American schools. Two initiatives that contributed to this reform are the AACU’s renewed call for assessment and the Liberal Education and America’s Promise (LEAP) program designed to create systemic change. This national advocacy, campus action, and research initiative was created in response to the changing landscape of the economy, industry, and social and political climates that demand more informed and engaged citizens in a democracy. General education is defined as part of liberal education curriculum shared by all students (AACU, 2002) and provides the foundation for developing crucial intellectual and civic skills. This shift moved programs from a course-selection approach to an outcomes-based approach where courses are designed to assess what students can do rather than a focus on what content is covered. The basic course became integral to these initiatives as communication skills were explicitly identified as essential learning outcomes critical to preparing students to become engaged citizens in the 21st century (AACU, n.d.). Thus, a renewed emphasis on basic course pedagogy emerged in both communication instruction and scholarship.

The Emergence of the Basic Course in the Communication Discipline The idea that the discipline should pay attention to the basic course, or that its content was important for students in general education, is not new. In fact, beginning with a 1956 study of the basic course by Donald E. Hargis, members of the discipline have periodically surveyed communication departments to understand the scope, state, and content of the basic communication course across the country. To date the survey has occurred nine times, with the most recent currently in press

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(Morreale et al., in press). Over time, these surveys illustrate that public speaking is the predominant design, followed by the hybrid approach. As the most recent survey demonstrates, more creative models have also emerged and incorporate dialogue, large audience presentations, and even online speeches. Morreale et al. also noted that, due to recent changes in general education (AACU), the basic course should strive to meet the outcomes articulated by focusing more on ethical communication, critical thinking, and civic engagement. As this research has shown, the basic communication course has taken many forms over the years. With the increased attention came a commensurate increase in outlets for sharing information on the basic course. In 1962, the first Midwest Basic Course Director’s Conference was held (now called the Basic Course Director’s Conference), which still meets annually to discuss innovations in administration and content for the course. The conference served as the impetus of the Basic Communication Course Annual in 1989, the only peer-reviewed journal focused exclusively on the basic communication course, which is now in its 28th edition. That same year, the Central States Communication Association established a Basic Course Interest Group for members, and not to be outdone, the National Communication Association followed suit five years later with the Basic Course Division. Additionally, in the early 1990s, the Basic Course Listserv was established to provide an ongoing and easily accessible format for basic course instructors and directors to engage in sharing ideas and developments. Thus, there is reason to believe that the basic communication course would fit quite well within the framework established by the Bologna and Copenhagen processes, and with the globalized world we now live in, these courses make even more practical sense for inclusion in European educational as well as other national institutions. The use of competencies to assess skill development, transferability of the course among many institutions, and relatively common criteria and content that benefit both higher education and vocational training programs could easily be adapted for the needs of international constituencies.

National Publication Outlets for Basic Course Scholarship Ongoing research into the structure and pedagogy of the basic communication course is an invaluable resource for institutions with, or thinking of developing, a basic communication course. The Communication discipline also boasts three peerreviewed journals that publish research about the basic course, one of which is entirely devoted to examining the theories and praxis that inform basic course instruction. What makes basic course scholarship so distinctive is that it primarily focuses on understanding course design issues and achievement of course/univer-

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sity outcomes, whereas most other instructional communication research examines instructor variables as they relate to student learning. In this section of the chapter, we provide details on basic course scholarship and encourage centers of higher education or vocational training to consider these practices to integrate communication into their curriculum.

Communication Education (formerly The Speech Teacher) The first of these publications, The Speech Teacher, debuted in 1952 and provided an outlet for publishing scholarship specifically on teaching issues. In 1976, this journal was renamed Communication Education, as research in communication and instruction became more empirically, theoretically, and programmatically driven. Additionally, the scope of the journal expanded to include communication instruction (ways to improve communication competencies beyond speech training), instructional communication (communicative factors involved in teaching and learning), and communication development research (the acquisition of communication skills; Friedrich, 1989). In 1984, Staton-Spicer and Wulff offered a synthesis of the research in communication and instruction and identified several categories of research in various communication journals including Communication Education. These categories include teacher characteristics, student characteristics, teaching strategies, speech criticism and evaluation, speech content, and speech programs. Of these categories, two speak directly of basic course issues (speech criticism and speech content). However, in a cursory examination of the research highlighted in this synthesis, these authors were only able to identify ten basic course articles appearing in Communication Education. Since the Staton-Spicer and Wulff (1984) synthesis, a follow-up examination of basic course research in the journal revealed that only 10 % of the empirical articles published in Communication Education were related to the basic course. This paucity of empirical basic course research included topics such as communication assessment rubrics (Bock & Bock, 1984; Bohn & Bohn, 1985; Carlson & Smith-Howell, 1995; Rubin, 1984); surveys of the basic course (Gibson, Hanna, & Huddleston, 1985; Morrealle, Worley, & Hugenberg, 2010); surveys of textbook content and readability (Allen & Preiss, 1990; Pelias, 1989; Peterson, 1991; Schneider, 1991, 1992) and critical thinking assessment (Allen, Berkowitz, Hunt, & Louden, 1999; Fritz & Weaver, 1986). Moreover, of that ten percent, 71 % of those articles focused on communication apprehension in the context of public speaking (e.g., Ayres & Hopf, 1985; Beatty, 1988a, 1988b; Beatty & Friedland, 1990; Behnke & Sawyer, 1999; Connell & Borden, 1987; Hinton & Kramer, 1998; Whitworth & Cochran, 1996). Thus, scholars who conducted basic course research found it necessary to look further for another publication outlet.

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Communication Teacher Alongside Communication Education, NCA established a new journal, Communication Teacher, to focus on original teaching ideas in all areas of communication. Though some of the strategies published in this outlet do not relate directly to the basic course, many teaching ideas for the basic course are included in the journal. About the time of AACU’s efforts to reform general education into an outcomesdriven program, the scope of Communication Teacher expanded to include communication assessment, which allowed basic course directors to share their assessment of outcomes with members of the Communication discipline. A cursory examination of the assessment pieces published in Communication Teacher illustrates that 15 of the 25 manuscripts involve assessment of the basic course. These assessment pieces have advanced the basic course by providing evidence of accomplishing communication outcomes, which serves to justify the role of the course in general education. For example, Avanzino (2010) provided an excellent model of assessing the oral communication competencies within general education using a student learning outcomes (with accompanying rubrics) approach. Cooper (2011) offered another practical online program for evaluating and assessing students’ public speaking competencies, and Meyer et al. (2008b) found that with intentional and deliberate pedagogy on information literacy, students could enhance their research and critical thinking skills as a foundation for life-long learning. Myers and his colleagues (2010) found that the basic course was effective in nurturing collegial peer relationships, which led to effective group satisfaction and learning outcomes. Thus, the basic course provides an important opportunity to foster group communication and refine critical thinking, conflict management, problem solving, and leadership skills needed in academic, professional, and civic endeavors. Furthering the claim of accomplishing general education goals, McIntyre and Sellnow (2014) found that the basic course is a perfect opportunity to show growth in student service learning outcomes, including personal and interpersonal development and a sense of citizenship. These studies not only provide support for the basic course’s ability to demonstrate successful general education outcomes, but they also offer pragmatic advice to other departments beginning assessment programs. Additionally, these studies offer insights on how assessment can inform decisions about course design and pedagogy. Despite the new emphasis on publishing assessment pieces in this particular outlet, basic course assessment research still competes with broader communication education and instructional communication pieces on a wide array of courses; and with the role of the basic course in general education comes the responsibility of continued assessment.

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The Basic Communication Course Annual In 1989, the Basic Communication Course Annual (BCCA) was formed due to the efforts of several basic course directors who recognized a need for an outlet entirely devoted to examining the theories and praxis that inform basic course instruction. Prior to the establishment of this annual, several basic course directors at the Midwest Basic Course Director’s Conference (now the Basic Course Director’s Conference) lamented the lack of research opportunities for basic course scholarship; this situation put many basic course directors at-risk for tenure and promotion. Additionally, they wanted to preserve some of the insightful conversations about best practices in administration, training, course development, research, and assessment that were taking place at the conference (Wallace, 1989). The journal began with several forum issues, best practices, and the dissemination of award winning papers from regional and national conferences, but the annual now boasts more empirical, programmatic, and theoretical research.

Basic Course Scholarship Given the three outlets within the Communication discipline for publishing basic course scholarship, and the fairly robust history of such work, there is much that institutions in the United States and other nations can draw from when creating contemporary and effective versions of the basic communication course. For example, basic course scholarship has applied theory and research in programmatic and pragmatic ways within various versions of the basic communication course. Despite the volume of work on the basic communication course, the discipline itself still debates the presence of theory in basic course scholarship. This section explores that debate, and ultimately we argue that theory drives basic course research, and research drives our praxis. Hunt, Novak, Semlak, and Meyer (2005) provided a synthesis of the empirical research in the BCCA using the same categories as Staton-Spicer and Wulff (1984). At the time of publication, Hunt et al. identified 61 empirical articles for analysis and categorization, which comprised 43 % of the articles appearing in the first 15 years of the annual. Hunt et al. challenged basic course scholars to conduct more theoretically driven, empirical research on the content and administration of the basic course, rather than just using students in the basic course as subjects for other inquiries. To determine if basic course scholars heeded this charge, these authors conducted a cursory analysis of the empirical and theoretical research published since the Hunt et al. (2005) synthesis piece. Indeed, in the years just prior to this synthesis, the BCCA began to see an increase in theoretically driven research. For example, Fassett (2003) used social action theory in the constructions of student success

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in the basic course, and Warren (2003) discussed performative pedagogy theory in the negotiation of educational at-risk students. Reynolds, Hunt, Simonds, & Cutbirth (2004) used Goffman’s politeness theory to analyze if instructors were too polite in their feedback of student performances. In this same volume, Treinan (2004) applied critical theory on whiteness studies, and Harter, Kirby, Hatfield, and Kuhlman (2004) identified social capital, feminist, and narrative theories as rationales for using service learning in the basic course. Since the Hunt et al. (2005) call, the BCCA has consistently demonstrated a commitment to theory-driven research in the basic course. In fact, in a cursory analysis of the titles and abstract of manuscripts published in the BCCA, 78 % (N = 56 of 72) of the articles were empirical in nature, and 36 % (N = 20) of those empirical articles explicitly mentioned being driven by theory. To illustrate, Rattenborg, Simonds, and Hunt (2005) used Astin’s involvement theory to explain student participation in instructional discussion, and Wolfsen (2005) applied non-Thomism and pragmatism to elucidate instructional paradigms as they relate to trait communication apprehension. That same year, Turman (2005) used media richness theory to explain the impact of instructional technology and teacher immediacy on student affective learning. The years that followed the Hunt et al. (2005) charge continued to see a vast rise in the amount of theory-driven, empirical, and programmatic research. Basic course scholars began to take a more rigorous and theoretical approach to their research. As evidence, Kussart, Hunt, and Simonds (2007) used persuasion theory to account for student perceptions of power and compliance-gaining in basic course learning communities. They found that students in learning communities were more likely to use group persuasion, flattery, and utilitarian justice when attempting to influence instructors. These authors suggest that basic course directors implement training in compliance-gaining strategies so that instructors could nurture students’ prosocial argumentation skills. Theisen and Davilla (2007) related the social support of female graduate teaching assistants (GTAs) to social networking theory and found that relationships between female GTAs and other students are crucial to their success and that they primarily obtain information and skills related to teaching from their peers. They suggested that basic course directors should foster GTA relationships through intentional socialization opportunities. Semlak (2008) applied social learning theory to the assessment of peer feedback in the basic course. She posited that peer feedback affords students the opportunity to learn through observation and introspection, and offers pedagogical strategies to improve the utility of peer feedback in student attention, retention, and motivation. Gaffney and Frisby (2013) applied Bandura’s theory of self-efficacy to a two-course structure to maximize affective learning and student self-efficacy. They found that students reported greater affect and efficacy (expanded knowledge, enhanced collaborative skills, increased openness and acceptance, heightened awareness, increased confidence, and ability to critically examine) after taking the second course when compared to the first.

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Additionally, several scholars programmatically applied student engagement theories to student participation practices in the basic course. Sellnow and Ahlfeldt (2009) found that problem-based learning models enhanced student critical thinking and teamwork skills and fostered interactive student engagement. Broeckelman (2007) offered four theory-based instructional strategies (grading rubrics, instructor feedback, peer workshops, and peer evaluations), supported by Vygotsky’s zones of proximal development, for incorporating dialogism into the pedagogy of the basic course. She argued that the basic course is a prime site for merging theory with praxis to help students gain a better understanding of the discipline. Prisbell, Dwyer, Carlson, Bingham, and Cruz (2009) found support for the association of students’ perceptions of classroom connectedness and cognitive learning, affective learning, affective behavioral intent, and overall instructional affect. Sidelinger, Myers, and McMullen (2011) lent support to the connected classroom climate by providing students enrolled in the basic course with a safe and comfortable haven to present speeches. They found that students who perceived a connected classroom climate claimed an increase in communication competence and a decrease in public speaking apprehension. Furthermore, Sidelinger, Frisby, McMullen, and Heisler (2012) showed that instructor communication behaviors could also enhance a safe space for students. They found a relationship between instructor humor, nonverbal immediacy, and self-disclosure and students’ perceptions of classroom connectedness. These scholars have advanced our knowledge of the instructional strategies and teacher behaviors that foster student engagement and overall learning. Moreover, these studies support the notion that students learn best when they are actively engaged in the process. Other programmatic research addressed classroom management training for GTAs (Meyer et al., 2008a; Meyer et al., 2007), portfolio assessment including speech evaluation and persuasion (Meyer, Kurtz, Hines, Simonds, & Hunt, 2010; Simonds, Meyer, Hunt, & Simonds, 2009), and the utility of speech laboratories (Dwyer & Davidson, 2012; Hunt & Simonds, 2002; Jones, Hunt, Simonds, Comadena, & Baldwin, 2004; LeFebvre, 2013; Nelson, Whitfield, & Moreau, 2012). Clearly, basic course scholarship is guided, now more than ever, by theoretical perspectives regarding what works best in the basic communication course. As we have demonstrated here, the work in the primary educational communication publication outlets has consistently demonstrated the centrality of the basic communication course to the discipline, as well as its place in general education. This work has also provided an understanding of course design and best practices for constructing courses that allow students to achieve learning outcomes. Such work serves as the foundation for understanding why a basic course would benefit students across the globe in today’s hyper-mediated world. These essays, and the countless others that have appeared within the BCCA especially, serve as rich ground from which other higher education and vocational training institutions can use contemporary research and theory-driven approaches to integrate communica-

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tion into their curricula in meaningful ways. Despite the wealth of information and knowledge available regarding basic course pedagogy, there are some elements of the education climate today that represent headwinds for colleges and universities.

National Trends in Higher Education As consistent a place as general education has had in Western education for the past half century, its characteristics are changing from a course-based structure to a model based on student learning outcomes. This shift presents both challenges and opportunities for the basic communication course. Additionally, the recent global economic downturn has created both financial and perceptual pressures on higher education that have, at a minimum, a tangential impact on the basic communication course. Further complicating that scene is an international employment market that consistently clamors for communication skills in college graduates, but does not specify what exactly those skills are. These pressures have forced a reconceptualization of the basic course from its traditional public speaking model to one that is more flexible from school to school. In other words, the basic course now needs to be constructed to serve the communication needs of specific populations and general education programs. As mentioned earlier in this chapter, the shift to an outcomes-based model for course and program construction in higher education provided a clear rationale for the value and justification of the basic course. Recall that in 2006, the AACU formed the LEAP initiative to re-imagine general education when communication skills (oral communication, critical thinking, information literacy, teamwork and problem solving) were explicitly emphasized under the Intellectual and Practical Skills essential learning outcome. Unlike before, now the goal is that students demonstrate achievement of a specific skill (outcome) rather than “check off” that they have been exposed to it by taking a specific course. This approach was crucial for paving the way for assessment of communication knowledge and skills in the basic course, which has raised the stature of our role in general education specifically, and the discipline at large. Political pressures have not been the sole source of stress on basic communication courses, as the economic downturn of 2008 also changed the relationship between colleges, universities, and the public across the globe, but in particular within the United States. The financial strains on higher education have led to some universities reducing the number of credit hours required to graduate, essentially squeezing out courses from general education. A popular target of these credit hour reduction efforts have been the basic communication course. Recently, the course has come under a degree of fire, and communication departments in several locales have been forced to defend the inclusion of a basic communication course in general education (Valenzano, 2013). Members of the basic course listserv have shared

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reports of this happening on their campuses for years. Many course directors would make pleas on the listserv for arguments they could use to defend their course; some of the pleas were successful, others were not. However, what was astonishing to the members of the listserv was that there was no formal statement from our national office to help in these endeavors. In response to this need, NCA and basic course scholars marshaled their resources to mount a defense of the course. In 2012, NCA passed a revised resolution on the role of communication in general education, which pointed out that “the areas in which employers feel that colleges most need to increase their focus” include “written and oral communication skill first” (Simonds, Buckrop, Redmond, & Hefferin, 2012, p. 2). In the interests of fostering more synergy among the discipline, higher education, and employers, other efforts also took place during this timeframe. In January 2014, the Basic Course Directors’ Conference, hosted by the University of Dayton, held a dialogue between employers and basic course directors to identify what specific communication skills employers seek in graduates to help connect curriculum in the classroom with expectations of outside constituencies (Hooker & Simonds, 2015). This outreach both demonstrated the continued role of the basic communication course in higher education, and further enhanced the course’s role in developing vocational skills and civic-mindedness in students. It was shortly after the adoption of the resolution on the role of communication in general education that Steven Beebe unveiled his NCA presidential initiative for strengthening the basic course, and thus the profile of the discipline. He created a task force to explore ways that NCA could support basic course directors and instructors. As a result of the task force, NCA now offers a web link devoted exclusively to the basic course in general education and provides course directors with resources to assist in the advocacy, development, training, assessment, and management of the course. One of the task force charges included an analysis of the common core competencies that serve as the basis for introductory communication courses across a variety of contexts. Through an iterative process, and with much consultation of basic course faculty, the task force offered the following seven core competencies: Monitoring and Presenting Your Self; Practicing Communication Ethics; Adapting to Others; Practicing Effective Listening; Expressing Messages; Identifying and Explaining Fundamental Communication Processes; and Creating and Analyzing Message Strategies. For each competency, the task force also provided a rationale statement, selected subtopics/units, and assessment measures for each topic. Additionally, the task force recommended that NCA provide support for better training for basic course directors. In thinking about the roles and duties of a course director (hiring and supervising personnel, training and development, advocating for the course to various institutional and state constituencies, curriculum development, assessment, etc.), it is surprising that there is not, nor has there ever been, a formal training ground that prepares basic course directors to perform

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these duties. Thus, in 2014, NCA sponsored the Basic Course Director’s Summer Institute at Dayton University for the continued development of basic course directors. This institute spurred several regional workshops offering similar training sessions to an even broader audience – illustrating the thirst for this type of training within the discipline (Simonds, 2015). Nevertheless, the basic communication course stands on a precipice, with both stark dangers and wonderful opportunities facing it in the near future.

Future Directions Few disciplines can boast the rich historical connection to education that communication has had. Whether training students to be successful employees, citizens, or both, communication training has long been understood to be central to the education system. For example, in the United States many college freshmen take the basic communication course to help them become more effective at creating, sending and interpreting messages. That basic course has undergone its own set of changes over time, but it has also become a focal point of scholarly inquiries into communication education. As a discipline, communication has garnered a wealth of knowledge through theoretically sound empirical research, and that data can be of immense utility to any system of education undergoing change, including those in Europe and other nations. Despite its importance, vigilance remains a necessity for ensuring the course’s continued centrality in education due to recent changes to the economic and social reality for global higher education and vocational training. In this concluding section we offer several suggestions for not just maintaining, but advancing the basic communication course in the future, given that the headwinds it faces are not likely to dissipate anytime soon.

Suggestions for Advancing the Basic Course In light of the arguments advanced in this chapter, we offer several suggestions for advancing the basic course both nationally and internationally: (1) course administrators need to consider an outcomes based approach for the development of the course; (2) journal editors of national publication outlets need to expand the scope of scholarship to include research and assessment of the basic course; (3) the discipline as a whole, ideally through its professional organizations, must seek ways to augment training and resources for those tasked with administering the basic communication course at their respective institutions; and (4) doctoral-level communication departments need to offer programs specifically designed to train future basic course directors. Suggestion 1: Course administrators need to consider the changing nature of general education to sustain the role of the basic course within their respective

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departments. Simply because the course has traditionally been taught in a specific way (e.g., public speaking, hybrid, etc.) does not mean it must always be taught that way. In fact, to keep up with changes in society and the technological influences on communication that have been developed in recent years, it makes sense to continually update the basic course so it remains relevant for students. Wallace (2015) provides clarity and direction for developing a basic course from an outcomes-based approach, which is much more suited to responding to contextual influences. To begin, course administrators need to consider both their constituencies and constraints. In terms of constituencies, Wallace suggests course administrators consider the mission of the department, university, and general education program. This mission will be reflected in the outcomes of the general education program. Course administrators should then map the communication knowledge and skills of the basic course to these outcomes (for an example of this process, please see the NCA resolution on the role of communication in general education, Simonds et al., 2012). Other constituencies may include the particular populations being served by the university such as engineering, nursing, or education majors, or the local workforce. By mapping the knowledge and skills of the basic course to university outcomes, course administrators will have a system in place for conducting assessment, which will, in turn, solidify the role of the basic course in general education. The consideration of constituencies can only happen in light of constraints. For example, some programs have more financial and instructional resources than others. Some course administrators are constrained by departmental hiring practices in that they have responsibility of training and supervising instructors without the authority to hire them. Some programs have graduate teaching assistant instructors, whereas others have adjunct faculty, which has implications for the types of teacher training that can be offered. Moreover, some programs are constrained by state articulation agreements that mandate a certain number of speeches for courses to transfer to other institutions. The topic of constituencies and constraints has been discussed at length at the Basic Course Director’s Conference and the recent basic course institutes. We encourage basic course directors to attend these conferences to take advantage of the social support network of the community of fellow basic course directors. Moreover, we encourage basic course directors to avail themselves of the basic course scholarship that informs best practices. One of those best practices is revising courses so they are driven by outcomes, not assignments – after all, there is a reason it is the basic communication course and not the public speaking course. Suggestion 2: Given the importance of the basic course to the discipline and its departments on a number of campuses, it is essential to continue to develop and provide opportunities for peer-reviewed scholarship on the basic course. The outlets discussed in this chapter already benefit the discipline at large, but by expanding the scope of scholarship to include research and assessment of the basic

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course, we can provide even more information for maintaining and developing sustainable basic course programs around the globe. Two recent editors of Communication Education, Paul Witt and Jonathan Hess, have renewed calls for research that softens the boundaries of the focus on datadriven, social scientific research from an instructional communication perspective. These calls have broadened the scope of the journal to include research on innovative technologies, basic course assessment, and forums on topics such as the common core. Additionally, the Basic Communication Course Annual recently initiated a Forum section where scholars share answers to questions on issues of importance that the basic course naturally confronts. Previous forum topics have included a discussion of the most important learning objectives for the course and training topics for instructors. The newest volume will include a discussion of potential strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and challenges for the course. This renewed emphasis has implications for the basic course and the advancement of scholarship specific to the challenges we face. The new opportunities offered in Communication Teacher for conducting and publishing assessment efforts at various institutions are also encouraging. These efforts are instructive to other programs and serve to validate the ability of the basic course to meet the intended outcomes of general education. Future editors will hopefully value the continuation of this research in raising the stature of the discipline. The analysis of research in the Basic Communication Course Annual conducted for this essay is quite encouraging in terms of countering the argument that basic course research is a-theoretical. This analysis clearly established that basic course scholars are conducting research that is empirical, theoretical, and programmatic. In doing so, this research uses theory to guide practice, whereby basic course administrators can make informed decisions about the best practices that will strengthen their own programs. Suggestion 3: In recent years, there has been an increase in activities that have promoted the stature of the basic course within the discipline. The revised NCA resolution (Simonds et al., 2012) paved the way for two presidential task forces (Steven Beebe and Kathleen Turner) to strengthen the basic course as the “front porch” of our discipline. As a result of these task forces, NCA now has resources devoted to issues related to the basic course in general education. While these resources are quite helpful in the advocacy, development, training, assessment, and management of the course, these resources need to be continually updated. It is heartening to see that the task force recommendation to have basic course division representation on the Educational Policies Board to sustain these efforts has been acted upon. In addition, NCA should continue to provide training opportunities for basic course directors as they did with the 2014 Basic Course Director’s Institute in Dayton, Ohio. Suggestion 4: With an increased focus on strengthening the basic course comes a commensurate need to provide adequate support and training for both current

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and future basic course directors and coordinators. This need stems from a lack of formal education available in the field for those who wish to pursue these types of positions. In recent years, there has been a decline in doctoral-level programs that offer instructional communication or communication pedagogy as a field of study, let alone as an elective course. More concerning is the fact that there has never been a program devoted to the training and development of basic course directors and coordinators. Hunt, Wright, and Simonds (2014) make a similar case in a recent essay on securing the future of communication education. They indicate that we need doctoral programs in communication pedagogy to nurture a pipeline of scholarship to advance the body of knowledge on basic course issues. They argue, “How can we continue to make the argument that communication is central to general education or the common core if we are not prepared to train scholars to conduct research or prepare teachers for implementing communication curriculum …?” (Hunt et al., 2014, p. 459). Moreover, they pose that we as a discipline need to place higher value on the field of communication education lest we place all of the discipline at-risk. If the basic course is the “front porch” of the discipline, then the basic course director is the “foundation” of the house. Course administrators train the teachers who teach the students that ultimately come through the discipline. We need to make sure that the people in this role are confident, competent, and passionate about their duties and responsibilities. It is our contention that with the proper training and formal education, we can nurture both a pipeline of future scholars and directors that represent the discipline in positive ways that welcome students into our field of study. Only then can we build a strong foundation for the discipline at large.

