The Covid-19 pandemic forced me to something I had never done before: teach online.
For someone who considers themselves a fairly tech-savvy millennial, it was clunky, awkward, and more than a little humbling. If anything, it felt like a crash course in realising that “digital literacy” doesn’t necessarily mean “digital fluency.” I struggled through a steep learning curve, as did my students, and the entire experience left me feeling gleefully grateful that I’m back mostly teaching in person again.
When I decided to sign up to the PGCert online, I did so for practical reasons, like fitting it around my ridiculously time-demanding fractional post. But I also found myself increasingly concerned about student access to learning.
I had noticed a troubling trend: fewer students were attending in person due to economical pressures. One student explained it to me as a cost-benefit analysis: fewer trips to campus meant saving money on travel, lunch, etc. It was, for them, survival. So, they’d pick the days they thought mattered most, leaving other sessions behind. Sadly, this isn’t survival, it’s sabotage. Missing college doesn’t exactly bode well for a course that requires hands-on work with use of equipment, facilities, and the in person teaching on campus.
The student’s suggestion stuck with me: whilst I wished they’d just sacrifice their image, hop on a bike and cycle to college rain or shine, they won’t. Nor will any political movement secure free travel for students anytime soon. So can I shift some in-person activities online to make learning more accessible? Could I see something in the online format that I’d been missing? With a growing number of students coming from lower socio-economic backgrounds, I wanted to better understand how digital learning spaces could open doors.
In an attempt to gain a better perspective, I read the article Home Sweet Home: Achieving Belonging and Engagement in Online Learning Spaces by Ross and Leewis (2022) that was on the reading list. They argued that online spaces can foster a sense of belonging through tools like Miro, where connection, co-creation, and shared ownership help students feel emotionally and socially engaged. But when I first participated in the PGCert, it felt like the most forced version of “engagement” imaginable. There we were, diligently responding with emoji reactions, trying to create some semblance of connection, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being in an awkward Teams meeting where everyone’s pretending to have a good time.
It led me to wonder: is this what my students experience? Am I trying to support some by creating an accessible space and, in turn, inadvertently making things worse for others? Perhaps it’s the fragmented nature of the platforms (Moodle, Microsoft Teams, Miro, and various blogs) caused the disconnect. The technical glitches alone were enough to send anyone into an existential crisis. I left each session feeling less like a learner and more like someone trying to piece together a puzzle with missing parts.
So here I am, questioning whether online learning truly enhances accessibility or just shifts the barriers to a different place. It’s clear I need to embrace a hybrid model, leveraging digital tools where they make sense, but without losing the tactile richness of in-person engagement. But that’s a puzzle I’m still working on.
References
Ross, S. L. and Leewis, L. (2022) Home sweet home: achieving belonging and engagement in online learning spaces. Spark: UAL Creative Teaching and Learning Journal, 5(1), pp. 71–81.
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