Ah, Dylan’s Mr. Jones. I see him all about. I channel him regularly, myself. It’s genuinely difficult to imagine the world that cyberspace is constructing, which means it’s hard to make it real to ourselves. The dot-com gold rush of the 1990’s came and went, and for a little while it was possible to think that Internet mania was another fad, but the reality of the socio-cognitive changes wrought by networked computing–and the opportunities they represent for education–is no fad. We must at least try to stretch our minds to conceptualize what’s happening if we are to be true to our mission as teachers. And here’s the rub: we’re all teachers, because we’re all learners–or should be.

I was forcibly reminded of all these truths myself recently. (Now that I think about it, the reminder came at about the same time I last blogged. Perhaps I’m just now emerging from the shock.) I’ve long been interested in computer-mediated asychronous communication as a way of taking learning beyond the classroom, where a four-walls, time-bound design borrowed from the industrial model of the assembly line has, I believe, encouraged a pernicious view of education as a series of one-shot encounters over an arbitrary “course.” By contrast, things like listservs and threaded discussion forums keep the party going, so to speak: the lights are always on and there’s always some conversation, and if you want to change the subject you can do so with a couple of clicks and a good hook for a subject line.

But every good party needs a good den, rec room, clubhouse, or Moose Lodge. This year I finally got one made, and found out just how close to Mr. Jones I had become: “you know there’s something happening, but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?” (Bob Dylan, “Ballad of a Thin Man”).

The discussion forum I’m running in my Introduction to Film Studies class is in my web space this time, not on the course management system’s official, dreary, and deadening forum. This new forum, which runs on freeware called phpBB, beats the “official” stuff all cold. Students can post anonymously (though I know who they are, since the posts are done for a grade). They can use avatars, striking little graphic icons that they choose to represent themselves. They can send personal messages to each other within the forum, can reach each other via IM or Yahoo mail or regular email, and post links to their own web pages–all just a click away within the context of each post they contribute or respond to. Also just a click away in each post: profile information that shares whatever the writer chooses to reveal about him or herself to the forum.

The conversation flows more naturally, too, because the posts are arranged in a series of pages devoted to each thread, not like a list of message headers. The graphics are friendly and pleasing, and students can customize the look and feel to the extent provided for by the administrator (me), who can make a variety of “skins” available to the user. There are even handy icons to indicate where the new posts are. You can ask the system to email you when a thread you’re contributing to has a fresh response. You can see at a glance who’s on the system (if they’ve chosen to reveal their presence), how many times they’ve posted, how many total posts and topics have been contributed to date, and a couple of other stats about participation. And I’m sure there are features I’m forgetting.

So far this year, my class is on track to double the quantity of participation I’ve had with the “official” tool. That’s a good thing. But the real revelation, for me anyway, came early on as the forum was just getting started.

I was home, sitting in the stereo sweet spot, as is my wont, doing some work on my wireless tablet PC. I went to the forum to see how things were going. Several interesting posts caught my eye. One in particular seemed unusually thoughtful and articulate. I had no idea who it was; the username wasn’t the real name. What I did know was that I was intrigued. I became doubly intrigued when I saw I had a private message from this person requesting that I provide several optional “skins” for the forum. Ah. That’s new. A student wants me to help him or her to customize a virtual learning space. Ah.

Then I noticed that the writer had enabled the www button on his or her posts. I clicked on the button and found myself on this writer’s blog. I read some of the blog and discovered that the young man (as it turned out) had made a number of short films on digital video. Another click, and I saw the list of his most recent creations. Another click, and, still online and in the stereo sweet spot, I was watching his movie.

These connections were rapid, fascinating, detailed, and led to my feeling I had made a deeper connection with the student’s world than I would have dreamed possible at such an early stage. That’s exhilarating. Even more importantly, however, I had seen something of the way students accept and use cyberspace as a birthright, as a place where things they value can be communicated, as a place where they’re genuinely connected to their experience.

It would be a pity if education, especially higher education, stifles a yawn and goes on with business as usual. But that’s my night fear, tonight. Who will help us understand and embrace these new horizons? Where are the Chuck Berrys, Elvises, and Beatles of cyberspace?

I know they’re there, like the music of the spheres, if we can just tune in and make the time to listen.