Closing Observations Higher education and vocational training around the globe are in a state of intense flux, which presents a unique moment in the life of the basic communication course. Beyond the basic course, perhaps no other courses are supported with such a robust history of scholarship, administrative experience, and ability to simultaneously contribute to the education of both members of the workforce and developing citizens. Given the state of change higher education is undergoing around the world, retaining the basic course’s centrality in these roles is both a challenge and an opportunity for the discipline. Through creative thinking, a commitment to training, and continued scholarly attention to the basic course, the discipline can remain well positioned in American institutions and perhaps even develop a key role in other national educational systems, as well. Nothing would benefit the students of the future more than exposure to a contemporary communication course.

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Dwyer, K. K., & Davidson, M. M. (2012). Speech center support services, the basic course, and oral communication assessment. Basic Communication Course Annual, 24, 122–150. Fassett, D. L. (2003). On defining at-risk: The role of educational ritual in constructions of success and failure. Basic Communication Course Annual, 15, 41–82. Friedrich, G. W. (1989). A view from the office of the SCA president. Communication Education, 38, 297–302. doi:10.1080/03634528909378767 Fritz, P. A., & Weaver, R. L. (1986). Teaching critical thinking skills in the basic speaking course: A liberal arts perspective. Communication Education, 35, 174–182. doi:10.1080/03634528609388338 Gaff, J. G. (1983). General education today: A critical analysis of controversies, practices and reforms. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass Gaffney, A. L., & Frisby, B. N. (2013). A new hybrid: Students’ extensions of integrated communication content. Basic Communication Course Annual, 24, 207–244. Gibson, J. W., Hanna, M. S., & Huddleston, B. M. (1985). The basic speech course at U.S. colleges and universities: IV. Communication Education, 34, 281–291. doi:10.1080/03634528509378620 Hargis, D. (1956). The first course in speech. The Speech Teacher, 5, 26–33. Harter, L. M., Kirby, E. L., Hatfield, K. L., & Kuhlman, K. N. (2004). From spectators of public affairs to agents of social change: Engaging students in the basic course through servicelearning. Basic Communication Course Annual, 16, 165–194. Hinton, J. S., & Kramer, M. W. (1998). The impact of self-directed videotape feedback on students’ self-reported levels of communication competence and apprehension. Communication Education, 45, 151–161. doi:10.1080/03634529809379119 Hooker, J. F., & Simonds, C. J., (2015). From the outside looking in: Employer’s views of the basic course. Basic Communication Course Annual, 27, 102–116. Hunt, S. K., Novak, D. R., Semlak, J. L., & Meyer, K. R. (2005). Synthesizing the first 15 years of the Basic Communication Course Annual: What research tells us about effective pedagogy. Basic Communication Course Annual, 17, 1–42. Hunt, S., & Simonds, C. (2002). Extending learning opportunities in the Basic Communication course: Exploring the pedagogical benefits of speech laboratories. Basic Course Annual, 14, 61–86. Hunt, S. K., Wright, A. M., & Simonds, C. J. (2014). Securing the future of Communication Education: Advancing an advocacy and research agenda for the 21 st Century. Communication Education, 63, 449–461. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.926016 Jones, A., Hunt, S., Simonds, C., Comadena, M., & Baldwin, J. (2004). Speech laboratories: An exploratory examination of potential pedagogical effects on students. Basic Communication Course Annual, 16, 105–138. Kussart, N., Hunt, S., & Simonds, C. (2007). Comparing student use of power in learning communities and regular classes. Basic Communication Course Annual, 19, 72–103. LeFebvre, L. (2013). Effect of goal-setting and self-generated feedback on student speechmaking. Basic Communication Course Annual, 25, 283–329. McIntyre, K. A., & Sellnow, D. D. (2014). A little bit can go a long way: An examination of required service in the Basic Communication course. Communication Teacher, 28, 57–73. doi:10.1080/17404622.2013.843012 Meyer, K. R., Hunt, S. K., Comadena, M. E., Simonds, C. J., Simonds, B. K., & Baldwin, J. R. (2008a). Assessing classroom management training for basic course instructors. Basic Communication Course Annual, 20, 35–71. Meyer, K. R., Hunt, S. K., Hopper, M., Thakkar, K. V., Tsoubakopoulos, V., & Van Hoose, K. J. (2008b). Assessing information literacy instruction in the Basic Communication course. Communication Teacher, 22, 22–34. doi:10.1080/17404620801926925

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Meyer, K. R., Kurtz, R. R., Hines, J. L., Simonds, C. J., & Hunt, S. K. (2010). Assessing preemptive argumentation in students’ persuasive speech outlines. Basic Communication Course Annual, 22, 6–38. Meyer, K. R., Simonds, C. J., Simonds, B. K., Baldwin, J. R., Hunt, S. K., & Comadena, M. E. (2007). Designing classroom management training for basic course instructors. Basic Communication Course Annual, 19, 1–36. Morreale, S., Myers, S. A., Backlund, P., & Simonds, C. J. (2016). Study IX of the basic communication course at two- and four-year U.S. colleges and universities: A re-examination of our discipline’s “front porch.” Communication Education, 65, 338–355. doi:10.1080/03634523.2015.1073339 Morreale, S. P., Worley, D. W., & Hugenberg, B. (2010). The Basic Communication course at twoand four-year U.S. colleges and universities: Study VIII – The 40th anniversary. Communication Education, 59, 405–430. doi:10.1080/03634521003637124 Myers, S. A., Shimotsu, S., Byrnes, K., Frisby, B. N., Durbin, J., & Loy, B. N. (2010). Assessing the role of peer relationships in the small group communication course. Communication Teacher, 24, 43–57. doi:10.1080/17404620903468214 Nelson, C. L., Whitfield, T. S., & Moreau, M. (2012). I need help: Help seeking behaviors, communication anxiety and communication center usage. Basic Communication Course Annual, 24, 151–188. Pelias, M. H. (1989). Communication apprehension in basic public speaking texts: An examination of contemporary textbooks. Communication Education, 38, 41–53. doi:10.1080/03634528909378739 Peterson, E. E. (1991). Moving toward a gender balanced curriculum in basic speech communication courses. Communication Education, 40, 60–72. doi:10.1080/03634529109378826 Powell, J. J. W., Bernhard, N., & Graf, L. (2012). The emergent European model in skill formation: Comparing higher education and vocational training in the Bologna and Copenhagen Processes. Sociology of Education, 83, 240–258. Prisbell, M., Dwyer, K. K., Carlson, R. E., Bingham, S. G., & Cruz, A. M. (2009). Connected classroom climate and communication in the basic course: Associations with learning. Basic Communication Course Annual, 21, 151–172. Rattenborg, A. N., Simonds, C. J., & Hunt, S. K. (2005). Preparing to participate: An exploration of student engagement through student work and instructor’s observations. Basic Communication Course Annual, 17, 94–133. Reynolds, D., Hunt, S., Simonds, C., & Cutbirth, C. (2004). Written speech feedback in the Basic Communication course: Are instructors too polite to students? Basic Communication Course Annual, 16, 36–71. Rubin, R. B. (1984). Communication assessment instruments and procedures in higher education. Communication Education, 33, 178–180. doi:10.1080/03634528409384736 Schneider, D. E. (1991). An analysis of readability levels of contemporary textbooks that employ a hybrid approach to the Basic Communication course. Communication Education, 40, 165–171. doi:10.1080/03634529109378826 Schneider, D. E. (1992). A comparison of readability levels of texbooks in public speaking and interpersonal communication. Communication Education, 41, 400–404. doi:10.1080/03634529209378901 Sellnow, D., & Ahlfeldt, S. (2009). Problem-based learning (PBL) and student engagement in the public speaking classroom. Basic Communication Course Annual, 21, 134–150. Semlak, J. (2008). Traditional pedagogical tools: Examining peer feedback in the Basic Communication course. Basic Communication Course Annual, 20, 72–100.

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Sidelinger, R. J., Frisby, B. N., McMullen, A. L., & Heisler, J. (2012). Developing student-to-student connectedness: An examination of instructors’ humor, nonverbal immediacy, and selfdisclosure in public speaking courses. Basic Communication Course Annual, 24, 81–121. Sidelinger, R. J., Myers, S. A., & McMullen, A. L. (2011). Students’ communication predispositions: An examination of classroom connectedness in public speaking courses. Basic Communication Course Annual, 23, 248–278. Simonds, C. J. (2015, April). Converging on the Front Porch: Strengthening the Foundation of the Basic Course. Panel presented at the Central States Communication Association’s annual conference, Madison, WI. Simonds, C. J., Buckrop, J., Redmond, M., & Hefferin, D. (2012). National Communication Association Resolution on the Role of Communication in General Education. Adopted by the NCA Legislative Assembly, November 17, 2012. Simonds, C., Meyer, K., Hunt, S., & Simonds, B. (2009). Speech evaluation assessment: An analysis of written speech feedback on instructor evaluation forms in the Basic Communication course. Basic Communication Course Annual, 21, 65–90. Staton-Spicer, A. Q., & Wulff, D. H. (1984). Research in communication and instruction: Categorization and synthesis. Communication Education, 33, 377–391. doi:10.1080/0363452840938476 Stratford, M. (2015, January 21). Middle class economics for tuition. Retrieved from https://www. insidehighered.com/news/2015/01/21/obama-pitches-free-community-college-highereducation-tax-credits-state-union Theisen, L. M., & Davilla, R. A. (2007). Seeking social support among female graduate teaching assistants. Basic Communication Course Annual, 19, 166–201. Treinen, K. P. (2004). Creating a dialogue for change: Educating graduate teaching assistants in whiteness studies. Basic Communication Course Annual, 16, 139–164. Turman, P. D. (2005). Implementing technology in the basic course: The influence of sex and instructional technology use on teacher immediacy and student affective learning. Basic Communication Course Annual, 17, 157–187. Valenzano, III, J. M. (2013). Directing the winds of change: The basic course and general education. Basic Communication Course Annual, 25, 1–37. Wallace, S. P. (January, 1989). A proposal for a national basic course journal. Paper presented at the Midwest Basic Course Directors’ Conference, Wichita, KS. Wallace, S. P. (2015). A model for the development of a sustainable basic course in communication. Basic Communication Course Annual, 27, 78–101. Warren, J. T. (2003). Perfomative pedagogy, at-risk students, and the basic course: Fourteen moments in search of possibility. Basic Communication Course Annual, 15, 83–116. Wehlburg, C. M. (2010). Integrated general education: A brief look back. New Directions for Teaching and Learning, 121, 3–11. Whitworth, R. H., & Cochran, C. (1996). Evaluation of integrated versus unitary treatments for reducing public speaking anxiety. Communication Education, 45, 306–314. doi:10.1080/03634529609379060 Wolfsen, A. M. (2005). A study exploring the impact of two instructional paradigms on state and trait communication apprehension. Basic Communication Course Annual, 17, 134–156.

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27 Teaching Communication to Working Adults Abstract: Communication skills are among the most important competencies for working adults and professionals to possess. To describe how those skills are developed, this chapter summarizes relevant adult learning theories anchored in both education and communication literatures. We review differences between education and workplace training, highlighting the distinctive nature of teaching communication skills to working adults. We also describe socialization processes that help new employees acquire workplace communication skills after joining a new organization. Finally, we identify and discuss selected methods and practices for teaching communication to adults in the workplace, emphasizing the professional and personal benefits that accrue from helping working adults reach their maximum communication potential. Keywords: communication skills, adult learners, adult learning theory, communication training, communication education, socialization, workplace communication, online learning, e-training

Communication skills are valued and needed by learners of all ages (Alexander & Campbell, 2006; Gray & Koncz, 2014; Hansen & Hansen, 2015; Robles, 2012). Adult learners, those between 25 and 105 years of age, are no exception. Given that the application of communication theory and skills is especially valued in the workplace, teaching communication to working adults is important to enhance both the quality of human relationships and achieve organizational objectives (Adams, 2013; American Association of Colleges and Universities [AACU], 2013; Windsor, Curtis, & Stephens, 1997). Multiple research studies spanning several years have documented that communication skills are paramount, both when hiring adult employees and when maintaining a strong and effective workforce (Adams, 2013; Alexander & Campbell, 2006; Gray & Koncz, 2014; Hansen & Hansen, 2015; Robles, 2012; Windsor et al., 1997). Thus, it is important to understand the process and procedures of teaching communication competencies to working adults. The teaching of communication skills and knowledge (known as “soft skills” in comparison to “hard skills” such as technology and other technical competencies) continues to be an important content area of many training and development programs in corporate contexts (Adams, 2013; Alexander & Campbell, 2006; Beebe, Mottet, & Roach, 2013; Gray & Koncz, 2014; Hansen & Hansen, 2015; Robles, 2012; Windsor et al., 1997). In addition to workplace training programs, working adult students occupy an important constituency in colleges and universities. In higher

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education, students older than the average 18- to 24-year-old college students are called non-traditional students. In 2007 almost 40 percent of the eighteen million college students in the United States were 25 years old or older (Ross-Gordon, 2011). There is similar growth in Europe, with the number of nontraditional students increasing by more than 55 % between 2000 and 2010 (Sánchez & Kaplan, 2014). Both non-traditional students and adults enrolled in workplace training programs are interested in learning communication principles and skills to enhance their employment prospects. Because adults are already in the workforce (but not necessarily employed in the job they will have for the rest of their lives), they typically have an enhanced appreciation for the value of communication knowledge and skill. Whether taking college courses for credit, participating in workplace training and development programs, or continuing to develop communication competencies in non-credit personal development programs, most adults are keenly interested in developing their communication skills and knowledge. What are the top skills and competencies desired by employers? In a study published in Forbes, communication skills, relationship skills, and decision-making skills were the top three competencies important for working individuals and professionals (Caprino, 2012). These skill sets mirror the top skills that personnel directors seek, namely oral, written, and listening communication skills (Adams, 2013; Windsor et al., 1997), as well as those identified by college career services as the most desirable attributes of graduates (University of Wisconsin-River Falls, 2007). Listening, oral, and written communication skills also topped the list of desired competences by employers in another high-profile study (Hansen & Hansen, 2015). Yet another study published by Forbes identified the top skills and competencies desired by employers for 2015 college graduates: the ability to work in a team, make decisions, solve problems, plan, organize and prioritize work, and communicate verbally with people inside and outside an organization (Adams, 2013). Clearly, communication skills rank consistently among the topic skills desired by and taught to working adults. In this chapter we review the scope and importance of teaching communication skills and principles to adults in workplace contexts. Besides the obvious distinctive that those being taught are “working adults,” there are additional unique learning approaches, needs, and methods that are characteristic of adult learners. We begin by providing an overview of adult learning theory and then describe the contexts in which working adults typically learn communication skills, specifically in workplace training programs. Because adult learning theory suggests that adults learn in ways that are different from younger learners, we present an overview of adult learning methods followed by a review of the typical content that provides the curricula for adult learning programs. We also summarize research literature that focuses on the theoretical backgrounds of teaching communication to working adults, including adult learning styles and the role of socialization in adult learning. We discuss how adults learn communication through workplace socialization,

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as well as when participating in training programs explicitly developed to enhance communication competence. Finally, we conclude by offering best practices for teaching communication to working adults.

Theoretical Considerations As in the other social sciences, communication researchers typically ground their research in established theories of communication. When it comes to research on teaching communication skills to adults, however, a recurring criticism is the lack of theory grounding the research (e.g., Campbell, 1971; Tharenou, Saks, & Moore, 2007). Because training emphasizes application and is practitioner-based, some scholars choose to pursue atheoretical research. Through interviews with training and development scholars, Smith and Clayton (2012) found a wide range of reasons why scholars do, or do not, use theory in their applied research. They concluded that a primary asset to this research is the availability of diverse theoretical backgrounds that span multiple academic disciplines – such as education, psychology, and communication (Frei, 2013) – as opposed to drawing from a single theoretical base. Applying education theories to practice can increase effectiveness and individual acquisition of workplace skills including communication skills (Arshad, Khawaja, & Saad Abdullah Husein, 2012). For example, applications to training have been made through education theories such as Knowles, Holton, and Swanson’s (2015) adult learning theory and Bandura’s (1971) social learning theory. Additionally, goal-setting theory (Locke & Latham, 2002), which posits that more difficult goals lead to higher levels of task performance, has been used in the study of how to best transfer what is learned in training sessions to on-the-job tasks (Brown & Warren, 2009; Johnson, Garrison, Hernez-Broome, Fleenor, & Steed, 2012), training outcomes (Kozlowski et al., 2001), and motivation for learning skills (Brown, Hillier, & Warren, 2010). Further, social cognitive theory (Bandura, 1986) has been applied to identify ways behavior can be changed in various training environments (Holt, Killough, & Koh, 2001). In essence, social cognitive theory suggests that students learn through the observation of both behaviors and the likelihood of a reward resulting from the performance of the behavior. In training sessions learners can benefit from observing how a communication skill is performed and how the skill attainment may benefit the learner. Both of these theories, and others within social psychology, have created theoretical frameworks for training research. Theory originating from communication scholars might have a natural place in training research, but it has been underutilized to this point. Interpersonal theories, such as coordinated management of meaning (Pearce & Cronen, 1980), social penetration theory (Altman & Taylor, 1973), or uncertainty reduction theory (Berger & Calabrese, 1975), could be extended to study the communication skills devel-

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oped through training. Additionally, rhetorical/relational goals theory (Mottet, Frymier, & Beebe, 2006) can be applied to the needs of trainees when they enter a training session (Stephens & Mottet, 2008). Attempts to apply communication theory to training research must not be overlooked or under-valued. There are ample opportunities to incorporate theory and research about teaching communication skills to adults such as the work done in health communication incorporating theory and communication skills in healthcare settings (e.g., Meehan & Menniti, 2014; Watson, Cleland, Inch, Bond, & Francis, 2007).

Adult Learning Theory Perhaps the most instructive of these theories is Knowles’ adult learning theory (Knowles, 1990; Knowles et al., 2015; Merriam, 2008), which identifies ways in which adults learn differently from children. This key theoretical claim underscores why this volume contains a separate chapter that focuses on teaching communication to working adults. Adult learning theory both describes and prescribes how to maximize adult learning based on the assumption that adults have unique needs and approaches to learning. A well-developed body of literature reviews adult learning theory and describes the differences and similarities between the way adults and children learn (Knowles et al., 2015). Malcolm Knowles (1990) is credited for being among the first to promote adult learning theory, noting that adults and children have different learning needs, instructional preferences, backgrounds, and assumptions. To distinguish between the approaches and preferences of adult learners, Knowles clarified those differences by distinguishing between andragogy and pedagogy. The first use of the term andragogy has been traced to Alexander Kapp in 1833, initially used to describe Plato’s approach to education (Smith, 2010). Although some researchers (Holmes & Abington-Cooper, 2000) have suggested that the differences between andragogical and pedagogical learning approaches may be a false dichotomy, there is general agreement that adults do differ, in comparison to younger learners, in terms of learning preferences, assumptions, and styles. Andragogy is the art and science of teaching adults (Knowles et al., 2015; Wlodkowski, 1999). The word ander is a Greek term that means “adults.” Thus, an andragogical approach to learning emphasizes styles and approaches that maximize learning for adults. An andragogical learning approach has the key distinction of learning being self-directed rather than teacher-directed. Thus, an important andragogical assumption is that adults learn what they need to learn, when they need to learn it. Pedagogy, an often-used term to describe general curriculum development, is technically the art and science of teaching children. Pedagogy is more teacher-directed based on its word origin; paid is the Greek word for “child,” and the word agogus is Greek for “guide.” Thus, pedagogy is the process of guiding children’s learning, in contrast to andragogy, which describes how adults learn.

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The research of Knowles (1990) and a host of other adult learning scholars (e.g., Knowles et al., 2015; Merriam, 2008; Roberts, Gustavs, & Mack, 2012; Wlodkowski, 1999) has identified at least five ways that adults approach the mastery of communication skills and knowledge, given their added maturity and reservoir of life experiences: (1) Adults prefer to understand why the learning content is relevant to them; (2) Adult learners bring their experience to what they learn; (3) Adults are usually more self-motivated than younger learners; (4) Adult learners typically know what they need to learn; and (5) Adult learners learn best by seeking solutions to problems (Beebe et al., 2013; Knowles et al., 2015).

Adult learners prefer to understand why they are learning what they learn For maximum learning effectiveness, adult learners like to know that what they learn is relevant to their lives and work; they are not responsive to a “learn-thisbecause-I-said-so” approach. Adults have busy lives, and what they learn should be connected to their life needs. Children, on the other hand, are more likely to learn, or at least more likely to tolerate being told to learn something, because the information or skill is presented to them. Younger learners memorize their multiplication tables or memorize terms and definitions because the teacher directs them to do so. More mature learners want a clear understanding as to why what they are learning is important. Adults often see the value and relevance of learning communication skills and principles because they have observed situations in which poor communication had a negative effect on a relationship or the performance of a task (Beebe et al., 2013; Knowles et al., 2015).

Adult learners bring their lifetime of experience to what they learn Adult learners have more life experiences and like to connect what they learn to what they have done in the past, are doing now, and may do in the future. Adults also want what they learn to be directly relevant to their work. Younger learners, by contrast, have fewer life experiences. They typically are not employed in fulltime jobs and have less opportunity for immediate workplace application. Adults, however, have learned to be more efficient in the use of their time – they want to know that how they spend their time is relevant to their work or even their leisure. They bring their past experiences to bear on what they are learning. A lifetime of experiencing ineffective communication, conflict, and challenges in relationships, as well as positive experiences with communication, gives adult learners a wealth of experience they can use to evaluate and interpret what they learn about communication principles and skills.

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Adults are usually self-motivated We noted earlier that a distinguishing characteristic of andragogy is that adults are more self-directed than children. Underlying this characteristic is the assumption that adults are more intrinsically motivated to accomplish a goal; i.e., they are more likely than children to want to learn to something for their personal reward and satisfaction, rather than depending on people or circumstances to provide extrinsic motivation. Extrinsic motivation is that which comes from outside the individual in the form of rewards (such as by money or recognition). Adults certainly like rewards, accolades and recognition, but they are more likely than children to appreciate and value the experiences more for the intrinsic feeling of accomplishment than for whatever rewards are offered. Younger learners are more likely to be motivated to get the grade or achieve the reward (Knowles et al., 2015). Adults are less motivated by what others think, although the views of others are not completely discounted. Further, adults know that ultimately what they learn cannot be taken from them because it is a part of them, so they are motivated to acquire information and skills that will be useful to them in the future. Because of their broad range of experiences, adults are more likely than children to be motivated to learn communication principles and skills because they have observed both the positive benefits of having effective communication skills and the negative effects of inept, ineffective, or inappropriate communication.

Adult learners understand what they need to learn Adults are more adept than younger learners at learning from their failures and struggles. Adults, especially of employment age, are able to reflect on how errors in the past have had an impact on the present and likely to have an impact on their future. Children, by comparison, are less contemplative and therefore less likely to learn from their mistakes; they are generally more likely to learn what is placed in front of them without necessarily connecting how what they are learning now is linked to previous situations, either positive or negative. When adults encounter a problem or issue that needs to be resolved, they are more likely to recognize the need on their own. They do, of course, need feedback from others to point to areas in need of improvement, but many adult learners are already aware of their challenges and needs because they have encountered problems associated with their lack of knowledge or skill. Adults are motivated to seek instruction at major life turning points such as starting a new career, being promoted, or losing a job. These significant events provide an impetus for change and often prompt adults to see the need for new skills or knowledge. Children are less aware of their own deficiencies and needs and, therefore, more teacher-dependent on having their educational and training needs met.

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Adults learn best by focusing on problems According to adult learning theory (Knowles et al., 2015), adults are problem-based learners. More mature learners learn best when they are facing a problem or issue and see that acquiring more knowledge or skill will help solve the problem. When adults are confronted with obstacles that keep them from obtaining their desired goal, they are focused on learning strategies to surmount the obstacles and achieve the desired outcome. Adults are better suited to learn communication skills and principles that they can connect to address their own issues, deficiencies, or needs. Case studies, field learning, and realistic role-playing situations that mirror the kinds of problems that adult learners face are likely to enhance the learning experience for adult learners. Children, by contrast, focus on learning by subject matter; they take prescribed courses recommended to develop a predetermined body of knowledge and skill. Although adults are often required to take classes for professional development and continued certification, the classes and instruction are directly linked to the problems and issues they face in their professional work.

Adult Learning Approaches: Comparing Training and Education Training Training is the process of developing skills in order to perform a specific job or task more effectively (Beebe et al., 2013). Training literature is largely rooted in applied educational psychology, with studies extending back to the beginning of the 20th century focusing on safety training in the mining and railroad industries (Ford, 1997). Since that time, the study of training has emerged as an important area of scholarship across a spectrum of academic disciplines. In fact, the past 40 years have seen major improvements in scholarly attention to training following Campbell’s (1971) conclusion that “training and development literature is voluminous, nonempiricial, nontheoretical, poorly written, and dull … it is faddish to an extreme” (p. 565). Since this assertion, empirical research has demonstrated the legitimacy of this field through studies in various contexts, including crisis intervention (Teller, Munetz, Gil, & Ritter, 2006), personal defense (Hollander, 2014), health care (Gysels, Richardson, & Higginson, 2005), and government sectors (Krapels & Davis, 2000), among many others. Thirty years after Campbell’s (1971) assessment of training literature, Salas and Cannon-Bowers (2001) reviewed training literature to conclude that training theory and research had advanced significantly and that “training research is no longer atheoretical, irrelevant, or dull. Exciting advances in all areas of the training enterprise have been realized” (p. 492).

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At its essence, training is focused on developing skills – actions and behaviors that result in improvement and an overall positive impression. Therefore, from the standpoint of teaching communication skills, training focuses on the improved performance of specific communication behaviors with the goal of increasing communication effectiveness and appropriateness. Starting with the roots of the discipline, communication scholars focused on enhancing skills in public speaking, which has led to prescriptions of communication competence (Spitzberg, 1983, 2000), and teaching communication skills in the classroom (Morreale, Hugenberg, & Worley, 2006). Research published in top communication journals helped us understand concepts like the role of evaluation in communication training (Johnson & Kusmierek, 1987), training for doctor-patient communication (Brown, Bylund, et al., 2010; McGee & Cegala, 1998), and the role of mediated communication in training (Stephens & Mottet, 2008). Training is a significant worldwide enterprise with over 160 billion dollars spent annually teaching people speaking skills each year (Miller, 2013). Given the overall importance of communication skills, it is not surprising that adult learners often learn communication skills in training settings. Training is not devoid of presenting information, which is primarily associated with the cognitive domain of learning. Research suggests that training is a major enterprise in the United States (Miller, 2012), with more than one million people in the U.S. making their living in some way related to training (Scannell & Donaldson, 2000).

Education Education, in contrast to training, is the process of imparting knowledge or information that emphasizes the cognitive domain, whereas training focuses more on skills and behaviors that emphasize the behavioral domain of learning (Beebe et al., 2013). The cognitive domain of learning emphasizes learning concepts, ideas, principles, theories and information. As described by Benjamin Bloom (1956) the cognitive domain includes six hierarchical arranged elements: knowledge, comprehension, application, analysis, synthesis, and evaluation. The behavioral domain of learning (also called the psychomotor domain) emphasizes performing specific tasks that involve moment and repetition. Behavioral (or psychomotor) skills are assessed in terms of the precision, accuracy, speed, application of technique and overall precision in performing a specific task.

Comparing Training and Education Expert trainer, educator, and consultant John Kline (1983) clarified how the two processes of training and education can be distinguished from one another. These classic differences between training and education provide a context for designing and implementing communication training programs for adult learners (Beebe et al., 2013; Knowles et al., 2015).

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Training emphasizes doing. Education emphasizes knowing. To train is to seek to change behavior, whereas education seeks to present information. Training typically focuses on skills, and education emphasizes learning concepts, principles, theory and other information. Training focuses on the behavioral domain of learning, whereas education focuses primarily on the cognitive domain. Training emphasizes achieving a certain level of skill mastery. Education often evaluates learners by comparing one learner with another. Training involves having the trainee perform a specific behavior consistently and with accuracy. When training someone on the communication skill of public speaking, the goal is for the speaker to consistently present an effective and appropriate presentation every time. Education, on the other hand often assesses individuals “on the curve” by evaluating others in comparison to the entire group. Training is more of a closed system. Education is more of an open system. As a closed system, training has responses and answers that are correct or incorrect and not based on external constraints or issues. There are certain “right” ways of performing a skill regardless of external influences. Education, however, focuses less on always having the “right” answer but provides opportunities for students to create new applications and put information together in new ways. Hence, education is more of an open system – open to other alternative responses. Training emphasizes performing a specific task that is linked to a specific duty or responsibility. Education is typically less often connected to a specific job. Employers send employees to training programs so that the employees will learn the specific requirements and performance skills for their specific job; employers are less interested in how the employee performs in non-job related situations. Hence, much adult learning in corporate training settings is focused on the performance of a specific, well-defined job requirement. Training is more likely to include a description of a comprehensive list of skills required to perform a specific behavior. Education is more open-ended in terms of the pathway to become educated. This gives the educator a wide array of options to choose from when determining how best to teach a student. Training more often focuses on a series of steps, which must be mastered in a precise order. This contrasts with education, which is more about obtaining the information and not necessarily about following a series of prescribed steps. In addition, the assumption underlying education is that there is always more to be learned about any subject. Training emphasizes mastering the skills in a complete and comprehensive way.

Adults and Learning Styles Whether engaged in training or education, not all adults prefer the same learning style or approach. When teaching adults specific communication skills and princi-

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ples, it is wise to consider the specific needs of individual learners. A learning style is the way an individual perceives, organizes, processes, and remembers information (Beebe et al., 2013). Learning style preferences are especially relevant when teaching and learning communication skills because developing good communication involves all three learning domains (cognitive, affective, and behavioral). Researchers and theorists have concluded that age influences how learners prefer to receive information (Knowles et al., 2015). It is not that one’s physiological age makes a person more or less adept at learning (except for the very young and very old), but that generational culture typically exerts an influence on learning preferences (Knowles et al., 2015). Through an extended program of research, Howe and Strauss (1991, 2000, 2007) examined how the generation into which Americans are born influences their culture, including how they best learn. A generation is a “society-wide peer group, born over a period roughly the same length as the passage from youth to adulthood, who collectively possess a common persona” (Howe & Strauss, 2000). These researchers concluded that Baby Boomers, those born between 1943–1960, value personal fulfillment and optimizing, champion specific causes, work efficiently, support equal rights, and exhibit a likelihood to buy now and pay later. Persons in Generation X, which includes those born between 1961 and 1981, are more likely to save, yet somewhat paradoxically live for today. They often live with uncertainty and consider balance in their life important. Millennials, sometimes called Generation Y, are those born between 1982 and 2002; they are typically close to their parents, goal-oriented, team-oriented, and focused on achievement. Post Millennials are those born after 2002; new evidence suggests that post millennials are very skilled and comfortable with technology, seek and use a large volume of information, have shorter attention spans, are proficient in multi-tasking, and may have diminished verbal skills. Knowledge of these generational preferences is essential for those who teach and train adults. Knowing, for example, that a Generation X learner has a tendency to be more individualistic may suggest preferred learning strategies for a Generation X learner. Because Baby Boomers were found to have a sense of loyalty to their employers, employers may expect longer-term service from Baby Boomers. Generation X learners, in comparison seek a strong balance between work life and home life. Given that inclination, it may be useful to stress the benefit of teaching Generation X learners communication skills because they have value both on the job and at home or in other non-work relationships. Generation X learners also value information and skills that have immediate application, so when teaching Generation X adult learners, consider emphasizing how the communication skills have direct application to their work and home life. The greater the generational difference between trainee and trainer, then the more attention that should be paid to bridging differences between trainer teaching approach and trainee learning preferences.

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Generational differences are not, of course, the only factor that influences learning preferences. For example, four prominent adult learning styles – divergent learners, assimilators, convergers, and accommodators – are based on learners’ experiences, backgrounds, work history, and personality (Joy & Kolb, 2007; Kolb, 1999). – Divergent learners prefer taking an observant, panoramic approach to learning before taking action. They are especially interested in learning how what they already know relates to the new information or skills presented to them. Learning strategies for divergent learners include group discussions, structured and facilitated brainstorming sessions, partnering with a mentor, and encouraging feedback about how what is being learned is related to what they already know. – Assimilators prefer to learn information in efficient, direct, logical methods. They appreciate having material sequentially structured for them and would rather learn directly from an expert or a textbook than from group discussions with others. Assimilators value concise and direct approaches when learning information and skills; consequently, they appreciate traditional methods of learning such as lectures, reading, and learning from experts. – Convergers seek solutions to problems. They seek information that can help them overcome specific obstacles and achieve their goals. Convergent learners are especially illustrative of the andragogical learning style of problem-based learning. Thus, convergers appreciate learning methods that give them freedom to creatively seek solutions to problems; they also like applying what they have learned to test the usefulness of the solutions that are developed. – Accommodators learn best by trial and error and direct experiential learning methods. They are less interested in someone telling them information and prefer spending time discovering answers for themselves. Accommodators are more intuitive and like to rely upon their own instincts when learning new skills and principles. They learn best by participating in experiential activities, experiences, internships, and learning-on-the-job opportunities. A typical classroom with the “sage on the stage” as opposed to the “guide on the side” will frustrate them. They prefer self-discovery methods of learning.

Socialization and Workplace Communication Skills In addition to developing workplace communication skills and knowledge through training and education, adult learners also acquire workplace communication competencies throughout the socialization process. Socialization is the process individuals go through as they spend time on the job learning about an organization and acquiring the skills necessary to be a competent worker. Many of the skills employees learn during the socialization process are the communication skills necessary for success in the organization (Jablin, 2001; Kramer, 2010). It is useful to define

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socialization in comparison to other similar, yet conflicting terms found in the literature. One common term used by scholars studying entry to the workplace is assimilation (Jablin, 2001; Kramer, 2010; Kramer & Miller, 2014). Some scholars may prefer this term because it accounts for the entire process of influencing the newcomer through socialization, and the individual, in turn, seeks to influence the organization through individualization (Kramer, 2010). However, socialization is the term generally used across disciplines (e.g., Ashforth, Sluss, & Harrison, 2007; Berkelaar, 2013; Korte, 2009) to describe the process of organizational entry. We use the term socialization to describe the communication and mutual influence of organizations and individuals during the organizational entry process. The late Fredric Jablin is regarded as one of the most well-developed researchers in the field of organizational communication for his work on socialization (Krone, 2006). According to Jablin (2001), the socialization process includes periods of vocational anticipatory socialization and organizational anticipatory socialization prior to the organizational encounter. It is through these periods (vocational and organizational anticipatory socialization), prior to entering the workplace for the first time, that individuals develop a set of expectations for how they will communicate in the work setting (Jablin, 2001).

Vocational anticipatory socialization During vocational anticipatory socialization, individuals develop skills in communication that will be used to communicate with other employees in their future careers (Kramer, 2010). For example, an individual pursuing a career in counseling will learn interpersonal and small group communication skills through formal education curricula and internship opportunities. A manager is likely to learn leadership, conflict management, or meeting management skills. During the vocational anticipatory socialization phase, individuals grow from childhood to young adulthood, when they gather information about occupations and determine the direction of their career (Jablin, 2001; Van Maanen, 1975). Messages communicated through family, educational institutions, part-time employment, peers and friends, and the media contribute to vocational anticipatory socialization (Jablin, 2001). Through the messages these sources communicate, individuals learn about potential career opportunities, as well as some of the specific communication skills they will need to be successful in future career endeavors. Research on vocational anticipatory socialization has increased recently with scholars looking at topics like academic interests related to science, technology, engineering, and math (Myers, Jahn, Gailliard, & Stoltzfus, 2011), and how adolescents conceptualize work (Levine & Hoffner, 2006). Often, this phase of socialization occurs as adolescents and communication skills are learned from parents, mentors, and teachers. (Information on how children and adolescents learn communication skills at these ages is discussed in preceding chapters.)

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Organizational anticipatory socialization After narrowing in on a career path and completing the required education, individuals enter the process of seeking information through organizational anticipatory socialization. In this phase, individuals use available sources of information to learn specifics about the organization. This stage happens much faster than the vocational process because decisions regarding which organization to join usually happen over a few days or weeks (Kramer, 2010). Information might be learned through recruitment procedures for the position (Breaugh & Starke, 2000), the interview process (Jablin & Krone, 1994), or through online sources (Berkelaar, 2013). Though there are fewer communication skills learned formally during this phase, individuals often learn self-presentation and persuasion skills through recruitment and interviews. During this time, both the potential employee and employer create expectations of one another to help in determining the potential for a correct job fit.

Organizational encounter Once employees are hired in an organization, they go through the socialization period of organizational encounter or entry as they join the organization (Kramer, 2010). During this time, individuals learn more precise communication skills that will be required to perform their daily tasks. This often occurs during employee training and orientation practices that train employees on specific workplace skills. In this stage there are specific communication skills that adults learn in order to be successful in their new career. Specifically, skills include how to appropriately express emotions (Morris & Feldman, 1996), correctly label workplace actions and objects (Jablin, 2001), and use media when communicating with coworkers (Donabedian, McKinnon, & Bruns, 1998). Based on their broad general use across organizations, Van Maanen and Schein (1979) proposed six dichotomous tactics that organizations use to influence newcomers: collective/individual, formal/informal, sequential/random, fixed/variable, serial/disjunctive, investiture/divestiture. Each of these tactics is not mutually exclusive, instead relying upon each other and being used in conjunction with each other through orientation and training programs to teach communication skills to new employees.

Intersections of Training and Socialization: Implications for the Development of Workplace Communication Skills In the organizational environment, training programs are one of the primary ways of socializing new employees, thus the intersection of these two bodies of literature forms naturally. In fact, according to Saks (1996), “Adjustment of newcomers is strongly related to the amount of training they feel they have received during so-

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cialization” (p. 446). If overall adjustment (measured by job satisfaction, organizational commitment, intentions to quit, and ability to cope) is increased through training of communication skills for the workplace, it appears that training has an impact on socialization. As socialization looks different at each of the stages (i.e., vocational anticipatory socialization, organizational anticipatory socialization, or organizational encounter), it is important to consider the role of training for workplace communication skills throughout the process. On-the-job training is not often associated with periods of vocational anticipatory socialization, but there are activities during this phase that help individuals learn the skills they might need for a particular career. One source for skills training is from part-time employment during adolescent years. Although some jobs are low-level service jobs, individuals who find a high-quality employer can gain access to great opportunities and communication skill development (Levine & Hoffner, 2006). In the part-time work environment, adolescents often develop social competencies and abilities to solve problems (Zimmer-Gembeck & Mortimer, 2006), which are communication skills that are important to individuals as they eventually enter the workforce. Further, through courses in high school and higher education, young adults begin to develop the necessary skills to become a competent worker in their future careers (Morreale et al., 2006). After individuals prepare themselves for the skills appropriate for their chosen vocational field, they begin to develop communication skills that are needed in the specific organization they will be joining through organizational socialization. As individuals go through this period where they are recruited, interviewed, and are researching information about the organization, there is typically very little skillsbased communication training available to them. In fact, Kramer (2010) mentions the pre-entry period is rarely studied because of the limited interactions between the organization and the newcomer when compared to the selection process and entry. Training literature, however, suggests an importance in the activities that occur before the employee begins formal training during orientation (Saks & Belcourt, 2006). Saks & Belcourt (2006) suggest if individuals’ future supervisors work with them to create goals and encourage participation in the initial training, it might improve their transfer of skills learned from training to the workplace. Additionally, any pre-training preparation can increase trainee self-efficacy for the program they are to attend (Tannenbaum & Yuki, 1992). Unfortunately, many organizations do not communicate many training-related messages with future employees during the period of organizational anticipatory socialization. The period during socialization when training is most often used and researched is during the stage of organizational encounter. In fact, training programs are one of the primary ways of socializing new employees (Jablin, 2001). Though research has demonstrated the importance of the organization in training newcomers (Ashforth et al., 2007; Saks, 1995), recent findings suggest the importance of newcomer behavior in socialization success (Ashforth, Sluss, & Saks, 2007). When

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newcomers are trained on workplace communication skills, satisfaction increases among those with whom they regularly communicate (Merckaert et al., 2015). Thus, training remains an important focus for research on the behaviors and attitudes of individuals as they engage in learning communication skills in the workplace.

Methods of Adult Learning: An Instructional Model Given the assumptions of adult learning theory, at the heart of the training and socialization processes is focusing on the needs of the learner. The Needs-Centered Training Model (Beebe et al., 2013; see Figure 1) depicts the various steps and processes of designing and presenting training. Each element of the model describes the methods of designing and implementing an adult learning instructional program. At the center of the model is a focus on the needs of both the organization and the individuals who are being trained.

Figure 1: The needs-centered training model focusing on trainee needs to drive every step of designing and delivering a training program for adults. From Beebe, S. A., Mottet, T. P., & Roach, K. D. (2013). Training and development: Communicating for success (2nd ed.). Boston, MA: Pearson.

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Analyze Organizational and Trainee Needs. All aspects of developing a training program, including developing a program that enhances communication skills and principles for adults, should be based on the needs of the organization and individual trainees. Conducting an effective needs assessment by using a

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variety of tools and methods is vital to ensuring that the training addresses the specific communication needs of those being trained. Analyze the Training Task. After identifying the learner’s needs, a comprehensive task analysis of the specific communication training skill should be conducted. A task analysis is a detailed, step-by-step listing of the specific activities that a trainee must perform in order to achieve the training goal. If the task analysis is extensive, the trainer should prioritize needs to determine the most important information required by the trainee. Develop Training Objectives. Objectives are precise statements that describe in specific, measurable, attainable, and observable terms, the desired training outcome. Here is a sample communication training objective for adults: At the end of the training session, trainees should be able to describe and accurately and appropriately perform the six-step process of active listening and paraphrasing a message, with at least 90 % accuracy. Organize Training Content. The training content is the curriculum that includes the core communication content (i.e., skills, terms, and principles) presented in the training session. The sequence of presenting training content could be organized chronologically (Step 1, Step 2, etc.), by complexity (from easy to more complex), or topically (natural divisions). Determine Training Methods. Methods are the strategies used by the trainer to present information and skills to a trainee. Methods range from more passive learner strategies, such as lecture or presenting material online, to more interactive learner techniques such as role-playing, interactive case study analysis, or simulations presented electronically or in real time. The ideal training methods for teaching a skill to adults follow these five instructional steps: Tell (such as through lecture, reading, Internet presentations); Show (by demonstrating how to perform the skill); Invite (by asking trainees to practice performing the new skill); Encourage (by providing positive reinforcement when the skill is performed correctly); Correct (by providing feedback, when appropriate, to indicate that the trainee is not performing the skill effectively or appropriately). Select Training Resources. Training resources include all of the material, handouts, training participant manuals, computer-generated slides, and computer hardware and software the trainer uses to implement the methods selected. Trainers need to consider the skill levels of the adults they are teaching to determine which methods are most appropriate for the specific audience. Complete Training Plans. The final step before presenting the training is to prepare a comprehensive written training lesson plan or facilitator guide that describes the methods, content, and materials as sequenced. Training plans serve as the overall training blueprint that summarizes what occurs moment to moment during a training session. Deliver Training. Training may be delivered in person, online, via written materials, or through a hybrid combination of training techniques. Effective training delivery adapts to the needs and learning style preferences of those learning.

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Assess the Training. At the conclusion of the session, the effectiveness and appropriateness of the training should be assessed. Using similar methods of assessing trainee needs, training assessment methods are designed to determine if the trainees mastered the training objectives and are able to implement the newly acquired skills in applied situations.

Online Learning by Employees Increasingly, more workplace training is presented online rather than face-to-face (ASTD, 2013; Miller, 2012). For example, in 2013, 38 % of training was delivered using technology (Association for Talent Development, 2014), and 72 % of compliance training was delivered online in 2012 (ASTD, 2013). Online learning should continue to focus on the individual needs of learners, yet often involves different strategies to engage learners compared with face-to-face learning. An increased number of instant and individualized assessment measures, along with briefer chunks of instructional content, are hallmarks of online learning methods (Rosenberg, 2000). Compared with face-to-face instruction, online learning results in the advantages of creating consistency across employees, reducing travel costs, and increasing accessibility (Derouin, Fritzsche, & Salas, 2005). Communication skill training can take many forms, including online lectures with live video feeds, multimedia and informational images, as well as interactive discussion boards. Although each of these methods might be enhanced by following basic principles for effective e-learning (Derouin et al., 2005), the specific online delivery method selected ultimately depends on the needs of the employees and how they learn best. When comparing e-training to traditional in-classroom learning, results have been mixed concerning effectiveness. Effectiveness of the online learning seems to be dependent on organizational culture, individual motivation, individual learning preferences, and the instructional setting (Mital, 2010; Tripathi, 2012). Further, employee attitudes toward technology have a significant effect on an employee’s intention to consider using e-training in the workplace (Yoo & Han, 2013). Thus, if employees do not like using technology in the workplace, they will likely not even try an e-training program if it is optional. When teaching communication skills, whether online or in face-to-face settings, it is important that individuals have the opportunity to practice the given skill (Beebe et al., 2013). E-training introduces a significant barrier in that it is often difficult for learners to practice interpersonal and group skills in an online environment and receive helpful, customized feedback about their skill attainment (Doo, 2006). In a study of trainees, Doo (2006) found less than half of trainees practiced communication skills when instructed to do so in an e-training environment. Attitudes, motivation, and opportunities to practice communication skills when training is presented online will continue to

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present trainers new challenges as they adapt to the changing landscape of technology.

Best Practices of Teaching Communication to Working Adults The National Communication Association (NCA) is a professional organization dedicated to promoting scholarship, teaching, and practice of communication as a discipline in the United States. The Training and Development Division of the NCA created a comprehensive list of best practices for individuals teaching communication to working adults (NCA, 2015). The list of best practices is extensive, consisting of a “multi-year effort involving thousands of possible topics and input from literature, government, practitioners, and scholars” (NCA, 2015, p. 1). The following twelve best practices were included in the NCA listing as recommendations to improve competency, accountability, and transparency in teaching communication competences to adults:

Maintain Transparency to Clients and Trainees 1.

Those involved in Training and Development professional activities should acknowledge a framework of best practices that provides structure for their training and consulting. 2. Trainers and consultants should have readily available standards to which their professional activities can be evaluated by participants. Language should include demonstrable benchmarks. 3. Trainers and consultants must abide by a documented code of ethics that is easily obtainable by clients and assessment groups.

Use Assessable Methods 4. Trainers and consultants must have identifiable deliverables that can be internally and externally assessed. 5. Trainers should be able to demonstrate expertise in training transfer. This is demonstrated by: a) acknowledging both strengths and weaknesses of transfer vehicles (e.g., lecture, role plays, simulations, social media etc.); and b) indicating a reasonably expected level of transfer that includes amount and duration.

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Demonstrate Technology Proficiency 6. Trainers and consultants must maintain proficiency in communication technologies used for delivering and executing deliverables.

Demonstrate Continued Professional Development 7.

Trainers and consultants subject and performance competencies must be acquired and maintained through recognized routine professional development activities. These must be readily available to clients and trainees.

Develop and Maintain Organizational Expertise 8. Organizational consultants must have a working knowledge of organizational communication catalysts including but not limited to current thinking on: a) leadership, b) management, and c) organizational communication. 9. Organizational consultants must have a working knowledge of employee catalysts including but not limited to current thinking on: a) career development, b) human resources, c) innovativeness, and d) selection and appraisal.

Demonstrate Effective and Appropriate Instructional Design Competence 10. Trainers and consultants should recognize different learning styles and their corresponding instructional methods including but not limited to: a) active/ passive learning, b) andragogy/pedagogy, c) different kinds of learners and learning styles (e.g. visual, kinesthetic, auditory), and d) generational learning differences. 11. Trainers and consultants must be able to produce and design instruction documentation that indicates their ability to: a) develop a training plan; b) develop training goals and objectives; c) use appropriate training methods and techniques; d) use and apply training benchmarks; and e) effectively and appropriately assess training.

Demonstrate Communication Proficiency 12. Trainers and consultants should be skilled in: a) presentation techniques for a range of speaking contexts and experiences; b) speaker credibility design and assessment; c) interpersonal communication techniques and theories; d) orga-

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nizational culture; and e) group communication techniques and strategies (consisting of group decision making, problem solving, and groups’ advantages and disadvantages).

Conclusion Communication is ubiquitous. It is estimated that most people spend between 80 and 90 percent of their waking hours communicating with others (Klemmer & Snyder, 1972). Thus, it is not surprising that the use of effective communication skills in the workplace is among the most coveted competencies on the planet. Several surveys of U.S. personnel directors and career counselors have consistently reported that having effective oral communication (speaking) skills is the single most important factor that influences obtaining employment (Hansen & Hansen, 2015; Lukenbaugh & Gray, 2010 Windsor et al., 1997). A 2013 survey of employers by the American Association of Colleges and Universities (AACU) revealed that communication skills, including information literacy, teamwork and oral communication, were highly valued by employers. Warren Buffet, one of the richest persons on earth, once announced to MBA students at his alma mater, Columbia University, that he would offer $ 100,000 to any student in return for 10 percent of his or her future earnings. To make a point about the importance of studying communication, he then announced that if a student would take a communication class, he would increase his offer to $ 150,000. Buffet said taking a communication course was one of the best investments he ever made (Crippen, 2009). In this chapter we identified the theoretical and practical applications of teaching communication competencies and concepts to working adults. Theoretical models from the fields of Education, Social Psychology, and Communication Studies contribute to the growing body of literature focusing on teaching communication skills to adults. Contemporary research suggests that adults have different learning approaches and styles than do younger learners. Malcolm Knowles and his colleagues (2015) have articulated principles of adult learning that describe how working adults prefer to learn communication skills. Specifically, adult learners (1) prefer to understand why they are learning what they learn, (2) bring their lifetime of experience to what they learn, (3) are usually self-motivated, (4) are more self-reflexive learners, and (5) learn best by focusing on problems. In addition to a general preference for learning, adult learners vary in their learning styles based on their age (Howe & Strauss, 2000) as well as general differences in their preference (e.g., divergent, assimilation, convergent and accommodation) for learning concepts and skills (Kolb, 1999). Communication skills and competencies, in contrast to communication theory and concepts, are emphasized when teaching adult learners about communication. Consequently, training instructional models (that emphasize the behavioral learn-

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ing domain), rather than educational models (that emphasize the cognitive learning domain), provide a framework for developing and implementing adult learning approaches. Teaching communication skills to adult learners should emphasize (1) doing rather than knowing, (2) achieving a certain level of communication skill mastery, (3) a “closed” system of providing a comprehensive set of skills to be mastered, (4) performing specific tasks, and (5) focusing on a comprehensive set of skills required to perform a specific task. Often, adults learn the skills they need for the workplace during their socialization with the organization (Jablin, 2001; Kramer, 2010). Socialization includes phases of vocational anticipatory socialization, organizational anticipatory socialization, and organizational encounter (Kramer, 2010). In each of these stages individuals learn various communication skills that are important in the workplace. Organizational training and orientation is one of the prominent methods used by organizations to teach the communication skills to be used in a specific career. Based on the Needs-Centered Training Model (Beebe et al., 2013), providing communication training to working adults is anchored in identifying competencies that are based on the organizational and individual trainee needs. Additional steps in the training model include analyzing the training task, developing training objectives, organizing training content, determining training methods, selecting training resources, developing training plans, delivering the training and assessing the training. These procedures are used in both face-to-face and online training methods. Teaching communication skills to adults requires a set of competencies that differs from pedagogical models. Using the best practices proposed by the Training and Development Division of the National Communication Association (NCA, 2015), individuals can gather a better idea of how to best teach communication skills to adults. These best practices emphasize the importance of ethics through maintaining transparency with trainees, using methods that can be assessed for success and transfer to the workplace, operating technology proficiently, maintaining an expertise in organizational operations, and designing appropriate lessons while becoming proficient in the skills they are teaching. Training working adults in communication skills is often attempted, yet many times is inadequately executed. This might be because the instructor does not fully apply the assumptions of adult learning theory (Knowles et al., 2015), nor follow the appropriate methods of training adults (Beebe et al., 2013), or they simply are not implementing the best practices of teaching communication to adults (NCA, 2015). In this chapter, we reviewed the importance of teaching communication skills to adults and presented theory, methods, and applications to effectively teach adult learners. Through advances in the way communication skills and concepts are taught to working adults, using both theory and applying appropriate strategies presented in this chapter, professional and personal communication can be enhanced.

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28 Assessment of College-Level Communication Programs Abstract: When done well, assessment can be a powerful force for positive change in the educational process. This chapter details the components of effective assessment of communication programs. Beginning with the background of assessment and its role and purpose, the chapter describes the place of assessment in student learning and its goal of improving the educational product delivered to students. Assessment is also at times confused with similar concepts, so the chapter compares and contrasts accreditation, accountability, and program review with assessment. The chapter then covers the tools and essential steps in developing an effective assessment. As communication has unique aspects not found in other disciplines, the chapter addresses these unique dimensions and gives advice on factoring them into the assessment process. Each of the typical assessment tools is described along with the issues of validity, reliability, and bias. Finally, the chapter describes the challenges to effective assessment including faculty resistance. The information in this chapter can help departments develop an assessment program that improves the quality of instruction they deliver to students. Keywords: assessment, accountability, accreditation, program review, faculty resistance, administration, student outcomes

The assessment movement was born in the middle 1970s and is still a key component of education systems from the pre-school to the university. Though this fact may dismay some faculty members who resist or merely tolerate assessment efforts, the assessment movement has proved to be a positive force within higher education. The assessment movement was born out of the desire to develop databased answers to such questions as “Are our students learning what we want them to learn?” and “Can we provide evidence to that effect?” These questions are basic to the teaching-learning process, but prior to the 1970s had not often been addressed in any systematic manner. In the decades that followed, various governing bodies and accreditation organizations began calling for answers to these questions. For example, in 1990, the National Governor’s Association asserted that performing competent assessment required defining what students need to know, determining whether they know it, and utilizing accurate, comparable, appropriate, and constructive measurements (Chesebro, 1990). Gradually, faculty members in higher education became aware of the significance of assessment and its relationship to accreditation, state legislatures, and other sources of accountability. Campuses received pressure from several directions, challenging (and requiring) them

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to look carefully at student learning, articulate measurable learning objectives, set high standards for accomplishment, and assess whether students have met those standards (Palomba & Banta, 1999). These pressures have not abated in the intervening years (Fain, 2015). In this context, the assessment of communication programs and courses was developed and has matured over the past four decades. The National Communication Association (NCA) has actively developed a national assessment agenda since 1970. The Speech Communication Association Task Force on Assessment and Testing was formed in 1978 and charged with gathering, analyzing, and disseminating information about the testing of speech communication skills (Backlund & Morreale, 1994). This task force has evolved into the Communication Assessment Division. The Division’s work includes activities such as defining communication skills and competency, publishing summaries of assessment procedures and instruments, publishing standards for effective oral communication programs, and developing guidelines for program review (Backlund & Morreale, 1994). During this time, assessment in communication developed two strands: assessment of student learning, and assessment of the overall communication program. The former focuses on the degree to which students in communication programs of instruction learn what faculty want them to learn, and the latter focuses on overall communication program assessment that requires departmental members to examine curriculum, student educational experiences, and the amount of student learning that occurred (Morreale, Brooks, Berko, & Cooke, 1994). Given this background, this chapter elaborates on the main idea that assessment is and should be an integral component of an effective program of communication education. This chapter will cover the role and purpose of assessment in the educational process, including developing an effective communication assessment program, selecting appropriate tools for assessment, overcoming challenges to effective assessment, and finally, applying assessment results to improve the educational experience of students.

Role and Purpose of Assessment The Role of Assessment in Education Given the fact that assessment has been a part of higher education for over 40 years, one can reasonably ask, “What are current assessment trends?” and more importantly, “Has assessment produced positive results?” In response to the first question, Morreale, Backlund, Hay, and Moore (2011), in their article Assessment of Oral Communication: A Major Review of the Historical Development and Trends in the Movement from 1975 to 2009, charted the arc of the assessment movement over that time period in United States higher education and in the Communication disci-

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pline. This report identified two important trends: First, although assessment publications and convention papers peaked in the 1990s, research and writing about assessment has maintained steady interest within our discipline. The authors suggest this is due to the fact that assessment has shown its value and that governing bodies in higher education (legislatures, accrediting commissions, institution administration, etc.) still want evidence educational efforts impact student learning. Second, the majority of the articles reviewed describe assessment practices, but few present evidence of its effects. This is partly due to the inability of institutions to run true experiments on assessment and the difficulties involved in developing comparable data between institutions. Institutions are certainly compared at times by legislatures, but the majority of these comparisons are not highly defensible methodologically. Nevertheless, these issues have not discouraged wide-spread interest in assessment. More recent sources such as Griffin and Care’s Assessment and Teaching of 21 st Century Skills (2015), Astin and Antonio’s Assessment for Excellence: The Philosophy and Practice of Assessment and Evaluation in Higher Education (2012), and Cox, Imrie, and Miller’s Student Assessment in Higher Education: A Handbook for Assessing Performance (2013) are noteworthy for two reasons. First, the advice given to higher education practitioners has not appreciably changed in the past decades. Good practices in assessment are still good practices. Next, Astin and Antonio ask the question, “What has all this effort produced?” They report that positive results related to student learning and faculty satisfaction can be shown, but only where faculty and administrators have taken it seriously and treated assessment systematically. However, the evidence is more anecdotal than systematic, an observation that echoes Morreale et al.’s (2011) findings. From this brief review, it can be concluded that assessment has lingering methodological issues but is no passing fad, as it does make good academic sense. Over the years, a primary force behind the assessment movement has been the desire for more accountability in education. Legislatures, accrediting bodies, state boards of education, and internal review processes all want to know if the education our students are receiving is having the desired effect. While the form of the questions and requirements posed by these groups may vary, they seem to come down to six fundamental questions (Morreale & Backlund, 1998) that help position assessment in the overall educational endeavor: 1. Who are you, and why do you exist (Mission)? 2. What do you want to accomplish (Goals and Objectives)? 3. What procedures will you use to determine if the goals/objectives have been met (Assessment)? 4. What are the results of your assessment (Analysis)? 5. What changes will you make to your goals/objectives/outcomes/processes based on these results (Application of Results)? 6. What evidence do you have that this is a continuous cycle (Continuous Improvement)?

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These questions form the basis for virtually all accountability and assessment efforts and provide a useful starting point in developing an effective assessment program. As can be seen from this list, assessment is an integral part of an overall process of educational program definition, development, execution, and review. These processes make good academic sense. Effectively answering these questions provides advantages for students, faculty, and departments for a number of reasons. First, answering the questions results in a better education for students. When faculty have a clear idea of their institution’s mission (and you may be surprised how many different conceptions of “why we exist” are present on the average college campus), faculty are more able to act in concert with each other to meet the mission of the school. When schools, departments, and faculty can clearly describe their educational outcomes, everyone has a much better sense of what students are to learn. This leads to more effectively designed educational programs and strategies. Next, answering the questions results in a better informed faculty. One clear but unintended effect of the assessment movement has been increased conversations and coordination among faculty and their colleagues. In the past (and this is still true for some colleagues), faculty members taught their classes with little or no regular conversation with faculty in the same department. The assessment movement has spawned a great number of conversations between previously separate individuals. Some of these conversations were uncomfortable as differences between faculty members were uncovered, but at least the differences were brought out in the open for discussion. Last, answering the questions results in a better institution. All of us in education are involved in a process that is explainable and defensible. Educational institutions that have answered these questions are far better prepared to meet the demands of accrediting bodies, legislatures, and other stakeholder groups. To summarize, it can be said that assessment reveals how we know what we know. Assessment provides the ability to develop data-based evidence that will show our students, ourselves, and our stakeholders that our educational programs are helping students learn what we want them to learn; and if we conscientiously apply the results that assessment provides, we can continually monitor and improve that endeavor.

Common Terminology Related to Educational Assessment Assessment is not the only word used in regard to educational analysis and improvement. Accreditation, accountability, and program review are also processes

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by which an institution, department, or course of study may be analyzed for effectiveness. For example, a primary issue regarding the purpose of assessment rests in the question, “Are we testing the student, or are we testing the institution (or department/unit)?” These are two clearly different purposes for assessment and constitute a fundamental question for any state and/or institution that is contemplating an assessment program related to planning.

Accreditation Regional accreditation is the bedrock of American higher education. No higher education institution can have access to any federal funds, including financial aid, without being regionally accredited. Six regional accrediting commissions that operate under the authority of the U.S. Department of Education govern the accreditation process. Each accrediting commission has its own accreditation standards, yet all include forms of the six questions posed earlier in this chapter. The primary distinction between accreditation and assessment is one of focus. Assessment is directly related to the evaluation of the learning process. Accreditation evaluates the entire institution, including the assessment of educational programs (undergraduate and graduate), but also its mission and goals, finances, physical facilities, administration, library, and all other aspects of the institution. Assessment is usually seen as a subset of the overall accreditation process. Accreditation is an externally driven process – governed by a regional accrediting commission. Assessment is usually an internally developed and managed process. Accreditation standards require that assessment be done on a campus but do not dictate how the institution develops and manages that process.

Accountability Although the terms assessment and accountability are often used interchangeably, they have important differences. In general, when educators assess their own performance, it is assessment; when others assess their performance, it is accountability. That is, assessment is a set of initiatives to monitor the results of our actions and improve ourselves; accountability is a set of initiatives others take to monitor the results of our actions, and to penalize or reward us based on the outcomes. Ideally, assessment and accountability work in concert, but the reality can be different. Resources can be given or withheld based on accountability results. This reward/threat causes some individuals to shade the results to favor a positive outcome. It also causes some faculty and administrators to distrust the process, sabotage it, or ignore it (sometimes all three!). Assessment procedures that serve only the purpose of improving instruction are rare, but they do exist. In these circum-

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stances, faculty are less reluctant to become involved; but when accountability is a factor, problems with accuracy do arise.

Program Review Program review is similar to accreditation in that it involves analysis of all aspects of a given program. Most frequently in higher education, the program being reviewed is an individual department (such as a Communication department). There are situations in which the program under review is a specific academic program, such as an undergraduate major in Communication Studies. This might occur in a department that has multiple majors such as a Communication department that includes a Communication Studies major, a Journalism major, and a Public Relations major. Each of the three programs might be reviewed separately, or they might be reviewed as part of the overall program review of the department. The National Communication Association has developed a set of guidelines for program review that can be found on the NCA website (www.natcom.org). These guidelines include the following areas: (1) Missions, Goals, and Learning Outcomes; (2) Administration and Governance; (3) Resources and Personnel; (4) Faculty and Professional Staff; (5) Hiring and Evaluation of Faculty, Promotion and Tenure; (6) Curriculum; and (7) Student Advising (see Backlund et al., 2011). The previous brief review of the different types of evaluations applied to analyzing the higher educational process may help the reader separate the processes from each other. The four processes are similar to each other, but each has a specific purpose. As faculty and administrators contemplate educational process analysis, they would be well served to select the appropriate process for the given purpose.

Terminology Assessment, like other specialized areas, has generated its own terminology. Knowing the purpose of analysis can help one select the most appropriate method, and knowing the terms of assessment can help one more effectively plan and execute an assessment program. Following are some of the most important terms related to assessment (adapted from Backlund, Detwiler, Arneson, & Danielson, 2010). – Assessment. The systematic process of determining educational objectives, gathering, using, and analyzing information about student learning outcomes to make decisions about programs, individual student progress, or accountability. – Benchmark. A criterion-referenced, objective performance definition that is used for comparative purposes. A program can use its own data as a baseline

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benchmark against which to compare future performance. It can also use data from another program as a benchmark. Direct assessment. Direct measures of student leaning require students to display their knowledge and skills as they respond to the instrument itself. Objective tests, essays, presentations, and classroom assignments all meet this criterion. Evaluation. This term broadly covers all potential investigations, with formative or summative conclusions, about institutional functioning. It may include assessment of learning, but it might also include non-learning-centered investigations (e.g., satisfaction with recreational facilities). Formative assessment. An assessment used for improvement (individual or program level) rather than for making final decisions or for accountability. Formative assessments are also used to provide feedback to improve teaching, learning, and curricula, and to identify students’ strengths and weaknesses. Indirect assessment. Indirect methods such as surveys and interviews ask students to reflect on their learning rather than to demonstrate it. Measurement. The systematic investigation of people’s attributes. Norm. An interpretation of scores on a measure that focuses on the rank ordering of students – not their performance – in relation to criteria. Objectives. Specific knowledge, skills, or attitudes that students are expected to achieve through their college experience; expected or intended student outcomes. Outcomes. Results of instruction, i.e., the specific knowledge, skills, or developmental attributes that students actually develop through their college experience; assessment results. Performance-based assessment. Assessment technique involving the gathering of data though systematic observation of a behavior or process, and then evaluating that data based on a clearly articulated set of performance criteria to serve as the basis for evaluative judgments. Rubric. A scoring tool that lists the criteria for a piece of work, or “what counts” (e.g., purpose, organization, and mechanics are often what count in a piece of writing); it also articulates gradations of quality for each criterion, from excellent to poor. Summative assessment. A sum total or final product measure of achievement at the end of an instructional unit or course of study. Value-added. The effects educational providers have had on students during their programs of study. The impact of participating in higher education on student learning and development above that which would have occurred through natural maturation, usually measured as longitudinal change or difference between pretest and posttest.

These terms form the core vocabulary of assessment and are necessary to the effective understanding and development of an assessment program.

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Developing an Assessment Program An effective assessment program is not easy to develop, nor is it guaranteed to gain wide acceptance for the program. The major sources of resistance to assessment will be described in a later section, but a significant portion of resistance can be overcome with a valid and methodologically defensible assessment program. This section describes the components of such a program. Ideally, when such a program is present, everyone sees more benefits than costs. Developing such a system is based on four dimensions. 1. Integration. Assessment needs to be integrated into the overall planning and budget allocation process of the institution. Though this seems like a natural link, some individuals (both faculty and administrators) have viewed assessment as something disconnected from the rest of the university’s processes. The administration needs to make clear the links between strategic planning, budget allocations, curriculum improvement, and the assessment process. If those links are present and well understood, then faculty are more likely to participate; and if these links are evident and systematically followed, the likelihood of faculty seeing little benefit or use for the results will be minimized. 2. Promotion. Another essential dimension is promoting assessment as a means to foster collegiality and link faculty members together. It is entirely possible for a faculty member to live out a professional career relatively separated from his or her colleagues. One can become involved in research, students, and specific courses, and spend very little time working with or even talking to colleagues in the same department – let alone faculty from other departments. Some faculty prefer it this way; others find their work isolating. While the assessment process will not eliminate feelings of isolation, it can and has served as a vehicle for greater faculty-to-faculty communication. Assessment in the department almost requires faculty to talk about curriculum objectives, to see how courses fit with each other, and to closely examine the overall purposes of their instructional programs. Such collaboration is almost always beneficial. 3. Valuation. Another essential dimension is that assessment be valued and useful for students as the ultimate end-users. One Department of Communication Studies developed an assessment program that included both entry and exit assessment, portfolio development, and portfolio defense. Students strongly valued this experience. They reported that the assessment process made departmental learning expectations very clear and that they would graduate with a well-defined and useful knowledge/skill base. More importantly, they felt that the department truly cared about their education and was doing its best to insure that its students were effectively taught. When the department began the assessment process, they had not foreseen this as an outcome, but they certainly welcomed it. The student response served to reinforce the faculty in their efforts. The student response also led some initially resistant faculty to

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become more enthusiastic about assessment. Ideally, assessment does focus on student learning with the basic goal of helping the department deliver the best possible education to its students. If this truly is the focus, then students will recognize that and respond accordingly. 4. Conclusion. Assessment extends the learning process to its natural conclusion. Faculty members routinely assess student learning with various classroom assignments, tests, and papers. An effective in-class assessment process is part of an overall instructional program that includes well-defined instructional objectives, teaching methods/materials/exercises that develop student learning of those objectives, a testing program that assesses student learning related to the objectives, and a feedback process that lets the students know their progress. Thus, it can be said that the teaching-learning process is truncated or incomplete unless it extends through to meaningful assessment at the end. These four essential dimensions form the basis for an assessment program and provide a way of making assessment more approachable for faculty and administrators (Morreale and Backlund, 1996). Next, as the program is developed, it should consist of five basic components as described below. 1. Educational Outcomes. The first step is for the department to identify the educational (student learning) outcomes of the department’s degree program(s). Many departments have already done so. Educational outcomes consist of the skills, knowledge/information, values/attitudes/perspectives, and behaviors that graduates are expected to possess as a result of having completed the degree program. Developing this list can be an interesting and illuminating process. 2. Expected Results. The expected result is the key component in the assessment equation. It is the bridge between the outcomes and the assessment method. An example of an expected result is, “Seventy-five percent of our students will be able to identify correctly the three purposes of a speech introduction.” 3. Assessment Methods. These are the methods by which the faculty gathers the data about the expected results. There are a wide range of methods including written tests, performance tests, portfolios, capstone courses, final projects, and the like. It is the job of the faculty to select the method that will most closely match their expected results. 4. Observed results. After the assessment procedure has been administered, the achieved results are compared to the expected results. This usually gives the faculty something to talk about and a basis for modifying the curriculum, determining which classes meet which outcomes, and seeing where holes and overlaps exist in the course work. The general goal is for the observed results to match the expected results. 5. Application of results. This is the step that completes the loop and ideally informs possible changes to the educational outcomes assessed. However, if

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there is no step that needs development, this concludes the assessment process. In sum, one determines the overall learning objectives for a course or a program and develops a curriculum based on that plan. Appropriate evaluation tools are selected to gather information regarding the context and the actual student learning. The next step is to collect and manage the vital information yielded by the instruments. Finally, the results are analyzed to see what (if any) changes need to be made in the educational curriculum.

Communication Assessment The four dimensions and five components of assessment can and should be applied to the evaluation of communication programs and degrees of study. It is not the purpose of this chapter to detail the concept of communication competence, the essential outcome of most communication training, but this outcome can be evaluated by examining three aspects of communication learning: the communicator’s affect toward communication, cognitive development, and skill development (Morreale, Spitzberg, & Barge, 2000). The affective domain of learning examines students’ attitudes and feelings regarding their cognition and skills in a content area. Cognitive assessment examines their knowledge and understanding of the content under consideration (Neer & Aitken, 1997; Rubin, 1994). Skills assessment focuses on their behavioral development in a content area (Lane, 1998). Cognitive and skills development are related – students need knowledge (theory) to undergird a skilled, appropriate performance. This distinction is important. Several volumes discuss various approaches to examining communication competence (Christ, 1994; Morreale & Backlund, 1996; Morreale et al., 1994; Morreale et al., 2000). The literature includes information related to the areas noted above as well as competencies in the areas of public speaking, interpersonal communication, listening, intercultural communication, group communication, and organizational communication. Assessing communication learning is unique in at least three ways. First, in comparing oral communication skill assessment with assessment in other academic areas, Mead (1982) asserted that oral communication assessment must be assessed with performance measures, as it does not make much sense to solely assess students’ knowledge about communication. Many disciplines use methods such as aptitude tests, standardized achievement tests, and objective and subjective paper-and-pencil tests of disciplinary content. These methods do work for communication to some extent when assessing cognitive and affective learning outcomes, but it is also important to know what students can do with communication knowledge. The process for examining oral communication is unique among academic areas. Clear, behavioral terms need to be defined for both nonverbal and

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verbal aspects of communication (such as the amount of eye contact and desired language patterns needed in a given situation). Criteria of competence that include cultural and situational differences can also be identified, as a communication behavior may be “right” in one situation and not in another. If developed effectively, assessment methods can work in a variety of situations with a variety of raters. Second, the assessment of communication performance has certain limits that are not as relevant in other subject areas. Communication is an interactive process that occurs in particular types of situations, like interpersonal conversations, small groups, and speaking publicly. Thus, what is right or wrong communication behavior is generally based on perceptions of the shared situation or context, with more than one right or appropriate answer or action to be taken. Thus, the evaluation of a student’s communication competence may depend on criteria that are culturally, situationally, and contextually specific. These factors make the assessment of communication more difficult than in some other subjects, but not impossible. Finally, another issue in communication assessment is the ambiguous definitional nature of some communication skill variables. One excellent example is listening. Listening is an important skill, yet researchers have disagreed about virtually every aspect of the listening process – definition, dimensions, methods of assessment, and methods of improving listening ability. Thus, validity is one of the greatest difficulties posed by listening tests. Because there is no agreement about what listening is, researchers cannot be certain that listening tests actually measure listening. This is not to say that tests of listening are useless. They are highly useful, but the key is the match between the objectives and the test. If the listening (and other communication) objectives are clearly defined, then a listening test can be selected that assesses those objectives.

Aligning assessment with student learning outcomes and classroom assignments As noted above, assessment is a natural extension of the learning process. The classroom learning process generally consists of four components – educational outcomes, development of course content based on those objectives, classroom activities and lectures to teach those outcomes, and testing (assessment) of student acquisition of the objectives. Faculty already assesses student learning with various classroom assignments, tests, papers, and the like. Thus an effective in-class assessment process is part of an overall instructional program and ideally links all of the courses in a particular program (major) to each other. The in-class instructional model should mirror the department’s overall instructional efforts. Curriculum objectives can be developed for each major the department offers, faculty can discuss and decide upon the best teaching methodologies to support those objectives, the assessment program can be directly tied to both the objectives and the

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methods, and the results can be used for overall quality improvement. By following this model, assessment truly becomes an extension of the teaching and learning process. Generally, once faculty see it integrated in this fashion, resistance tends to fade and acceptance improves. If all concerned truly see that the assessment results are used to improve the educational program and the educational experience of students, then an assessment program will serve the purpose for which it was designed.

Tools of Oral Communication Assessment A number of different procedures can be used to assess oral communication behavior. In fact, the wide range of communication assessment student learning outcomes can sometimes confuse the selection of assessment tools. Possible outcomes to be tested include knowledge outcomes (general as well as specific), skills outcomes (basic, higher-order cognitive, knowledge building, occupational), attitudes and values outcomes, and behavioral outcomes. All these purposes can be viewed as important, but a single program cannot assess them all (Ewell, l987). Because assessment usually involves both knowledge about and skill in the particular behavior, the most common communication procedures vary somewhat from the procedures found in most other academic subjects. The most common procedures used in assessing communication are standardized tests, self-report instruments, written tests, interviews, performance-rating scales, and program review procedures. As performance ratings scales are the most commonly used in communication, they will be described in greater detail.

Local and Standardized Tests The recommended type of assessment procedure has changed considerably in recent years. In the early 1980s, the primary goal was to use standardized tests, the advantages of which include the following: (a) a high level of technical development, (b) contemporary expert view of field, and (c) ease and readiness of use. Disadvantages include the following: (a) narrow focus of the tests, (b) questionable student motivation, (c) lack of faculty ownership, and perhaps most importantly, (d) not always well matched to the school’s goals and objectives. In spite of the disadvantages, many commercial tests continue to be in use. A variety of tests developed by companies such as ACT and the College Board were and are being used to assess students’ knowledge and skill. These standardized tests allowed for comparison to other institutions and to national norms with the goal of determining what changes need to be made in the curriculum. The National Communication Association attempted to follow this line of reasoning by supporting the development of assessment instruments designed to be

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used as standardized tests. The first was Rubin’s Communication Competency Assessment Instrument (Rubin, 1985), Similar instruments such as The Competent Speaker (Morreale, Moore, Taylor, Surges-Tatum, & Hulbert-Johnson, 1993) and the Conversation Skills Rating Scale (Spitzberg, 1995) were developed with the same goal. Though each of these instruments has seen wide use, none has achieved the intent of standardized tests – to allow for general comparisons across institutions. Locally produced instruments have virtually the opposite advantages and disadvantages of standardized tests. They can be inexpensive, easily adapted to the specific learning outcomes of the department or institution, and applied to a specific student population; moreover, faculty are more likely to be involved in this testing method. However, validity and reliability issues can be significant, and results are not usually generalizable to other contexts. Nevertheless, the trend seems to be to use more locally produced tools, as faculty and administrators want to be able to be very precise about focusing on what is locally taught and how it is assessed. Most Communication departments have developed different types of local instruments to track student progress and knowledge/skill gain.

Self-Report Instruments Self-report instruments are particularly useful in gathering attitudinal and affective information about how students view communicative behavior, whether it is their own, their professor’s, or perhaps a department’s. Obviously, self-report scales do not assess skills directly, but they can provide much valuable information about a student’s attitude toward various types of communicative situations. Students may not respond truthfully to these scales, and care may need to be taken to insure reliable responses. Student self-report scales are particularly useful in determining the quality of an instructional program. Though student input is certainly not the only source in program review, students can give important information on factors such as (a) their own increased knowledge and comprehension, (b) their own changed motivation to subject matter and to learning, (c) their perceptions of teaching style indicators, and (d) their perception of the match between course material and testing. These are useful pieces of information in any program (or personal) evaluation. However, students are not in a position to comment on items such as (a) quality of academic content, (b) justification for course content against eventual needs of the student and society, (c) quality of test construction, (d) professionalism of professor towards teaching, and (e) evidence of professor’s out-ofclass, teaching-related activities (Backlund, 1993). Used appropriately, student selfreport is a valuable tool in any assessment procedure. A key in this type of information gathering is the perception on the part of the students that their opinions matter. Properly used, self-report scales can generate valuable information about student achievement and about program quality.

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Oral Interviews and Focus Groups Oral interviews are not used extensively as they are very time-consuming, but they can be very useful in testing certain types of skills. For example, the state of Massachusetts used a one-on-one interview between teacher and individual students to rate speaking skill. If there are enough well-trained raters, this procedures can work quite well, but the key to success is the reliability of raters. Face-to-face contact between student and rater allows the rater to sample the student’s ability directly. However, the interview is a contrived situation, it causes most students to experience a higher than normal level of anxiety, the procedure is quite timeconsuming, and its reliability is hard to establish.

Performance Rating Scales Performance rating scales form the bulk of communication skill assessment instruments. Performance tests are generally defined as those that require the student to apply previously acquired knowledge and/or skills to complete some performance task. A real-world or simulated exercise is presented, eliciting an original response by the student, which is observed and evaluated by the teacher. Performance tests have four important characteristics (Stiggins, Backlund, & Bridgeford, 1985). First, students are called upon to apply the skills and knowledge they have learned. Second, performance involves completion of a pre-specified task according to criteria in the context of real or simulated assessment exercises. Third, whatever task or product is required by the exercise, it must be observable and measurable. Fourth, the performance must be directly observed and rated by a trained, qualified judge. There is a continuum of performance rating instruments. On one end are obtrusive procedures that ask a student to stand and speak (or perform in some way) and then rates the student’s performance on specific criteria. Rating forms and the skills evaluated vary, but these are easy to use and construct, and they can be applied to just about every communication context. They can be constructed to fit most communication educational objectives, they make feedback to students relatively easy to give, and they can be easily constructed to fit the criteria and objectives developed. Nevertheless, this method of assessment has some disadvantages: The students being rated almost always feel some anxiety, reliability is hard to achieve, and in many cases only one student can be rated at a time. Unobtrusive rating scales occupy the other end of the continuum. A rater uses these scales, but students are unaware that they are being rated. Teachers can use such scales in a classroom setting during or after a class session to rate a student’s informal or conversational communicative behavior. This method has several advantages: A large number of students can be rated in a relatively short period of time; the speaking sample rated is natural, not made up or contrived; the method

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causes little anxiety; and the rating scale can be constructed to fit most speaking educational objectives. However, reliability is hard to establish, and the type of communication behavior desired does not always appear naturally. Communication educators have been using various forms of performance testing for years, particularly in public speaking ratings. In theory, performance testing gives an excellent opportunity to reduce potential bias and other problems. For example, unlike traditional paper and pencil tests, performance procedures have far greater face validity, that is, the behaviors called for closely approximate the array of communication behaviors under examination. For example, in a performance assessment of speaking skills, a sample of actual behavior is far more likely to predict success in future speaking contexts than is a response to a multiplechoice question. In effect, the logical link between a sample of behavior and the criterion (future performance) seems stronger for the performance test than the logical link between objective paper and pencil test score (i.e., selecting the correct response to test items) and future performance. In addition, performance-based measures, which can be conducted unobtrusively, present the possibility of reducing evaluation anxiety. These can be very useful strategies in assessing communication skills in the classroom. Given the focus in communication classes on performance of one type or another, performance assessment is an obvious and useful tool in gathering assessment data about student education acquisition.

Direct and Indirect Assessment Methods As a department faculty consider different data gathering methods, it may be useful to consider both direct and indirect methods of data gathering. Direct methods of assessment include a wide range of options. Pre- and post-testing (courses, majors, student experiences) with both self-report and observational instruments can chart student change in all three areas of learning – cognitive, affective, and psychomotor. Course-embedded evaluation of student learning (classroom assignments) is a traditional and time-honored way assessing student acquisition of course learning objectives. In addition, capstone courses can be used as a means of end-of-program assessment of student learning when they include tests of student information learning over the course of the major, student performance and behavioral change, and student changes in affective variables such as confidence, apprehension, and efficacy. Internships can be assessed as a means of student application of course learning to a professional environment. Portfolios can be used both as a compilation and a summary of the work students have done over the course of their studies. Juried review of student work usually brings in outside evaluators to judge student work. This method is common in the arts (e.g., music, art, theater), but it can be used with communication performance as well. Standardized national exams and locally developed tests can also be used to directly assess student cogni-

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tive knowledge of particular areas of communication information. These can most effectively be used to assess student knowledge acquisition in areas such as communication theory, rhetoric, and other knowledge-based dimensions of communication. The advantages of direct assessment are many – including designing (or adopting) a procedure that focuses specifically on the student learning outcome under study. Disadvantages include possible time taken, expense, and the potential that the student respondent may not perform accurately dues to apprehension, test fatigue, or other factors. Indirect methods of assessment include a number of data-gathering techniques. Exit interviews are used widely in academic departments to gather qualitative information about the student experience in an academic program. Alumni surveys can gather former student opinion about their academic program and its impact on their professional lives. Employer survey data can assess the ability of a department’s students to perform the needed job competencies. Graduation rates can be used to determine whether or not a department’s students are graduating at a rate comparable to similar departments. Retention/transfer student analysis can provide information on how well a department does at attracting and keeping its students. External expert evaluation (advisory committees, accreditation evaluators, or program review evaluators) can provide an outside opinion on a department’s effectiveness. Job placement data can provide comparisons to other departments/majors in success rates of students’ job placement. Student attitude/ perception surveys can be the best method of gathering student affective changes for the major. In sum, indirect methods of assessment can provide rich data about students and a program. Care must be taken in how the data are gathered and interpreted, but done effectively, these methods can be invaluable in providing feedback.

Challenges to Effective Assessment Assessment, of course, is not without its challenges. A casual review of most universities reveals that less than half of American higher education institutions have an effective, embraced, and well-used assessment program. To examine the question of why some institutions are successful at assessment and others are not, this section reviews some of the primary challenges to assessment and suggests methods of meeting those challenges.

Faculty Resistance It may be obvious to say that some faculty have not been enthusiastic adopters of the assessment of student learning programs. The reasons are varied and include the fact that few have professional educational training and thus find the subject

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of objectives, instruments, and curriculum stranding to be a bit like a foreign language. Others find the task of assessment time-consuming and not related to the tasks one must do in order to be considered for tenure and promotion. Some faculty have philosophical resistance to the practice of standardizing student learning in a modern attempt to quantify something as humanly ineffable as the act of education. Still others balk at doing something someone or a regulatory bureau is forcing them do. Here are four faculty beliefs that can impede the development of an assessment program. 1. Belief in faculty autonomy. Many faculty, especially tenured full professors, believe that their classroom is their own domain. This belief leads these faculty members to resist attempts to integrate their course content with the overall departmental curriculum. There is historical justification for this viewpoint: For most of the history of an institution, faculty did run their own courses in any way they saw fit. The only time someone called that into question was when a faculty member violated the norms of appropriateness. 2. Belief that “If it can be assessed, it can’t be important.” This belief is held by some faculty in the arts and humanities. These faculty members believe that assessment might work fine for simple objectives that involve basic facts, comprehension objectives, and other similar learning outcomes, but not for higher-order thinking such as analysis, synthesis, and evaluation. Though higher-order thinking objectives are more difficult to assess, meaningful evaluation is not impossible. 3. Belief that “If we hold out long enough, this will go away.” Unfortunately, this belief has been reinforced a number of times by the university administration. Through administrative turnover and various pedagogical and procedural “fads” that have appeared and disappeared in higher education, some faculty have ridden out the “storms” of change by just biding their time. When this strategy has worked, the issue has gone away. Some faculty believe assessment will go away, as well. 4. Belief that “This really has no benefit.” This is probably the most powerful of the beliefs. Some faculty really do not see any value to assessment separate from their own in-class testing procedures. These faculty simply are not convinced that assessment is worth the effort and believe that few benefits will result for them or their students from the time and effort put into the process. These four beliefs form the core of the points of resistance. Overcoming this resistance is critical to the success of any assessment program. For individuals who believe in assessment, these beliefs do not make a great deal of sense. However, the beliefs are strong and prevalent on some campuses. Strong leadership is needed to emphasize the benefits, minimize the costs, and facilitate the development of an effective assessment program. Regardless of the reason, faculty need to come to grips with the assessment process and acknowledge that it is both required by

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a variety of constituent groups and beneficial for students. In addition, a deeper understanding of assessment and its links to the educational process can help faculty see the role of assessment. Grounding of the work of assessment in educational principles can provide a basis to the practical activities of objective writing and the list of tasks required to effectively evaluate student learning. As one is able to embed the practice and craft of teaching in an established orientation to learning, it can only enrich the process of socializing and educating our students.

Issues of Validity, Reliability, and Bias Assessment programs need to develop valid and defensible data. Any assessment program is no better than the data it collects and analyzes. There are many factors that can distort assessment results and generate an inaccurate picture of the student’s skill or the program’s effectiveness. There are a few simple considerations that, when taken into account, can greatly increase the chances that the results of communication assessment will be reliable and meaningful. The term reliability refers to the consistency with which a test measures what it is supposed to measure. One very important form of reliability is inter-rater reliability. Ideally, two or more raters, using the same scale and looking at the same behaviors, would give the student the same score. Perfection is usually not possible, but the two ratings should be close. This is particularly true in assessing communication behavior. Two teachers of public speaking should be quite similar in their ratings of a student speech. With clear objectives and some training, this can be accomplished. Another form of reliability that is useful to consider is temporal reliability. This is the stability of test scores over time. If a test produces one score the first time it is given and a very different score when given again three days later, there is cause to doubt its reliability. A test must provide assurance that whatever is measured is not a one-time event. Ideally, student communication behavior does improve over time and with instruction. Thus, the student’s scores on the same test should not remain the same but improve over time. Overall, then, reliability is achieved by attempting to improve consistency between people using the test and by making sure that the test is consistent over time. Validity refers to the necessity that a test measures what it is supposed to measure. This is where clear curriculum objectives apply. If objectives are clearly defined, it will be relatively easy to select or design a test that will tap those objectives. This is referred to as content or face validity. The usual reason for testing speaking and listening skills is to predict whether the student will be able to speak and listen effectively in real life, or at least in situations other than those inherent in the test. Assessment officers want to be able to predict whether or not a student will be successful. If these officers can predict future results, then they know the test works. For example, if a student is assessed to be an effective public speaker

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in the classroom, and then also becomes a successful public speaker in professional life, the officers can have confidence in the validity of the classroom assessment procedure. Bias is another source of distortion in test results. Since the “rightness” of a response in a speaking and listening skill test depends frequently on the situation and the people involved in the test, bias can be a real problem. The teacher or tester should work to remove the effects of cultural, racial, or sexual bias from the assessment procedure so that each student has an equal chance at being successful. Bias is described below in more detail as it can easily distort the results of any assessment process, and it is a factor that many educators do not consider as closely as validity and reliability. Teachers of communication have traditionally relied heavily on their own observations and subjective judgments of student development. At the same time, research on those subjective faculty judgments suggests there may be some important problems with the accuracy of those judgments (Stiggins et al., 1985). Further, faculty are often not adequately trained in assessment and, with a few exceptions, they are not provided with technical assistance to help them with their assessment efforts. There are many potential sources of bias in assessment that can creep into the educational testing and decision making process if the rater (faculty member) is not trained to avoid cultural and/or sexual bias. For these reasons, communication educators (and all educators) need to know about test bias and methods of overcoming it in assessing performance. Bias in assessment tests occurs when some characteristic of the test interacts with some characteristic of the test taker in such a way as to distort the meaning of the test score for a particular group or examinee (Stiggins et al., 1985). Distortions can result when assessment items, procedures, or exercises are more familiar and understandable to members of one group – with its cultural and linguistic experience – than to members of another group; such distortions can negatively impact assessment results. Oral communication skill assessment procedures have to be particularly sensitive to cultural bias. In general, characteristics of assessment that may distort test scores and bias test results include ambiguous test items, items developed without attention to cultural differences, the test administration environment, and test scoring procedures. Ambiguous items are most problematic when individuals from diverse cultural groups differ in their assessment procedure familiarity and their ability to understand the objective of poorly designed items. Those who understand task requirements of tests due to prior experience will score higher, not because they know more, but because they have more highly developed test-taking skills. Bias can occur in a procedure if subjective judgments play a role (as they do in virtually all communication assessment). This is particularly problematic when rating speaking skills. The potential for rater bias is a function of experiences, training, and attitudes of the rater, clarity and precision of the scoring criteria and

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standards, and the extent to which the scorer has internalized those standards. As noted earlier, rater training is critical to reducing bias in judgments. The training usually involves familiarizing the raters with the rating scale, then repeated trials with communication samples (a public speech, for example), so the raters begin to view the same behavior in the same way. Stated simply, raters can be trained to rate behaviors reliably. Otherwise, different levels of experience, comfort with testing, and/or tension due to evaluation anxiety may occur across assessment situations, creating the potential for the students’ real competence to be misjudged. Reducing the possibility of test bias can be achieved by having minority group members carefully review test content and exercises, conducting a technical test score and/or item analysis in order to identify differential patterns of examinee responses (Jensen & Harris, 1999), and/or using alternative modes of assessment as a means of reducing bias.

Cultural Factors in Assessment of Communication In many countries of the world, including the United States, schools educate students from a wide range of cultures. Given that fact, cultural factors in assessment must be considered as faculty devise an assessment program. Though it is beyond the scope of this chapter to fully detail all the cultural factors that can impact an assessment program, a few salient points must be made. For an extensive description of cultural factors that could be considered, see Gipps (1999). She describes in detail the social, political, and economic forces that drive assessment. She argues that assessment is a social activity and that it can only be understand by taking account of the social, cultural, economic, and political contexts in which it operates. She concludes that faculty and administrators need to think widely as they plan and develop an assessment program. Next, assessment often occurs in programs where there are students for whom the language of the classroom is not their first language. This multi-cultural dimension obviously needs to be considered in providing a fair and accurate assessment. In the United States, more research on this factor has been done at the K-12 level (kindergarten through twelfth grade) than in higher education. For example, Abedi (2004) and Banks (2004) both describe cultural and linguistic factors in K-12 and provide strategies for addressing them during assessment.

Assessment of Communication Around the World Assessment is a world-wide phenomenon, and comparing indicators of educational effectiveness among various countries of the world can result in consternation or even alarm, if one’s own ratings do not compare favorably. For example, multiple sources of evidence (e.g., Lederman, 2007) indicate that the United States is falling

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behind other countries in a wide range of educational assessments. Apparently, American students know less math, are less literate in reading, and lack understanding in other subject areas as compared with students in some other countries (Ryan, 2013). For example, Rotberg (2006) described large-scale testing in eight other countries and compared both the content and results with those of the United States. Because the U.S. ranged toward the bottom of the list, many American educators have become involved in developing a set of educational reform programs (e.g., Goals 2000: Educate America Act, Improving America’s Schools Act, School to Work Opportunities Act, No Child Left Behind, etc.) with a renewed commitment to national and international assessments that monitor progress and improve the nation’s comparative standing. Indeed, a debate is raging among American higher education officials and state and federal policy makers about the wisdom and practicality of creating a system to allow for public comparison (both nationally and internationally) of how successfully individual colleges and/or programs are educating their students (see Tremblay, Lalancett, & Roseveare, 2012). These authors describe an effort by the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) that convened a group of testing experts and higher education policy makers to discuss the possibility of creating a common international system to measure the learning outcomes of individual colleges and university systems, along the lines of the test that OECD countries now administer to 15-year-olds, the Program for International Student Assessment. From this description, two points can be drawn. First, the educational assessment movement, both nationally and internationally, is expanding, not contracting. Second, oral communication is not currently a part of these efforts. Few countries address the teaching of oral communication as intentionally as the United States and other English-speaking countries. For example, speaking, listening, and communication are part of the Oxford Cambridge and RSA Examination (2011) administered to secondary and university students in the United Kingdom. In fact, assessment tests such as these are more systematic and more fully developed than those in the United States. Similar assessment procedures are used in other British Commonwealth countries such as Australia, Canada, and New Zealand. Beyond these countries, little evidence can be found of communication assessment in nonEnglish speaking countries.

Applications of Assessment Results The purpose of assessment should be continuous improvement through self-evaluation of a class, a major program, a department, or a university. Carrying out assessment procedures is not sufficient unless the final step is also taken, the step that accrediting commissions and governing bodies call “closing the loop.” At its

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core, this means that the last step of the loop of assessment is the application of results to move toward improvement. This improvement can take a number of forms, and this section explores the application of assessment results.

Program Development Individual communication programs can be more effectively developed through a comprehensive examination of curriculum, educational experiences, and the amount of student learning that occurs. This evaluation and development may be part of a campus-wide effort (Backlund, Hay, Harper, & Williams, 1990) and/or focus on departmental initiatives (Makay, 1997; Shelton, Lane, & Waldhart, 1999). Work in this area is increasingly associated with mandates from state agencies and accreditation boards. Program improvement demands a close relationship between program goals, measurement of the progress toward these goals, analysis of these measurements, and a feedback mechanism for communicating the results back to the goal setters (Graham, Bourland-Davis, & Fulmer, 1997). Program assessment provides an opportunity for departmental members to exhibit to their administrators the unique contribution of their departments and to fend off threats of budget cuts or program elimination.

Program Planning Assessment also should be part of the overall institution planning and budget allocation process. While this seems like a natural link, some individuals (both faculty and administrators) have viewed assessment as something disconnected from the rest of the university’s processes. The administration needs to make clear the links between strategic planning, budget allocations, curriculum improvement, and the assessment process. Assessment does support these other areas by providing data to (1) support budget requests, (2) track progress on plan implementation, and (3) point out the needs for improved curriculum. If these links are evident and systematically followed, assessment results will be seen as significant to both faculty and students.

Faculty Development Faculty members have not always responded well to feedback. A primary goal of assessment is to gather data (both quantitative and qualitative) about the quality of an educational program. A crucial factor in a program’s quality is the people who are responsible for instruction in that program – the faculty – so it is essential that they be on board with assessment efforts. One major source of faculty resist-

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ance to assessment is the distinct possibility that the assessment process may turn up data that are not complimentary toward an individual faculty member. It is true that all assessment results are not positive, but if that information can be used in a positive way to improve the educational product delivered to students, then perhaps faculty can embrace it. The very tricky part of this task is the distinction between using feedback information for improvement versus using it for rewarding faculty through promotion, tenure, and other reviews. If it is done well, faculty can and will reflect individually and collaboratively on the quality of instruction delivered to students.

General Education Recognition of the important role of communication in general education has shown a marked increase in the past decade. The Association of American Colleges and Universities (AACU) recognizes this in its LEAP initiatives. Liberal Education and America’s Promise (LEAP) is a “national advocacy, campus action, and research initiative” that advocates liberal education (An Introduction, n.d., p. 1). Its goal is to help students develop a sense of social responsibility as well as strong intellectual and practical skills that span all areas of study, such as communication. Two of the four learning outcomes, Intellectual and Practical Skills, and Personal and Social Responsibility, are well-suited to the typical oral communication course in general education. In fact, written and oral communication is specifically identified under Intellectual and Practical Skills. This renewed national interest in communication as part of general education provides an opportunity for the communication discipline to expand its range in university general education programs. With that expansion comes an opportunity to increase the application of assessment principles and tools. The National Communication Association publishes The Competent Speaker (Morreale et al., 1993) that can be used to assess the public speaking ability of general education students. Similar assessment procedures exist for interpersonal communication in the Conversation Skills Rating Scale (Spitzberg, 1995). The development of other assessment procedures and tools for other communication student learning outcomes is needed, and communication faculty can fill that need.

Pleasing Internal and External Audiences The final and probably the most problematic application of assessment results is for the purpose of accountability. Accrediting commissions, state legislators, university administrators, and other groups want know if they are getting the most efficient and effective use of educational dollars. These groups expect data to support the effectiveness of educational programs. The data can be and will be used

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to justify funding (or lack of it) for program approval and expansion, as well as for faculty support. In addition, assessment results could easily be used to compare institutions, departments, and even faculty performance. This process, of course, can lead to resistance and stress related to the assessment process. It could also lead to rewards. This issue needs to be handled with clarity and forthrightness on a campus so that faculty develop and maintain trust in the process. To increase the trust level in the assessment program, individuals need to be informed as to how the results will be used (Manning, l986). The point of any assessment program is to use the results to develop a more effective educational program. The results of a single assessment process can serve multiple applications. Care in specifying these applications is absolutely necessary to making sure the process is developed in a manner that will achieve that application, and that the concerned stakeholders fully understand and trust the process.

Conclusion Assessment has received mixed reviews from faculty and members of the communication discipline. The rhetorical framing, by some, has reflected disinterest and avoidance. Some see it as interference by some big-brother who does not understand what is being accomplished in the discipline. Others have embraced assessment and used it to improve both their teaching and student learning. Whichever viewpoint one adopts, it must be acknowledged that assessment is now and will remain a visible and powerful factor in higher education and in the Communication discipline. Thus, embracing the process and making the most of communication assessment seems to be a good strategy. University administrators and faculty should be proactive in learning how to use discipline-appropriate assessment strategies and techniques, whether or not a legislative mandate requires it (Adelman, 1985). This is a time for critical analysis, not blind enthusiasm or deaf rejection. Once faculty members become convinced of its utility, they will not only endorse assessment but will use and sustain it as a vital part of academic discourse. Then institutions will be free to actually improve instruction, not just document it.

References Abedi, J. (2004). The No Child Left Behind Act and English language learners: Assessment and accountability issues. Educational Researcher, 33, 4–14. doi:10.3102/0013189X033001004. Adelman, C. (l985). To imagine an adverb. In C. Adelman (Ed.), Assessment in American higher education: Issues and contexts (pp. 73–80). Washington, DC: Office of Educational Research & Improvement, US Department of Education.

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American Association of Colleges and Universities (n.d.). An Introduction to LEAP: Liberal Education America’s Promise, Retrieved from http://www.aacu.org/leap/introduction-to-leap. Astin, A. W., & Antonio, A. L. (2012). Assessment for excellence: The philosophy and practice of assessment and evaluation in higher education, (2 nd ed.). Plymouth, UK: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers. Backlund, P. M. (1993). Using student ratings of faculty in the instructional development process. Association of Communication Administrators Bulletin, 22, 7–13. Backlund, P., Bach, B., Procopio, C., Mello, B., & Sypher, H. (2011). NCA program review standards: Background, application, and data. Communication Education, 60, 279–295. doi:10.1080/03634523.2011.553723 Backlund, P., Detwiler, T., Arneson, P., & Danielson, M. (2010). Assessing communication knowledge, attitudes, and skills. In P. Backlund & G. Wakefield (Eds.), A communication assessment primer (pp. 1–14). Washington, DC: National Communication Association. Backlund, P., Hay, E. A., Harper, S., & Williams, D. (1990). Assessing the outcomes of college: Implications for speech communication. Journal of the Association for Communication Administration, 72, 13–20. Backlund, P., & Morreale, S. P. (1994). History of the Speech Communication Association’s assessment efforts and present role of the committee on assessment and testing. In S. Morreale, M. Books, R. Berko, & C. Cooke (Eds.), 1994 SCA summer conference proceedings and prepared remarks (pp. 9–16). Annandale, VA: Speech Communication Association Publications. Banks, J. A. (Ed.). (2004). Handbook of research on multicultural education. San Francisco, CA: Jossey- Bass. Chesebro, J. (1990, July). A national context. Paper presented at the meeting of the Speech Communication Association Conference on Assessment, Denver, CO. Christ, W. G. (Ed.). (1994). Assessing communication education: A handbook for media, speech, and theatre educators. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates, Inc. Cox, K., Imrie, B. W., & Miller, A. (2013). Student assessment in higher education: A Handbook for assessing performance. New York, NY: Routledge. Elliott, J. L., Shin, H., Thurlow, M. L., & Ysseldyke, J. E (1995). A perspective on education and assessment in other nations: Where are students with disabilities? (Synthesis Report No. 19). Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota, National Center on Educational Outcomes. Retrieved from http://education.umn.edu/NCEO/OnlinePubs/Synthesis19.html Ewell, P. T. (l987). Assessment: Where are We? Change, 19, 23–28. Fain, P. (2015, September 10). Keeping Up With Competency. Retrieved from https://www.insidehighered.com/news/2015/09/10/amid-competency-based-educationboom-meeting-help-colleges-do-it-right. Gipps, C. (1999). Socio-cultural aspects of assessment. Review of Research in Education, 24, 355– 392. doi:10.3102/0091732X024001355 Graham, B., Bourland-Davis, P. G., & Fulmer, H. W. (1997). Using the internship as a tool for assessment: A case study. Journal of the Association for Communication Administration, 5, 198–205. Griffin, P., & Care, E. (Eds.) (2015). Assessment and teaching of 21 st century skills: Methods and approach. New York, NY: Springer Dordrecht. Jensen, K. K., & Harris, V. (1999). The public speaking portfolio. Communication Education, 48, 211–227. doi:10.1080/03634529909379170 Lane, S. D. (1998). The development of a skill-mastery assessment for a basic speech course. Journal of the Association for Communication Administration, 6, 97–107. Lederman, D. (2007, September 19). A worldwide test for higher education? Retrieved from https://www.insidehighered.com/news/2007/09/19/international.

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Makay, J. J. (1997). Assessment in communication programs: Issues and ideas administrators must face. Journal of the Association for Communication Administration, 5, 62–68. Manning, T. E. (l986). The why, what and who of assessment. The accrediting association perspective. Proceedings of the ETS conference on assessing the outcomes of higher education (pp. 31–38). New York, NY: Educational Testing Service. Mead, N. (1982, April). Assessment of listening and speaking performance. Paper presented at the National Symposium on Education Research, Washington, DC. Morreale, S. P., & Backlund, P. (Eds.). (1996). Large scale assessment in oral communication: K-12 and higher education (2 nd ed.). Annandale, VA: Speech Communication Association Publications. Morreale, S. P., & Backlund, P. (1998). Assessment: You‘ve come a long way, baby. Popular Measurement, 1, 20–24. Morreale, S., Backlund, P., Hay, E., & Moore, M. (2011). A major review of the assessment of oral communication. Communication Education, 60, 255–278. doi:10.1080/03634523.2010.516395 Morreale, S., Brooks, M., Berko, R., & Cooke, C. (Eds.). (1994). 1994 SCA summer conference proceedings and prepared remarks. Annandale, VA: Speech Communication Association Publications. Morreale, S. P., Moore, M. R., Taylor, K. P., Surges-Tatum, D., & Hulbert-Johnson, R. (Eds.). (1993). The competent speaker: Speech performance evaluation form. Annandale, VA: Speech Communication Association Publications. Morreale, S., Spitzberg, B., & Barge, K. (2000). Human communication: Motivation, knowledge, and skills. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth. Neer, M. R., & Aitken, J. E. (1997). Using cognitive assessment testing to evaluate and improve a university program in communication studies. Journal of the Association for Communication Administration, 5, 95–109. Oxford Cambridge and RSA Examination (2011). Cambridge, England: Oxford Cambridge and RSA Examination Company Limited. Palomba, C. A., & Banta, T. W. (1999). Assessment essentials: Planning, implementing, and improving assessment in higher education. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Rotberg, I. C. (2006). NCLB: Taking stock, looking forward. Assessment Around the World, 64, 58–63. Rubin, R. (1985). The validity of the communication competency assessment instrument. Communication Monographs, 52, 173–185. doi:10.1080/03637758509376103 Rubin, R. B. (1994). Assessment of the cognitive component of communication competence. In S. Morreale, M. Brooks, R. Berko, & R. Hulbert-Johnson (Eds.), 1994 SCA summer conference proceedings and prepared remarks (pp. 73–86). Annandale, VA: SCA Publications. Ryan, J. (2013, December 3). American schools vs. the world: Expensive, unequal, bad at math. The Atlantic. Retrieved from http://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2013/12/ american-schools-vs-the-world-expensive-unequal-bad-at-math/281983/ Shelton, M. W., Lane, D. R., & Waldhart, E. S. (1999). A review and assessment of national education trends in communication instruction. Communication Education, 48, 228–237. doi:10.1080/03634529909379171 Spitzberg, B. H. (1995). Conversational skills rating scale: An instructional assessment of interpersonal competence. Annandale, VA: Speech Communication Association Publications. Stiggins, R. J., Backlund, P. M., & Bridgeford, N. (l985). Avoiding bias in the assessment of communication skills. Communication Education, 34, 135–141. doi:10.1080/03634528509378595. Tremblay, K., Lalancett, D., & Roseveare, D. (2012). Assessment of Higher Education Learning Outcomes. Feasibility Study Report Volume 1 – Design and Implementation. Paris, France: Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development.

Future Directions

Paul L. Witt, Tina Seidel, Ann-Kathrin Schindler, Mark P. Orbe, Kory Floyd, and Jon A. Hess

29 The Future of Communication and Learning Research: Challenges, Opportunities, and Predictions Abstract: Based on past research and cognizant of present-day findings, each of the contributing authors of this Handbook have made predictions concerning the future of research in the various areas that impinge on communication and learning. To synthesize these broad conclusions, the Editor offers clear and specific research agendas for future scholars in each of four areas: technology, culture, contexts, and methodology. The chapter includes hypotheses and research questions that are yet unexplored, as well as a call for rigorous adherence to the highest standards of scholarly inquiry. The Editor is then joined by a panel of five international scholars who, each in turn, offer their vision for the next generation of communication and learning research. They articulate the challenges faced by future scholars, offer suggestions and guidelines for further inquiry, and provide a number of research questions to guide new investigations of communication and learning in the 21 st century. Keywords: future research, hypotheses, research questions, technology, culture, context

“Though vast, the collective knowledge of instructors, professors, researchers, scholars, and practitioners is still incomplete, and the search continues for greater understanding of learning in response to instructional communication.” With this concluding statement from the introductory chapter of the volume, this final chapter begins. What is the future of instructional communication research? Where is the uncharted territory in the immense conceptual landscape of communication between teachers and learners? What opportunities and challenges lie ahead for researchers and practitioners who seek to maximize the effectiveness of instruction? The distinguished authors who contributed to this volume addressed these questions in relation to the specific focus of their individual chapters. Taken collectively, their observations appear to coalesce into four overall themes that predict a challenging agenda for future research. In this concluding chapter, I will synthesize their predictions, add some of my own, and report the innovative ideas of an international panel of scholars as they participate in the stimulating activity of vision-casting for the field of instructional communication.

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Four Opportunities for Future Research Technology No serious consideration of teaching and learning can ignore the impact of communication technologies as they support, transmit, or replace verbal instruction. Some of the research reported in this volume took place in the late 20 th century, and those findings represent what some consider “the former paradigm” consisting of face-to-face, verbal instruction from an individual teacher to a group of students. It is important to acknowledge that much teaching and learning still occurs in this environment, even in the developed nations of the world who pride themselves on high-tech educational delivery systems. In fact, it is difficult to imagine a future in which face-to-face instruction is no longer common in the schooling of children, the education of college students, and the training of working adults. However, more and more of those instructional messages are being delivered by mediated connections, and it would take a cognitive leap to assume that the interpersonal and educational effects of instruction are identical whether experienced face-toface or viewed on a computer screen or smart phone. All the classroom variables that have been identified by instructional communication scholars and thoroughly studied in the traditional classroom setting should be re-examined in connection with new communication technologies. Those variables include not only instructional strategies such as clarity, immediacy, humor, and self-disclosure, but also – and perhaps more important – the cognitive characteristics and learning preferences of contemporary students. A pronounced generation gap exists today between teachers and learners, especially in terms of their dependency on and comfort with mediated communication. The adoption rate of innovative technologies is so rapid that older teens are sometimes shocked by the technical expertise of their younger siblings, and of course parents and teachers are even more distant from the cutting-edge perspectives of the young. Communication researchers have a responsibility to help educators stay current with rapid social change by providing accurate, reliable, and well-documented research findings about the effectiveness of teaching and learning with instructional technologies. Every hypothesis that has been tested in the classroom should be re-tested through mediated systems currently in use, such as online courses, web components of classroom courses, course-related interaction through social media, and even the use of supplemental video or other digital resources projected during classroom instruction. As noted by Wallace and Goodnight in Chapter 20, some institutional administrators assume that recording instruction, packaging it into an online course, and distributing it to large numbers of students will render the same effects as face-to-face instruction in terms of learning and student satisfaction; but education consists of more than the mere transmission of information. In some important ways, teaching at a distance is not the same as

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teaching face-to-face, and new instructional strategies call for up-to-date research to assess effectiveness and point to further progress. Instructional communication researchers possess the tools and expertise to investigate every assumption driving policy and practice at every level of education. As the next generation of scholars takes its place in academia, the tech generation gap may diminish somewhat, but the rapid introduction of new technologies will not decrease, and even the young will have to hurry to keep pace with technological innovations. Future scholars, then, should carefully examine learning, motivation, satisfaction, and other outcomes as they are pursued through mediated instruction of all kinds. Our journals should be filled with reports of comparative assessments between in-class and on-line instruction as they relate to perceived interpersonal connectedness, self-efficacy, motivation to continue, and of course learning in all its manifestations – cognitive, affective, and behavioral. Do students more readily receive critical feedback from an online instructor because they perceive less of a face threat than when face-to-face? Are students more willing to accept uncharacteristically transparent self-disclosures from an online instructor, given the unregulated nature of personal disclosure on the web? Does the use of presentational slides during a classroom lecture increase comprehension or recall of course content? Do students prefer to meet with their academic advisers face-toface, or would an e-mail exchange be more to their liking? Practically every teacher-student interaction – especially instructional messages – must be re-examined and re-evaluated in view of the mediated connections currently in use. Otherwise, global education may be passively transformed into a sea of servers dispersing rivers of information to consumers who may or may not comprehend, remember, or apply the information they receive.

Culture The majority of research reported in this volume was conducted among college students in the United States. It was in the universities of the United States that the instructional communication research area was formalized (see Meyers et al.’s history in Chapter 2), so it is not surprising that most of the student populations sampled were U.S. residents, and the learning environment in which they received instruction was the U.S. college classroom. What is surprising – and what constitutes a serious factor that may be considered a flaw – is the ethnocentric, perhaps even myopic perspective of most instructional communication scholars. It would not be inaccurate to say that many of them know very little about communication and learning unless it occurs among predominantly white, middle-class, socially mainstream, U.S. American students and teachers. It is so obvious as to seem trite, to say that cultural norms vary from country to country, region to region, even campus to campus, and that those norms exert a significant influence on what is considered acceptable teacher-student communication in that locale. Therefore,

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virtually every teacher characteristic and behavior, every student characteristic and learning preference, and every pedagogical method included in this volume should be re-examined in diverse cultural settings where significant variations will almost certainly be observed. Cultural influence is strongly felt in both the content of instructional messages and in the relationship between teacher and students. Concerning content, for instance, it is well established that college instructors in the United States can effectively illustrate course material through personal self-disclosures (see Cayanus and Martin’s Chapter 10) or the use of humor while teaching (see Booth-Butterfield and Wanzer’s Chapter 9), but how useful are these findings to an Israeli tutor or a Korean instructor? Perhaps self-disclosure and humor have a place in their instructional methods also, but have researchers analyzed the types and effects of disclosure and humor in those local cultures? What is humorous or entertaining in a U.S. classroom may produce outrage in another country, so the generalizability of research findings across cultures is limited at best. The second dimension of instruction that is dramatically affected by culture is that of the teacher-student relationship. Strongly influenced by local socio-cultural norms, teachers use communication to establish and maintain appropriate relationships with their students – but these prescribed roles differ widely around the world. For example, it would be culturally inappropriate for a Chinese professor to apply the findings of American research concerning instructor immediacy. Achieving interpersonal closeness (immediacy) between the teacher and student may not be viewed as socially appropriate, and even if desired, it would be achieved in different ways in the Chinese culture (see Zhang and Witt’s Chapter 7). Thanks to Zhang’s initial research efforts, the assessment of immediacy in other cultures is advancing, but much work lies ahead. The teacher-student relationship is also affected – in sometimes subtle, sometimes dramatic ways – by the diverse social identities of the instructor and/or individual students. As with other interpersonal relationships, rapport between teachers and students is developed and maintained within the context of personal characteristics that often include perceived differences in sex, gender, race, ethnicity, social class, sexuality, (dis)ability, and age. In Chapter 14 of this volume, McBride and his co-authors call for greater awareness and greater flexibility when instructors and learners embrace different social identities. Critical scholarship has now paved the way for focused, qualitative examinations of social dynamics in the teaching-learning process, and future scholars can pursue a rich array of research questions concerning how diverse social identities influence student learning, satisfaction, and motivation, as well as the instructor-student relationship. As researchers take steps to push beyond previously limited perspectives, it would be a naïve and erroneous assumption to think that variables like instructional clarity or classroom participation have not yet captured the interest of researchers outside the United States. On the contrary, European scholars have been exam-

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ining teacher clarity for years (see, for example, Seidel, Rimele, & Prenzel, 2005), and decades of meaningful findings allow European scholars to draw important conclusions about classroom dialogue (Howe & Abedin, 2013; Mercer & Dawes, 2014). A number of excellent journals actively publish the work of communication and learning scholars in Europe and Australasia, but members of the instructional communication community in the United States are largely unaware of this body of work. Future researchers who wish to extend the cultural boundaries of their research should read widely in journals such as Learning and Instruction and Learning, Culture and Social Interaction, both of which are associated with the European Association of Research on Instruction and Learning, and of course respected outlets like the British Journal of Educational Psychology and the Oxford Review of Education, to name but a few. Future researchers should make every effort to establish ongoing research partnerships with scholars from other continents and cultures. International collaboration has become the norm for commerce, security, and environmental concerns – why not forge similar collaborative efforts among communication scholars around the world?

Contexts and Age Groups The study of communication across the lifespan is not a recent development, but it has not yet spread to the research area of communication education. The inclusion in this volume of Reed et al.’s Chapter 24, which examines how pre-school children learn to communicate, constitutes a departure from the usual focus of communication scholars. Too many researchers in this field have built entire careers on convenience sampling among the students in their college classrooms. Consequently, communication education in college settings is over-represented in the literature, but teaching pre-school and grade school students to communicate effectively is rarely reported. As for communication and learning among adults, a somewhat larger body of literature assesses current andragogical methods used in work-related communication training, as noted by Beebe and Frei in Chapter 27. However, many of the instructor characteristics and behaviors so well-documented in the communication education literature have yet to be tested among adult learners. Are instructors of adults granted greater latitude when it comes to selfdisclosure or the use of humor? Is the teacher-student relationship less important to adult learners whose primary focus is obtaining relevant work-related information? Is instructor credibility – particularly the competence dimension – of greater importance in adult contexts than in the college classroom? Are diverse social identities less effectively accommodated among adults than among younger learners? Although many instructional messages are delivered in the structured environment of a classroom or online course, some of the most influential teacher-student interactions occur in one-on-one conversations outside of the class setting. There is much to be learned about communication and learning when the instructor fills

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the role of tutor, coach, adviser, or mentor, and in Chapter 22 Jucks and Brummernhenrich call for more focused research on communication and learning in these instructional contexts. Individualized instruction cannot be examined using the same research methods as classroom instruction, so there is a need for greater methodological diversity as scholars examine students’ receptivity to more personalized instruction, their assessment of the role and influence of their adviser, and how a mentoring relationship is established and maintained. Future scholarship in these areas can inform and equip instructors of children, college students, and working adults as they fulfill their instructional role with individual learners.

Theoretical Development and Rigorous Methodology As instructional scholars move their research into more diverse contexts, cultures, and age groups, they will need to develop new communication theories to interpret their findings and frame future research programs. It is true that descriptive, oneshot case studies sometimes open instructors’ awareness to dimensions of teaching and learning they had not previously seen, but descriptive studies take on greater significance when they are interpreted within a theoretical framework that expands understanding beyond the individual study alone. Although interpretive and postpositive scholars approach theory differently, both perspectives value the role of theory to inform research, and the role of research to inform theory. In the early days, much instructional communication research was criticized as being variableanalytic rather than theory-based. This perception is less accurate today than before, but scholars should learn from the past and maintain a strong theoretical focus as they forge new areas of instructional communication research. Along with an emphasis on theory, the next wave of research must be methodologically rigorous if instructional communication is to remain a viable field of inquiry. The standards against which social scientific research is evaluated are everincreasing. It is not unusual for seasoned scholars to look back at their early publications and remark, “This study would not make it into print today.” Statistical analyses have become more sophisticated, research designs more complicated, and publication standards more exacting than before. For communication and learning research to be widely disseminated and achieve its maximum impact on the academy, future scholars must strictly adhere to the most rigorous standards of scholarly inquiry. It will be necessary for critical scholars, as well as social scientists, to renew their commitment to excellence in methodology if their work is to gain more acceptance and be included in a broader range of publication outlets. Critical scholarship is essential to the growth and development of any academic field, and social scientists must never stop reading the work of their colleagues whose mission is to reveal flaws and promote change, however uncomfortable their conclusions may

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be. To gain wider readership in the future, those who write critical studies about communication and learning will need to move beyond the usual focus on racial and sexual issues (not that those problems have been resolved, of course) and pose hard questions about other aspects of the teaching-learning process, such as those that follow.

Teacher preparation Should doctoral programs do more to prepare first-year instructors for college teaching? Should universities hire adjunct instructors who bring expertise from industry but are not well-trained as teachers? Can the age of professors be seen as a negative factor in the eyes of their students – i.e., too young or too old to be credible? Beyond the college context, many questions have yet to be pursued: Should working adults hold their trainers to high standards of teaching effectiveness, or should they accept more responsibility for self-learning? Do parents know instinctively how to teach their small children to relate to others, even if they had poor role models themselves as children? How do changing social norms affect the expectations of parents and teachers concerning courtesy and appropriateness among children and teens?

The teacher-student relationship Perhaps social scientists have placed too much emphasis on the relational aspects of teaching and learning. Is it necessary to feel close to your teachers in order to learn from them? Do some instructors have an unhealthy focus on being liked by their students? Is it wise to place graduate students in the role of instructor when they are only a year older than some of their students? Should every college instructor seek to develop mentoring relationships with students? How many students can a professor mentor effectively? What safeguards should be in place to prevent mentoring relationships from going awry? Is it wise for instructors to engage freely in social media with their students? Do coaches overstep their role when they become influential parent figures for their players? Similar questions should be critically addressed relating to pedagogical methods, curriculum design, web-based instruction, and virtually every other aspect of communication and learning. Even widely-held assumptions should be challenged – e.g., the perception that everyone has a right to pursue a college degree, the necessity of a college education to be successful in today’s society, and the notion that education consists of accumulating credit hours. Critical scholars are the most likely voices to speak out concerning these and a host of other issues.

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The Views of Five Visionaries As the volume editor, I invited five respected scholars from Europe and the United States to offer their observations and critique of communication and learning research, as well as their advice for young scholars who will carry this research into the future. Some of them are published instructional scholars; others work in related areas and provide an external assessment of instructional communication research. We begin with the current editor of Communication Education, the major outlet for this research in the United States.

Jon A. Hess, University of Dayton, USA Interdisciplinary collaboration and cognitive theory If the focus of instructional communication is to understand how communication and learning relate to each other – in hopes that we can communicate in ways that lead to better learning outcomes – then we must understand how students learn to determine how instructional communication is part of that process. One of the greatest areas of opportunity is to better link instructional communication and cognitive psychology, so we can more substantively connect messages to learning. Both the disciplines of Communication and Psychology could benefit from research collaboration. For instance, Spiro, Vispoel, Schmitz, Samarapungavan, and Boerger’s (1987) older but still interesting work suggests that creation of ill-structured domains offers learning outcomes superior to well-structured domains. If so, then what types of instructor messages or what qualities of student interaction can create the cognitive flexibility that ill-structured domains afford? We also know that intrinsic motivation leads to better learning than extrinsic motivation or no motivation (Deci & Ryan, 1985), but how can instructors communicate with students to effectively enhance their intrinsic motivation? Psychologists have offered perspective on learning, but they have not as thoroughly explored how instructors can move students toward those cognitive accomplishments. Collaboration between educational psychologists and instructional communication researchers could help do that.

Broader social base Like other parts of the world, the United States is growing increasingly diverse, and the gap between rich and poor is increasing. As a result, we cannot be satisfied when the bulk of our research is grounded in data and perspectives of the white American middle class. We would benefit from collaboration with colleagues in

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Sociology, Anthropology, Women’s and Gender Studies, and other fields that offer sophisticated lenses on privilege and a diverse population. Such research can address a range of issues that are crucial to our discipline: How can we enhance learning outcomes and retention of students from underrepresented groups? How do we create learning environments that encourage dialogue on difficult topics including race, gender, and privilege? How can instructors whose identity is stigmatized manage self-disclosure in communication with students? These questions, and many more, need more attention in mainstream instructional communication.

Student participation for optimal learning The recognition that learning results from active student engagement has turned the tide against perceptions that effective teaching is simply a matter of lecturing effectively. Scholars are well aware of the need for student class discussion among other active approaches for getting students engaged in learning. We also know that leading an effective discussion is not an unskilled or haphazard event. Yet little instructional communication research examines the dynamics and nuances of effectively designing and facilitating a class discussion. More research is needed if instructors are to best utilize this important tool for optimal learning outcomes.

Revised curriculum There is more global interdependence today than in the past, and scholars know that many of the world’s most pressing problems (e.g., climate change, contagious disease, terrorism) can only be solved through international collaboration. The Communication discipline is positioned to prepare college graduates to take on these challenges, but our current curriculum is not well-suited to producing the needed learning outcomes. Most departments base their curriculum on communication contexts (e.g., interpersonal communication, group decision-making, public speaking, and organizational communication) or topic areas that cover wide ground (e.g., ethics and research methods). These topics are useful, but also needed is the knowledge and skill to address social problems and workplace needs that cut across contexts – such as explaining complex ideas to non-experts, running meetings efficiently, working effectively with an angry customer, working collaboratively with others, and solving relationship problems within a team. Although these learning outcomes may sometimes be addressed in our curriculum, they are rarely a primary focus or identified in a manner that allows students to articulate key principles or practice skills directed specifically at those challenges. We need more research focused on how we can better align today’s Communication curriculum with the needs of employers and contemporary problems in our society and the world.

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Measurement of learning Instructional communication scholars must measure learning in more valid ways. Measures researchers most often use for two major forms of learning we typically study – cognitive and affective – both have problems with validity. Cognitive learning has often been measured by asking students how much they thought they learned or by asking students to report learning indicators. Unfortunately, compelling evidence shows that self-reports measure affect more than cognitive gains. Affective learning poses additional challenges. The measure of affective learning traditionally used in our field measures affect and not learning (see the forum on this topic in the October 2015 issue of Communication Education). For both learning outcomes, researchers need to determine cognitive or affective learning goals, then develop observable indicators of student work that demonstrates the degree to which students made those learning gains.

Questions for future research. Here are a few research questions future scholars will find valuable to pursue: – What communicative practices foster greater intrinsic motivation in students? – How can instructors use strategic ambiguity to better engage students? – What instructional communication practices lead to long-term learning gains? – How can instructors, through design and facilitation, foster discussion in class that leads to better learning outcomes for students? – How can we enhance learning outcomes and retention of students from underrepresented and less privileged groups? – What specific needs do employers have for the communication knowledge and skills of new hires? How can we better meet those needs in the Communication curriculum?

Tina Seidel and Ann-Kathrin Schindler, Technical University of Munich, Germany Multiple research methodologies From the social scientific perspective, we see the need for more detailed, programmatic research combining the approaches of different disciplines such as Education, Psychology, and Communication. Over time and across multiple levels of analysis, systematic programs of research can generate more complete descriptions of typical communication patterns, frequencies, and distributions that describe and explain the complex process of teaching and learning more completely than stand-alone studies. At the same time, we can learn much from in-depth qualitative

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approaches that provide rich illustrations of various communication contexts. It is important to acknowledge classrooms as individual settings, and instructional communication as a very individual process depending on the experience and communicating style of the teacher, as well as the experience and learning style of the students. Connecting the strength of both research approaches will be necessary if instructional communication scholars are to understand more fully the complex processes involved in communication and learning. One example of this mixedmethods approach is our current project INTERACTION, in which we focus on students’ engagement in classroom interactions depending on the subject context (language arts and math) and their individual characteristics (such as achievement, interest, and self-concept of ability). By using a mixed-methods approach including observable classroom video data and student questionnaires, the project seeks to gain a deeper understanding of how student characteristics influence teaching-learning processes, and which interactive effects occur with regard to further student learning in those classrooms (Jurik, Häusler, Stubben, & Seidel, 2015).

Professional development programs There is always the risk that important research findings may never be disseminated to instructors because academics and everyday teachers do not often collaborate. One of our particular interests – and one we hope other researchers will adopt – involves the application of research findings to the important process of training teachers to be effective instructors. For example, in the teacher training project DIALOGUE, teachers learn about activating and scaffolding their students to engage in classroom dialogue (Gröschner, Seidel, Kiemer, & Pehmer, 2014; Kiemer, Gröschner, & Seidel, 2015; Pehmer, Gröschner, & Seidel, 2015a, 2015b). Other development programs such as “Accountable talk” (Michaels & O‘Conner, 2012), “Cam talk” (Higham, Brindley, & van de Pol, 2013), and “PRACTISE” (Berson, Borko, Million, Khachatryan, & Glennon, 2016) apply research findings to help teachers maximize the effectiveness of their instructional communication. Future scholars should seek out opportunities to translate their research findings into practical applications and convey those relevant strategies to instructors who can put them into practice.

Sophisticated data collection and analysis Adopting up-to-date techniques and technologies has the potential to enhance the validity and the value of instructional communication research. For example, new technologies allow catching classroom situations through a 360-degree perspective, though without a specific, focused research question, an overwhelming

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amount of information may be gathered. Clear designs and research questions help to gather concrete information that focuses on the topic of interest, such as whole group discussion, small group discussions, or student-to-student interactions. After gathering the data, new ways of analyzing the rich pool of video data are available. For instance, state space grids (Hollenstein, 2013) can visualize communication structures in the classroom for both researchers and practitioners. Matching those data with individual student characteristics can help explain why some students willingly engage in classroom participation and others do not. Serious researchers must work to stay current with statistical analyses and data-gathering techniques and not rely on time-tested methods alone.

Questions for future research We recommend that future researchers examine questions like the following: – What communication skills and strategies can teachers employ to successfully fill the role of supportive moderator in the classroom? – How and when do students become equal communication partners with teachers? – In addition to learning outcomes, how can instructors enhance students’ motivation and interest in diverse age levels and contexts? – What do classroom teachers know about the findings of instructional communication research, and to what extent do they implement these findings? – How can scholars help teachers become aware of research findings and affirm the teachers’ role in ongoing research efforts?

Mark P. Orbe, Western Michigan University, USA Muted voices in instructional research Communication scholars, particularly critical researchers of color, have criticized existing research exploring instructional communication in terms of its treatment of issues of race (and to a lesser degree other cultural identity markers). Over the past two decades, Katherine Hendrix and colleagues (e.g., Hendrix, Jackson, & Warren, 2003) have written convincingly on how underrepresented voices have been muted in a body of literature that largely assumes a gender/raceless approach to research (Hendrix & Wilson, 2014). As articulated by Hendrix and Wilson, instructional communication scholarship reflects one singular dominant perspective: that of a social scientific approach to studying teachers/learners as if the saliency of culture is nonexistent. The body of literature in instructional communication will continue to be limited in its scope, relevancy, effectiveness, and ultimate value unless diverse perspectives are valued. If, in the future, the research area of in-

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structional communication is to reach its full potential to inform and transform the teaching-learning experiences of the 21 st century, all voices must be welcome, and all voices must be heard.

Difference matters Existing research has established that perceptions of instructor credibility, immediacy, self-disclosure, and aggressive communication exist through filters informed by meta-perceptions – often in the form of unconscious bias – related to race/ ethnicity, gender, class, nationality, age, dis/abilities, and the like (Hendrix & Wilson, 2014). In other words, “difference matters” (Allen, 2012) and must be explored in all contexts of instructional communication. Handbooks such as this one play a crucial role in defining what is considered “legitimate” instructional communication and socializing new and emerging scholars in terms of what is deemed as “credible” lines of research. If the saliency of culture continues to be marginalized in communication education research, then such lines of scholarly inquiry will continue to be deemed as less legitimate and credible.

Advice for young scholars My advice to the next generation of scholars is to build on the literature by exploring the interpersonal ↔ intercultural dimensions of communication education issues. Specifically, they should recognize, understand, and ultimately negotiate the intercultural dialectics identified by Martin and Nakayama (1999). For instance, they must regard participants as both individuals and members of particular cultural groups whose behaviors are a reflection of their personal/social selves and contextual factors. They must be interested in exploring the similarities and differences in how instructional communication exists in varying relational contexts, especially as they reflect issues of privilege and disadvantage. Finally, they must explore the static, yet dynamic, forms of teaching/learning with a particular eye on they represent a connection to both historical and future realities. The other advice I would give to the next generation of scholars is to embrace the diversity that exists conceptually, theoretically, and methodologically. Do not fall into the trap of primarily studying one concept, through one particular theoretical lens, and from within one methodological framework. The field of communication is interdisciplinary in nature, with a fantastic array of discovery-oriented options available. Ultimately, the strength of instructional communication scholarship will be achieved through a synergistic mix of perspectives, voices, and approaches.

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Questions for future research In the spirit of advocating for diverse theoretical frameworks within multifocalrelational scholarship, I offer several thought-provoking research questions related to instructional communication: – How do students and professors negotiate meanings of 21st-century diversity in the U.S. college classroom? (Coordinated Management of Meaning) – What, if any, identity gaps exist for students and professors in the context of emergent (informal) mentoring relationships? (Communication Theory of Identity) – What are the communicative implications of the lived experiences for teaching assistants striving for professional credibility and negotiating instructional immediacy in the classroom and campus community? (Phenomenology) – What cultural contracts exist between Latino professors and students in a predominately White university where both are severely underrepresented, and Hispanic-serving universities where Latinos are the majority? (Cultural Contracts Theory) – How do trans* women negotiate their gender identity in the context of women’s studies classes and the larger campus community? (Co-Cultural Theory)

Kory Floyd, University of Arizona, USA Theoretical foundations As a primarily interpersonal scholar, my perception is that instructional communication research is often atheoretic or based on weak theoretical arguments. For example, the focus on immediacy has created an expectation that students can learn only from instructors they like, which I hold to be a misleading conclusion, even if particular immediacy behaviors have the potential to enhance learning. Anecdotally, I learned a great deal from some teachers I despised, while some teachers I adored taught me very little. Theoretically, even though immediacy and prosocial behavior show correlations with some types of learning, I am not sure there is reason to expect that learning can be enhanced only, or even most effectively, by positive affect. I hope that instructional scholars will question critically their assumptions about the educational value of positive communication.

Cognitive neuroscience Especially with learning outcomes (as opposed to relational outcomes), the field would benefit from a stronger foundation in cognitive neuroscience.

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Instructional scholars should have a good handle on what constitutes learning from a neurological perspective. If the end goal is to help people learn, we should understand as much as possible about what cognitive neuroscientists know about learning and the learning process. My perception is that we rely mostly on retention/repetition as a measure that something has been “learned,” when in fact, learning and remembering may be quite different activities – and cognitive neuroscience may have something useful to say about that.

Instructional messages Much of the communication that takes place in an educational context is not instructional communication. For example, teachers and students engage in social communication (“So what did you and your family do this weekend?”), school counselors and students engage in empathic communication, and administrators and parents engage in instrumental communication. Nonetheless, scholars tend to consider all communication that occurs in an instructional context as instructional communication, without considering the function of that communication and the fact that much of it is not truly instructional in any meaningful way. Therefore, a wide variety of other theories could be meaningful for understanding educationrelated communication that has functions other than the delivery of instruction about course material. For example, theory and research on empathy, mental health, and developmental psychology would be much more relevant to the communication between a counselor and student than would instructional communication theories.

Interpersonal-instructional overlap It may seem surprising that I, as an interpersonal scholar, believe we make too much of the intersection between instructional and interpersonal communication. Specifically, I think we over-estimate their overlap. We have come to treat the classroom setting – and the relationship between students and teachers – as inherently interpersonal, but I am not convinced of that assertion. The same has been said about how the field treats the relationship between doctors and patients as an interpersonal context. In both cases (teachers/students and doctors/patients), the communication may be better conceptualized as professional and instrumental than interpersonal. There are specific instrumental goals in both cases (instruction in material; diagnosis and treatment) that do not characterize most truly interpersonal interactions, and so by focusing too much on interpersonal goals and outcomes (such as student/patient satisfaction and positive affect), we may be distracting ourselves from what really matters in these more instrumental relation-

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ships. I do not need to like a teacher to learn from him, nor do I need to like a doctor to be treated successfully by her – but it seems to me that by “interpersonalizing” these relationships, our field supports the assumption that liking/positive affect are necessary in these relationships. Not only do I think that is untrue, but it also distracts us from understanding what truly does matter for learning and for treatment.

Questions for future research Here are some research questions that future scholars should examine: – What does it mean to learn something? – What roles does affect – either positive or negative – play in the learning process? Are there circumstances under which negative affect is as effective, or even more effective, at enhancing learning than positive affect? – Which communicative behaviors on the part of students – either communication with each other or with teachers – enhance learning outcomes? Which behaviors inhibit it? – How does the social dynamic of a classroom or other learning environment influence learning processes? When do students learn best through group activity? When is solitary activity more effective?

Concluding Thought from the Editor On my worst days, when everything goes wrong and nothing seems worthwhile, I worry that the field of instructional communication may have passed its peak in terms of contribution to the academy, that our methods are repetitious and our constructs over-examined, and consequently our voice is neither heard nor respected by other Communication scholars or anyone outside the discipline. Then the sun comes out – I receive an enthusiastic acceptance for my latest research study, or a graduate student writes about how my work inspired her to become a teacher – and I see nothing but possibilities ahead for this challenging and rewarding research area. What more relevant and significant endeavor could a scholar embrace than to comprehend as fully as possible how a young person’s mind is shaped by the instructional messages of an effective teacher? The mission of instructional communication scholars is so much greater than the mere development of theories and accumulation of findings. We are privileged to spend our professional days searching for keys to profound and mysterious processes that help young people reach their full potential. We are challenged by an endless array of cultures and contexts yet to be examined, and we are just beginning to recognize our vocation to equip teachers everywhere as they carry out their crucial mission – to prepare

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the next generation of the world’s citizens. I am convinced that, for those who are willing to think in new ways and move in new directions, the future is very bright for research and practice in communication and learning. It is my hope that the contents of this volume will serve the field as both information and inspiration for years to come.

References Allen, B. J. (2012). Difference matters (2 nd ed.). Long Grove, IL: Waveland Press. Berson, E., Borko, H., Million, S., Khachatryan, E., & Glennon, K. (2016). Practice what you teach: A video-based practicum model of professional development for elementary science teachers. Orbis Scholae, 9(2), 35–53. doi:10.14712/23363177.2015.79 Deci, E. L., & Ryan, R. M. (1985). Intrinsic motivation and self-determination in human behavior. New York, NY: Plenum Press. Gröschner, A., Seidel, T., Kiemer, K., & Pehmer, A.-K. (2014). Through the lens of teacher professional development components: The “Dialogic Video Cycle” as an innovative program to foster classroom dialogue. Professional Development in Education, 41, 729–756. doi:10.1080/19415257.2014.939692 Hendrix, K. G., Jackson, R. L., II, & Warren, J. R. (2003). Shifting academic landscapes: Exploring co-identities and critical progressive pedagogy. Communication Education, 52, 177–190. doi:10.1080/0363452032000156181 Hendrix, K. G., & Wilson, C. (2014). Virtual invisibility: Race and Communication Education. Communication Education, 63, 405–428. doi:10.1080/03634523.2014.934852 Higham, R. J. E., Brindley, S., & van de Pol, J. (2013). Shifting the primary focus: Assessing the case for dialogic education in secondary classrooms. Language and Education, 27, 1–12. doi:10.1080/09500782.2013.771655 Hollenstein, T. (2013). State space grids: Depicting dynamics across development. New York, NY: Springer. Howe, C., & Abedin, M. (2013). Classroom dialogue: A systematic review across four decades of research. Cambridge Journal of Education, 43, 325–356. doi:10.1080/0305764X.2013.786024 Jurik, V., Häusler, J., Stubben, S., & Seidel, T. (2015). Interaction – Erste Ergebnisse einer vergleichenden Videostudie im Deutsch- und Mathematikunterricht [Interaction – First results of a comparative video study in language arts and mathematics instruction]. Zeitschrift für Paedagogik, 61, 692–711. Kiemer, K., Gröschner, A., & Seidel, T. (2015). Effects of a classroom discourse intervention on teachers’ practice and students’ motivation to learn mathematics and science. Learning and Instruction, 35, 94–103. doi:10.1016/j.learninstruc.2014.10.003 Martin, J. N., & Nakayama, T. (1999). Thinking dialectically about culture and communication. Communication Theory, 9, 1–25. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2885.1999.tb00160.x Mercer, N., & Dawyes, L. (2014). The study of talk between teachers and students, from the 1970s until the 2010s. Oxford Review of Education, 40, 430–445. doi:10.1080/03054985.2014.934087 Michaels, S., & O’Conner, C. (2012). Talk science primer. Cambridge, MA: TERC. Pehmer, A.-K., Gröschner, A., & Seidel, T. (2015a). Fostering and scaffolding student engagement in productive classroom discourse: Teachers’ practice changes and reflections in light of teacher professional development. Learning, Culture and Social Interaction, 7, 12–27. doi:10.1016/j.lcsi.2015.05.001.

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Pehmer, A.-K., Gröschner, A., & Seidel, T. (2015b). How teacher professional development regarding classroom dialogue affects students’ higher-order learning. Teaching and Teacher Education, 47, 108–119. doi:10.1016/j.tate.2014.12.007 Seidel, T., Rimmele, R., & Prenzel, M. (2005). Clarity and coherence of lesson goals as a scaffold for student learning. Learning and Instruction, 15, 539–556. doi:10.1016/j.learninstruc.2005.08.004 Spiro, R. J., Vispoel, W. P., Schmitz, J. G., Samarapungavan, A., & Boerger, A. E. (1987). Knowledge acquisition for application: Cognitive flexibility and transfer in complex content domains. In B. K. Britton & S. M. Glynn (Eds.), Executive control processes in reading (pp. 177–199). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.

Biographical sketches Jordan Atkinson is a Ph.D. Candidate in the Department of Communication Studies at West Virginia University, where he has instructed courses in interpersonal, small group, organizational, and contemporary communication. His research is currently focused on the intersections of family and instructional communication, particularly the family socialization and parenting of college students. Jordan’s research has been published in Communication Education and Communication Teacher. Theodore A. Avtgis is Professor and Director of the School of Communication at the University of Akron, where he teaches graduate and undergraduate courses in aggressive, health, risk, and crisis communication. He has authored more than ten books, and his research appears in scholarly journals at the regional, national, and international levels. He has served as Editor-in-Chief of Communication Research Reports. Phil Backlund is Professor Emeritus of Communication Studies at Central Washington University, where he joined the faculty in 1979. He teaches courses such as public speaking, communication behavior analysis, intercultural communication, gender communication, relationship development, and persuasion. He and his wife travel extensively and have taught in Hong Kong, Macau, Pakistan, and South Sudan. He has published in areas of communication education, assessment, culture, and gender communication. Steven A. Beebe is Regents’ and University Distinguished Professor of Communication Studies at Texas State University. He is the author and co-author of 12 books (with most books in multiple editions) and numerous articles about communication focusing on communication skill development. He has been a visiting scholar at both the University of Oxford and the University of Cambridge and served as President of the National Communication Association. Karla Mason Bergen (Ph.D., University of Nebraska-Lincoln, 2006) is an Associate Professor of Communication at the College of Saint Mary, where she is Program Director of Communication, Director of General Education, and Coordinator of Women’s Studies. She teaches courses such as interpersonal, family, and gender communication, as well as oral communication skills. Her research centers on how women communicatively construct and negotiate unconventional personal, marital, and professional relationships. Her work has been published in leading communication journals, as well as several edited volumes. Melanie Booth-Butterfield is Professor Emerita in the Department of Communication Studies at West Virginia University. She has published over 100 research articles and chapters in major communication journals, and she is a Distinguished Research Fellow and Distinguished Teaching Fellow of the Eastern Communication Association. She is the former editor of Communication Education, Communication Quarterly, and Communication Research Reports.

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Benjamin Brummernhenrich is a researcher at the Institute of Psychology for Education, University of Muenster, Germany. He earned his Ph.D. in Psychology in 2014. His research examines the interplay of social processes and content in instructional communication. In his teaching, he focuses on teacher education, especially the topics of cooperative learning and research methods Jacob L. Cayanus (Ed.D., West Virginia University) is an Associate Professor in the Department of Communication and Journalism at Oakland University. He teaches undergraduate courses in communication theory, interpersonal communication, and persuasion, as well as graduate courses in quantitative research methods, interpersonal communication, and nonverbal communication. His work has been published in several academic journals including Communication Teacher, Communication Research Reports, Communication Quarterly, Personality and Individual Differences, and College Students: Stress, Depression and Mental Health. Deanna L. Fassett is Professor of Communication Pedagogy at San José State University, where she serves as Department Chair and supervises her department's graduate teaching associates. Dr. Fassett co-authored Critical Communication Pedagogy and co-edited The SAGE Handbook of Communication and Instruction. She is currently editor of the National Communication Association journal Communication Teacher. Amber N. Finn is an associate professor in the Schieffer College of Communication at Texas Christian University, where she teaches courses in public speaking, training and development, and communication in the workplace. Her research has focused on the impact of teacher communication behaviors on instructional outcomes and has appeared in leading scholarly journals, such as Communication Education and Communication Quarterly. Kory Floyd is a professor of Communication at the University of Arizona. His work focuses on the communication of affection in close relationships and on the interplay between affection, physiology, and health. He has authored 15 books and over 100 journal articles and book chapters, and is the immediate past Editor-in-Chief of Communication Monographs. Seth S. Frei is a lecturer in the Department of Communication Studies at Texas State University. He teaches various courses in organizational, interpersonal, and instructional communication. His research has appeared in various communication journals and focuses on the use and development of communication skills in the professional context. Ann Bainbridge Frymier is Associate Dean of the Graduate School and a professor in the Department of Media, Journalism and Film at Miami University, where she teaches persuasion, research methods, and a variety of other courses. Her research focuses on instructional communication, specifically the role of teacher-student

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relationships in learning, humor, and student engagement. Her work has been widely cited and appears in journals such as Communication Education and Communication Quarterly. Zachary W. Goldman is an assistant professor in the Department of Communication and Rhetorical Studies at Illinois College. He obtained his M.A. and Ph.D. from West Virginia University. His research, which focuses on the intersections of communication, motivation, and learning in professional and educational contexts, has been published in national and regional journals in the field of communication. Roberta Michnick Golinkoff is Unidel H. Rodney Sharp Professor at the University of Delaware. Her work in language development, spatial learning, and play has received numerous prizes. Passionate about disseminating developmental science for improving children’s and families’ lives, her latest book (with K. Hirsh-Pasek) is Becoming Brilliant: What Science Tells Us about Raising Successful Children (APA Press). Alan K. Goodboy is an associate professor in the Department of Communication Studies at West Virginia University. His recent research focuses on instructor/student communication and learning, and bullying in educational and organizational contexts. Lisa J. Goodnight is a professor of Communication in the Department of Communication and Creative Arts at Purdue University Northwest. She is also the Associate Vice Chancellor for Student Affairs and Dean of Students. Dr. Goodnight was a Basic Communication Course Director for over 20 years and is the co-author (with Dan Dunn) of Communication: Embracing Difference (Allyn and Bacon, 4th edition, 2014) and co-editor (with Sam Wallace) of The Basic Communication Course Online: Scholarship and Application (Kendall Hunt Publishing, 2005). Jon A. Hess is Associate Dean of Faculty Scholarship, Internationalization, and Inclusive Excellence in the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of Dayton. Instructional communication has been a central focus in both his scholarship and administrative work. Jon is the current editor of Communication Education. Kathryn Hirsh-Pasek is the Stanley and Debra Lefkowitz Faculty Fellow in the Department of Psychology at Temple University and a Senior Fellow at the Brookings Institution. Her research examines the development of early language and literacy as well as the role of play in learning. With her long-term collaborator, Roberta Golinkoff, she is author of 14 books and hundreds of publications. She is a Fellow of the American Psychological Association and the American Psychological Society, the President Elect of the International Society for Infant Studies, and has served as the Associate Editor of Child Development. Kathy received her bachelor’s degree from the University of Pittsburgh and her Ph.D. from the University of Pennsylvania.

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Stephen Hunt serves as Professor of Communication and Executive Director of the School of Communication at Illinois State University. He recently completed an assignment serving as Chair of Illinois State’s American Democracy Project. Hunt is the author of over 30 scholarly articles, many focused on civic and political engagement, and is co-author of a public speaking textbook focused on critical thinking and civic engagement that is used by several communication departments throughout the country. Regina Jucks is a professor at the Institute of Psychology for Education at the University of Muenster, Germany. She received her Ph.D. in Psychology in 2001 and her venia legendi for Psychology in 2005 (both University of Muenster). Her research fields address various settings of mostly computer-mediated contexts in instructional communication, ranging from doctor-patient interaction to higher education. James Katt is an associate professor and coordinator of the Human Communication program for the Nicholson School of Communication at the University of Central Florida. His current research interests are communication traits, instructional communication, and persuasion. Stephanie Kelly is an assistant professor of business communication at North Carolina A&T State University. She holds a B.S. in mathematics and an M.S. in organizational communication from Murray State University, as well as a Ph.D. in communication and information from the University of Tennessee. Her research focus is on presence and information behavior. Jeff Kerssen-Griep is Professor of Communication at the University of Portland, teaching coursework in communicating across societal barriers, communication theory, collaborative group leadership, and instructional, intercultural, and interpersonal communication. His scholarship examines how skillfully mitigating face threats helps shape learning relationships that foster intrinsic learning motivations, mentoring environments, higher credibility assessments, and greater adoption of feedback in teaching-learning situations. Erika L. Kirby is Professor of Communication Studies at Creighton University, where she teaches courses on organizational communication, work-life, and communication and social identity(s). She studies the everyday intersections of work and personal life, and her related scholarship has appeared in numerous communication journals as well as recent handbooks and encyclopedias. Sara LaBelle (Ph.D., West Virginia University) is an assistant professor of Communication Studies at Chapman University, where she teaches graduate and undergraduate courses. Her work has appeared in a variety of peer-reviewed publication outlets including Personal Relationships, Communication Education, Western Journal of Communication, Communication Research Reports, and The SAGE Encyclopedia of Communication Research Methods.

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Andrew M. Ledbetter is an associate professor in the Schieffer College of Communication at Texas Christian University. His research and teaching address the use of communication technology in interpersonal and family relationships, with particular focus on processes of relational maintenance. In instructional contexts, he has researched how instructors regulate student use of technology in the classroom. Matthew M. Martin is Chair and Professor in the Department of Communication Studies at West Virginia University. He obtained his B.A. from Valparaiso University and his M.A. and Ph.D. from Kent State University. His research focuses on instructor/student communication and learning, bullying in educational and organizational contexts, and communication traits. Joseph P. Mazer (Ph.D., Ohio University) is Associate Professor and Associate Chair of the Department of Communication at Clemson University. He has published articles and book chapters on communication and social media, social and academic support, emotion in teaching and learning, and measurement issues and trends in communication research. His research has appeared in leading scholarly journals, and he is currently ranked in the top 1 % of prolific scholars in the Communication discipline spanning 2007–2011. M. Chad McBride (Ph.D., University of Nebraska-Lincoln, 2003) is Professor and Department Chair of Communication Studies at Creighton University. He researches how individuals communicatively co-construct situated identities in both their social networks and larger culture. His work has been published in several outlets such as Communication Education, Journal of Family Communication, and Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, to name but a few. He teaches courses in research methods, interpersonal communication, friendship, and the discourse of American family. Scott A. Myers is a professor and Peggy Rardin McConnell Chair of Communication Studies in the Department of Communication Studies at West Virginia University, where he teaches graduate and undergraduate courses in instructional communication, organizational communication, and small group communication. His current research efforts center on the college instructor-student communication relationship and adult sibling relationships. Stephanie Norander holds the position of Executive Director, Communication Across the Curriculum and is an associate professor in the Department of Communication Studies at the University of North Carolina at Charlotte. She teaches and researches in the areas of organizational communication and qualitative research methods. Her work has been featured in the Journal of Applied Communication Research, Management Communication Quarterly, and Women and Language. Mark P. Orbe is Professor of Communication & Diversity in the School of Communication at Western Michigan University, where he holds a joint appointment in the

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Department of Gender and Women’s Studies. An internationally known educator, author, and consultant/trainer, Orbe has published a dozen books and over 100 journal articles and book chapters, the vast majority of which focus on explorations of the intersection of culture, communication, and power. Heejung Park is Assistant Professor of Psychology at Bryn Mawr College. As a cultural and developmental psychologist, she examines how various cultural factors such as cultural values, immigration, and socioeconomic conditions shape child and youth development, family relations, and parenting. She also focuses on adaptation and adjustment of individuals in situations of social change and globalization. Jessa Reed is a postdoctoral researcher in the department of Otolaryngology at The Ohio State University. She has two main areas of research: how the arts foster school readiness skills and how young children learn new words during dyadic interactions. In particular, she is interested in the role of contingency in creating and sustaining common ground between communicative partners. Tucker Robinson is an adjunct instructor in the Department of Communication at Missouri State University, where he teaches courses in public speaking. He has been admitted into the Communication doctoral program at the University of Missouri, beginning in the fall of 2016, where he will work with instructors and students in the Institute of Family Diversity and Communication. C. Kyle Rudick is an assistant professor at the University of Northern Iowa, where he teaches courses in communication and instruction, qualitative research methods, and theory. His work has appeared in the Western Journal of Communication and Communication Education. He co-authored a textbook, Teaching from the Heart & Learning to Make a Difference, for communication instructors interested in implementing Critical Communication Pedagogy in their classes. The book is due for publication in the fall of 2016. Chris R. Sawyer holds the rank of Professor in the Bob Schieffer College of Communication at Texas Christian University. His research into the causes, symptoms, and treatments of speech anxiety has appeared in numerous communication journals.​ Ann-Kathrin Schindler is a research assistant at the Friedl Schöller Chair of Teaching and Learning Research at TUM School of Education, Technical University of Munich, Germany. In her dissertation, she investigated the effectiveness of a videoand evidence-based teacher professional development program (Dialogic Video Cycle) on productive classroom dialogue. Her research interests are in teacherstudent interactions and communication, as well as teacher professional development with a focus on video-based reflections. Tina Seidel holds the Friedl Schöller Chair of Teaching and Learning Research at TUM School of Education, Technical University of Munich, Germany. She is author

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of numerous books and articles on the topics of classroom research, teacher and teaching effectiveness, teacher learning, and teacher professional development. Her special interests are in video-based analysis of classrooms, teaching adaptivity, and aptitude-treatment-interaction, and development of multi-media based tools in teacher research. Cheri J. Simonds is a professor of Communication at Illinois State University. She teaches in the area of communication pedagogy and instructional communication and has published several articles in national peer-reviewed journals including Communication Education, Communication Teacher, and The Basic Communication Course Annual. She has served as Editor of the National Communication Association’s teaching journal, Communication Teacher. Andrew Stables is Professor of Education and Philosophy and Deputy Director for Research in the School of Education at the University of Roehampton in London. He has published widely in the fields of educational theory and curriculum, but is best known for his work on semiotics and the philosophy of education. Clayton L. Terry earned his Communication M.A. at the University of Portland and his Communication Studies B.A. at California State University, Sacramento. His main areas of focus include rhetorical studies, rhetorical criticism, and critical and theoretical approaches to narrative rhetoric. Jason J. Teven is Professor in the Department of Human Communication Studies at California State University Fullerton, where he teaches graduate and undergraduate courses in theory, persuasion, instructional communication, and family communication. His research examines communication behaviors as predictors of source credibility, specifically, the impact of nonverbal immediacy and caring/ goodwill within instructional, interpersonal, and organizational communication contexts. He is an effective college teacher, an author of over 80 journal publications, book chapters, and conference papers, and is co-author of the popular book, Real Communication (Bedford-St. Martin’s Press). Blair Thompson (Ph.D., University of Nebraska) is an associate professor in the Department of Communication at Western Kentucky University. His on-going research projects focus on analyzing school crisis communication, studying student and parental academic support, and examining how computer-mediated communication is transforming various pedagogical relationships. He has been published in Communication Education, Qualitative Research Reports in Communication, Narrative Inquiry, Communication Research Reports, Communication Research, and Computers in Human Behavior. Melissa F. Tindage is a doctoral candidate in the Department of Communication Studies at West Virginia University. Her research has appeared in scholarly journals such as Communication Education, Communication Teacher, and the Basic Communication Course Annual.

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Biographical sketches

Scott Titsworth (Ph.D., University of Nebraska, 1999) is a professor and currently Dean of the Scripps College of Communication at Ohio University. His research generally explores connections between classroom communication and learning, with particular emphases on teacher clarity, note-taking, and emotion. Joseph M. Valenzano, III is Associate Professor and Chair of the Department of Communication at the University of Dayton. His teaching and research areas are basic course scholarship, religious communication, political communication, and popular culture. Currently, he serves as Editor of the Basic Communication Course Annual. He has authored three textbooks, in addition to having his research published in leading journals, such as Communication Monographs, Communication Quarterly, and Communication Education. Shawn T. Wahl holds the position of Professor of Communication and Department Head in the School of Communication Studies at Missouri State University. He has published numerous communication textbooks, and his research has appeared in leading scholarly journals such as Communication Education. He served as President of the Central States Communication and is an active member of the National Communication Association. Jennifer H. Waldeck (Ph.D., University of California, Santa Barbara) is Associate Professor of Communication Studies at Chapman University, where she teaches graduate and undergraduate courses. Her work has appeared in a number of edited volumes and journals including The SAGE Handbook of Communication and Instruction, Communication Yearbook, Communication Education, and Communication Monographs. She has authored and co-authored three books, and in 2016 co-edited Consulting that Matters: A Handbook for Scholars and Practitioners. Samuel P. Wallace (Ph.D., Ohio State University) is a professor in the Department of Communication at the University of Dayton. A basic course director for over 20 years, he was instrumental in the foundation of the Basic Communication Course Annual. He teaches courses in research methods, theory, nonverbal communication, and group decision making. His scholarship includes publications in communication pedagogy, innovation in the classroom, sustainable course development, course administration, and assessment. Tiffany R. Wang is an assistant professor in the Department of Communication at the University of Montevallo. She explores communication surrounding college transition within instructional and family contexts. She has authored and coauthored articles in Communication Education, Communication Reports, The Journal of Continuing Higher Education, Journal of Divorce & Remarriage, and Journal of Family Communication. Melissa B. Wanzer holds the position of Professor in the Communication Studies Department at Canisius College, where she teaches graduate and undergraduate

Biographical sketches

753

courses in health communication, interpersonal communication, family communication, and persuasion. Her research has appeared in Communication Education, Health Communication, Communication Quarterly, and The Journal of Health Communication. David Westerman is an assistant professor in the Department of Communication at North Dakota State University and is a faculty affiliate for the Communication and Social Robotics Lab (www.combotlab.com). His scholarship focuses on how we use communication technologies to accomplish communication goals. His research has appeared in journals such as Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication, Computers in Human Behavior, and CyberPsychology, Behavior, and Social Networking. Paul L. Witt holds the position of Professor in the Schieffer College of Communication at Texas Christian University, where he teaches graduate and undergraduate courses in theory, character, and intercultural communication. His research has appeared in leading scholarly journals, and he served the National Communication Association as Editor of their most widely read journal, Communication Education Chad Woolard is an instructor in the School of Communication at Illinois State University. He has worked closely with Illinois State University’s American Democracy Project as an instructor and project coordinator. His research focuses on rhetorical and persuasion theory, critical theory, ideological criticism, framing theory, civic education and engagement, political humor and satire, and instructional communication. Jordan Young (M.S., Texas Christian University) is an instructor in the Schieffer College of Communication at Texas Christian University and in the Department of Communication at Tarrant County College. She teaches courses in business and professional speaking and interpersonal communication. She has also served as Paul Witt’s Editorial Assistant of Communication Education. Qin Zhang is an associate professor and chair in the Department of Communication at Fairfield University. Her research interests center on the effects of culture on communication in instructional and interpersonal contexts. Her research has appeared in major communication journals, including Communication Education, Human Communication Research, and Communication Research.

Index accountability 690, 699, 701–705 accreditation 457, 519, 699, 702–704, 714, 720 administration 519, 538, 657, 660, 701, 703– 704, 715, 717, 720 adult learners 4, 8, 27, 116, 354, 356, 458, 460, 673–693, 731 adult learning theory 674–676, 679, 687, 693 advising 553–555, 566–567, 704 affective learning (or student affect) 17, 91, 345, 736 – and aggressive communication 267, 268, 272 – and clarity 106, 116, 123 – and credibility 195–196, 197 – and ethnicity 441 – and feedback 300, 301, 302, – and humor 219, 223, 247 – and immediacy 158, 163–165, 167 – and student motivation 379, 381–385, 392– 393 – and teacher power 132, 135, 138 – and teacher self-disclosure 247 – and technology 468–469, 494 affinity-seeking 16, 141, 190, 348, 356, 379– 380, 382, 387, 390, 393 age 194, 339–340, 346, 353–357, 366 aggressive communication 259–279 – by instructors 266–269, 272–274 – by students 274–277 andragogy 272, 354, 676, 678, 691 antifoundational engagement 537, 543 antisocial BATs 132, 134–141, 145–147 approach-avoidance theory 72, 157, 158 appropriateness 45 – and compliance-gaining 129, 143, 145–146 – and immediacy 162, 168 – and humor 221–225 – and self-disclosure 242, 243, 246, 248, 252–254 ARCS model 69, 218, 387–388 argumentativeness 16, 32, 138, 261–268, 275 Aristotle 43, 45, 48–50, 52, 58, 183–188, 201 arousal valence theory (or cognitive valence theory) 68, 71–72, 161 assessment 26, 27, 32, 119, 303, 304, 306, 309, 456, 487–488, 656, 687, 689 – of the basic course 512, 513, 519, 658–660, 663–667

– of communication programs 699–722 at-risk students 427–430, 580, 661 attribution theory 68, 70, 196 audience response systems 481, 482 basic (communication) course 505–524, 653– 668 – assessment 512, 513, 519, 658, 659–668 – design 505–507, 510–524, 657, 659, 662 – directors 518, 519, 522, 659–661, 664–668 – history 506–508, 656–657 – research 657–663 behavior alteration messages (BAMs) 69, 132, 142, 149, 581 behavior alteration techniques (BATs) 69, 132, 134, 135–140, 142, 145–147, 149, 270–271, 276, 581 behavioral learning 3, 87, 162, 165, 530 benign violation theory 215–216 blended learning 512, 513, 515 bullying 212, 231, 263, 274–275, 278 caring (instructor) – and aggressive communication 272 – and compliance-gaining 140 – and credibility 185, 187–190, 191, 192, 194– 197 – and cultural values 327 – and feedback 298 – and immediacy 165, 166 – and nonverbal responsiveness 80 – and self-disclosure 249 – and social identity 342, 343, 352, 355 – and student motivation 387 character 5, 55, 183–186, 190–191, 230, 272, 531, 566, 655 character attack 192, 264, 268, 272–274, 583 civic education pedagogy 527, 536, 542, 544– 545 civic engagement 527–528, 536–542, 544–545 clarity (instructor) 105–125 – conceptualizing 118–122 – future research 122–125 – measurement 111–118 – theoretical foundations 107–111 coaching 4, 7, 8, 521, 553, 563–567 cognitive learning 15, 16, 32, 529–530 – and clarity 72, 106, 123, 124

756 – – – – – –

Index

and classroom connectedness 662 and credibility 187, 197 and feedback 300, 345, 348–349 and humor 229 and immediacy 158, 160, 161, 163–167, 566 and measurement 17, 80, 86, 87–91, 135, 736 – and student motivation 379–386, 393, 443 – and student participation 532–533 – and teacher power 132, 135, 139 – and teacher self-disclosure 247, 255 – and technology 484, 485, 488, 492, 493, cognitive valence theory, see arousal valence theory collectivism 322–324 communibiology 400–402 communication apprehension 15, 32, 71, 72, 165, 260, 344–345, 353, 392, 397–398 – future research 415–418 – measurement 403–411 – theoretical explanations 398–403 – treatment 411–415 communication competence 32, 81, 185, 225, 234, 349–350, 362, 532, 654, 662, 675, 680, 708–709 – and apprehension 397, 398, 400, 417 – and children 601–619 communication education (research field) 8, 573–574, 591, 668, 731, 739 Communication Education (journal) 13–36, 82, 352, 411, 575, 577, 590, 658, 667, 734, 736 communication privacy management theory 244–245 communication skills 8–9, 19, 21, 24, 185, 341–344, 399–400, 531, 546, 654–656, 663–664, 713 – and adults 673–693 – and children 601–621 communication technology 7, 82 – and classroom learning 481–499 – and distance learning 455–473 – and public schools 629–641 communication training (or skills training) 4, 7, 8, 14, 22, 26, 82–83, 132, 198, 233, 254, 263, 266–267, 275, 278, 304, 326, 413– 415, 417, 507, 542, 546, 654–656, 665 – and working adults 673–693 communication traits 260, 266–268, 274 comparator theory 402 competence, see communication competence

compliance-gaining 16, 17, 129–151, 261, 380, 495, 578, 661 computer-mediated communication 4, 7, 24, 33, 85, 175, 455–473, 484, 505–524, 555, 557 – and children 632–633, 634, 638 – and credibility 198–200 – and self-disclosure 248–250 confirmation 17, 32, 80, 140, 355, 378–380, 383, 384, 390, 392, 393 contingency 601–602 – and adaptive contingency 602–607 – and competence in children 607–619 – and future research 619–621 course design 341, 345, 463–466, 505–506, 511–524, 657, 659, 662 credibility (of instructor) 15, 16, 17, 32, 69, 74, 85, 731, 739 – and aggressive communication 271–273 – and feedback 298, 303, 307 – and humor 213, 229, 248 – and immediacy 158, 165–166, 183–202 – and motivation 378–379 – and self-disclosure 248–250, 254–255 – and social identity 341–342, 344, 348, 360 – and teacher power 133, 140 – and technology use 493, 497, 633 critical communication pedagogy 367, 573–576 – historical development 576–579 – ten commitments 579–590 – future directions 590–592 critical engagement 537, 542, 545 critical pedagogy, see critical communication pedagogy culture, see also values 29, 32, 34–35, 46, 52, 72, 633, 718 – and adult learning 682, 689, 692 – and aggressive communication 263, 267, 277 – and children 608, 610, 618 – and civic engagement 541, 542, 545 – and clarity 112, 124 – and credibility 183, 184, 197–198 – and critical communication pedagogy 574, 577, 579, 582–583, 584, 585, 590 – and feedback 304–305 – and future research 729–731, 738–739, 742 – and human development 321–333 – and humor 213, 222, 231, 232, 234 – and immediacy 160, 167–169, 170, 172–174

Index

– and parental involvement 634–635 – and self-disclosure 250, 254 – and social identity 348, 349, 351, 362, 365, 431, 433, 435, 441–442 – and teacher power 137, 149–150 democratic engagement 537, 541, 544–545 directive feedback 291 disability 340, 361–365, 479, 583 disconfirmation 116, 272, 379 disposition theory 73, 215, 216–217, 219, 224 distance learning, see also e-learning 24, 32, 455–456, 508, 510, 512–515, 519, 521 – bridging the distance 466–469 – future 470–473 – history 456–459 – instructor’s perspective 465–466 – student’s perspective 459–464 e-learning (or online learning, e-training) 82, 174, 456, 457, 459–465, 506, 518–521, 524, 689 emotional response theory 18, 68, 73, 78, 141 ethnicity (or ethnic identity) 32, 60, 81 – and aggressive communication 254 – and cultural values 322–324, 332–333 – and future research 739 – and humor 214 – and immediacy 167 – and social identity 339–341, 347–352, 365– 366, 431, 434, 440 ethos 183–184, 298 expectancy-value theory 378, 386–388, 391 experimental method (or experimental research) 54, 84, 85, 171–172, 404 expert-layperson communication 554, 556 exposure therapy 417 facework 17, 301, 303, 362, 391, 554, 555–556 facilitative feedback 291, 300, 307 faculty resistance 714–716 feedback, see instructional feedback feedback intervention theory 303 first-generation college student 81, 84, 357– 358, 429, 436–439 flipped classroom 512, 516–517, 519 formative feedback 291, 488 gender 23, 32, 81 – and aggressive communication 267, 272 – and compliance-gaining 136

757

– and future research 738–740 – and instructor credibility 194 – and social identity 339–347, 361, 365, 366, 427–428, 431–432, 435, 436, 580, 584, 590 general education 8, 439, 508, 546, 632, 653– 657, 659, 662–668, 721 general model of instructional communication 78 globalization 321, 329, 331–333, 528 goals plans actions theory 75–76 goodwill 174–188, 196, 197, 200 higher education 19, 29, 57, 76, 83, 84 – and aggressive communication 272, 275 – and assessment 699–701, 703–705, 714– 715, 718–719, 722 – and the basic course 654–656, 657, 658, 663–665, 668 – and civic education 527–529, 531, 534–536, 538, 539, 541, 542, 543–547 – and compliance-gaining 149 – and cultural values 327 – and distance learning 508, 509, 522 – and social identities 349, 353, 356–357, 359, 363–366, 442, 577, 583 – and technology 456, 486, 489 human development 8, 58, 321–333 humor 211–234 – enactment 212–215 – categories 229–231 – research 221–228 – theory 215–221 hybrid course 507–508, 512–513, 519, 522, 653, 657, 666 immediacy 17, 31, 157–175 – and age of students 356, 443 – and aggressive communication 269, 270 – and clarity 87, 116, 443 – and coaching adults 566 – and compliance-gaining 135, 136 – and credibility 189–193, 195, 197, 198, 199, 202 – and critical pedagogy 582, 591 – and culture 167–169, 172–175, 232, 348, 350, 441, 730 – and humor 220–221, 223, 225, 228, 229, 232 – and learning 88, 164–167, 740

758

Index

– and self-disclosure 250, 273 – and sex of instructors 194, 344 – and social identity 342–343, 345, 348, 350, 441 – and student motivation 379–384, 386–388, 390–393 – and student responsiveness 80, 662 – and technology 468–469, 472, 483, 632, 639, 661, 728 – measurement 84, 169–172 – theoretical explanations 72–73, 78, 79, 91, 158–164, 661 immediacy-exchange theories 159–162 incongruity theory 215 independent mindedness theory 267 individualism 173, 322–324, 325, 329, 330 information processing 68, 106–107, 109–111 instruction (definition) 3, 43–44, 53–54 instructional beliefs model 18, 69, 78–79 instructional communication (definition) 1, 3, 13–14 instructional feedback 17, 57, 60, 63, 73, 84, 279–311 – and assessment 705, 707 – and the basic course 520, 661–662, 688, 689 – and children 603, 607, 612 – and clarity 111, 117 – and coaching 558–561, 565, 566 – and compliance-gaining 134, 137, 138 – and credibility 199 – and cultural values 325–326 – and immediacy 174 – and service learning 534 – and social identity 350, 356, 441, 457, 464– 466 – and student motivation 378, 391, 392 – foundations 279–294 – future research 308–311 – practice 305–308 – theory and research findings 294–305 instructional humor processing theory 18, 68, 73–74, 217–219 instructional technology, see communication technology instructor-student relationship, see teacherstudent relationship International Communication Association (ICA) 14 involvement theory 533–534, 661

K-12 education, see also P-12 20, 24, 27, 82, 83, 131, 138, 149, 249, 252, 274, 275, 278, 457, 460, 718 language as constitutive 601–621 language development 602, 611, 615 leader member exchange theory 68, 76 learned helplessness 71 learning – definition 3, 43–45 – measurement 87–91 – types (cognitive, affective, behavioral) 3, 87, 530 learning environment 30–32 – and aggressive communication 264, 270– 271, 274, 278 – and the basic course 513 – and compliance-gaining 129, 149, 151 – and culture 330 – and feedback 300 – and future research 729, 742 – and self-disclosure 245–246 – and social identity 354–355, 443 mentoring enactment theory 68, 74–75 mentoring 5, 7, 74–75, 84, 165, 287–288, 307, 358, 438 motivation, see student motivation motivation model of learning 162–164, 175, 381–384, 388, 391–393 multiculturalism 23, 321–333, 349, 366, 579 National Communication Association (NCA) 18, 404, 631, 653, 657, 690, 693, 700, 704, 710, 721 nationality 322, 331–332, 347–348, 352, 590, 739 nontraditional students 72, 76, 354–356, 436, 442–443, 515, 674 nonverbal immediacy 15, 17, 31, 78, 80, 84, 87, 158, 159, 161, 163–166, 169–175 – and aggressive communication 269, 273 – and basic course instruction 662 – and coaching 566 – and compliance-gaining 135, 136 – and credibility 189–190, 197, 202 – and humor 225, 229 – and social identity 345, 348–349, 350, 356, 441 – and motivation 378, 381–382

Index

one-on-one instruction 4, 7, 509, 553–567 online learning, see e-learning organization (of information) 109, 111, 113, 114–115, 118, 119–121, 507 organizational communication 17, 24, 26, 34, 76–77, 170, 276, 277, 579, 673–674, 683– 693, 708, 735 out-of-class (or outside-of-class) communication 32, 72, 83, 89, 165, 167, 173, 200, 202, 220, 247, 271, 343, 350, 352, 553–567 P-12 education, see also K-12 35, 630, 631– 633, 638, 640, 642–644, 648–649 parental academic support 85–86, 636–638, 641–642 parent-child interaction 574, 601–621, 629, 633–634, 636–642 pedagogy 13, 14, 21, 25, 573–592 – and andragogy 676–677, 691 – and basic course instruction 656, 657, 659, 661, 663, 668 – and children 631 – and clarity 124 – and communication apprehension 404, 415– 418 – and communication technology 487–489, 519 – and credibility 198–200 – and service learning 529, 531, 536–546 – and social identity 354, 367 performativity 56, 59, 62, 580 politeness 74, 80, 85, 146, 291, 564–566 politeness theory 141, 564, 661 power bases 16, 69–70, 76, 130–131, 138–140, 142, 149, 191, 268, 497 Power in the Classroom studies 16, 130–140, 581 PowerPoint 214, 481, 483, 485 practices 19–22, 30–31, 45–49, 53–58, 60–63 pragmatic skills 617–619 praxis 45, 366, 489, 491, 575, 587, 588, 591, 592, 657, 660, 662 predicted outcome value theory 75, 141 program review 700, 702, 704, 710, 711, 714 programmatic research 15, 22, 26, 27, 67, 87, 106, 123, 149, 151, 531, 658, 660–662, 667, 736 prosocial BATs 132, 134, 135, 137–139, 145– 147, 271

759

psychological reactance theory 68, 74, 85, 137 public speaking 8, 13, 26, 28, 32, 346–347, 397–418, 505–524, 653–668, 680, 681, 708, 713, 716, 721, 735 race (or racial identity) 32, 81 – and credibility 194–195 – and critical pedagogy 577, 579, 580, 590 – and future research 730, 735, 738–739 – and humor 214, 219, 224 – and social identity 339–340, 347–352, 358, 365, 366, 427, 431 reflexivity 349, 573, 575, 586–587, 591 relational dialectics theory 68, 76, 365 relevance 16, 31, 69, 561 – and adult learners 677 – and children 604, 609, 611, 619 – and clarity 116, 124 – and credibility 189 – and humor 217–218 – and self-disclosure 241, 243, 246, 247–248, 251–254 – and social identity 341, 345, 354 – and student motivation 378, 388 research methods 5, 7, 54, 68, 80–81, 83–84, 85, 89, 92 – and aggressive communication 264–266 – and assessment 707 – and communication apprehension 411 – and critical pedagogy 575, 585–586 – and future research 732, 735, 737, 738, 742 – and humor 223, 224 – and social identity 342, 349, 365, 366 rhetorical and relational goals theory 68, 77– 78, 219–221, 229, 244, 248 school crisis communication 629, 642–648 self-determination theory 74, 378, 388–393 self-disclosure, see teacher self-disclosure self-regulation 288, 293–294, 299, 301, 305, 306, 489 semiotics 52, 57 service learning 349, 354, 527–547, 588, 659, 661 sex (or sexual identity), see also sexual orientation 339–347, 431–432, 434–435 – and aggressive communication 261 – and assessment 717, 730, 733 – and compliance-gaining 150 – and credibility 194

760

Index

– and humor 214, 219, 222–224, 234 – and self-disclosure 248, 252, 253 – and critical pedagogy 579, 580 sexual orientation 32, 81, 194, 214, 219, 340, 359–361, 366, 427, 431, 434, 435 skills training, see communication training smartphone 481, 514–515, 523, 638, 641 social class 339–340, 357–359, 366, 730 social identity 254, 339–340, 427, 431–432, 435 – age 353–356 – disability 361–365 – future research 365–367 – race/ethnicity 347–352 – sex/gender 340–347 – sexual orientation 359–361 – social class 357–359 social influence model 141, 490, 491, 496 social justice 56, 58, 536–538, 542–543, 545, 574–576, 579, 582, 588–590, 592 social penetration theory 244, 245–246, 675 social presence 365, 466–469, 471, 472 social support 302, 348, 443–444, 661, 666 socialization 32, 321, 323, 326–327, 331, 435, 445, 563, 661, 674–675, 683–687, 693 source (of messages) 15, 27 – and clarity 121 – and credibility 183–188, 193, 196–198, 201– 202 – and feedback 298, 306, 307 – and humor 213, 215, 234 – and motivation 378 – and technology use 493 Speech Communication Association (SCA) 14, 19, 21, 22, 24, 700 structure (of messages) 109, 111–112, 117, 119– 121, 193, 466, 557, 562–563, 567, 608, 610 student motivation 4, 6, 17, 32, 59, 69, 377– 393, 661 – and adults 675, 678, 689 – and aggressive communication 262, 265, 269, 271, 274, 276 – and assessment 710, 711 – and children 632–633, 635, 642 – and clarity 115, 116, 124 – and coaching 566–567 – and communication theory 69–81 – and credibility 189, 191, 196, 197 – and cultural values 325, 327, 332

– and feedback 288, 293, 295, 297, 299, 301– 303, 310 – and humor 217–219 – and immediacy 158, 162, 163–167, 175 – and online learning 461, 468, 469, 472, 487, 494–495 – and pedagogy 530, 533, 540, 546 – and self-disclosure 246, 247 – and social identity 343, 350, 353, 355, 438, 441, 442–443 – and teacher power 138 – future research 391–393 – teaching effects 378–380 – theoretical explanations 380–391 student-teacher relationship, see teacherstudent relationship summative feedback 287, 291, 293, 705 survey method 16, 33–34, 80, 84, 171–172, 393, 259 systematic desensitization 404–405, 412, 414 tablets 486 teacher self-disclosure 15, 16, 17, 31, 85, 632, 662, 729 – and clarity 122 – and credibility 200, 202 – and immediacy 158, 166, 168, 173 – definition 241–243 – measurement 251–253 – research findings 246–250 – theoretical explanations 243–246 teacher technology policies 31, 72, 86, 489, 491, 485, 489, 495–498 teacher-student relationship 1, 5, 62, 70,74, 173, 221, 241, 243, 246, 248, 255, 270– 271, 303, 730, 731, 733 teaching (definition) 3, 15, 44, 55, 60–61 teaching assistants 85, 122, 138, 267–268, 352, 661, 740 technical language 554–555, 566 technology, see communication technology technology expectations 497 training, see communication training trust (or trustworthiness) 76–77 – and aggressive communication 262, 272, 273 – and compliance-gaining 140 – and credibility 183–197, 200, 202 – and feedback 307 – and mentoring 560, 565

Index

– and self-disclosure 242–243, 246, 249 – and social identity 348, 355, 359, 363 tutoring 85, 297, 472, 553, 554, 556–560, 563, 564, 566–567, 731–732 values (socio-cultural) 32, 87, 173, 304, 321– 333 – and assessment 707 – and compliance-gaining 130, 138 – and credibility 189, 197–198 – and critical pedagogy 587 – and feedback 304 – and future research 328–333 – and global society 328–333 – and immediacy 173 – and instruction 325–328

761

– and messages 321–325 – and motivation 390–391 – and service learning 530, 540, 541, 544, 547 – and social identity 428, 429, 432, 435, 439 verbal aggressiveness, see aggressive communication verbal immediacy 157, 158, 166–167, 170–171, 172, 174, 344, 350, 356, 443, 576 visualization 32, 414–415 vocational training 653–658, 662, 665, 668, 673–693 Wittgenstein 47, 49, 56, 57, 62 word learning 611–615, 620 workplace communication 82, 656, 673–693