When Style Overwhelms Substance

Last June, I had the good fortune to attend the 31st annual conference of the International Society for Technology in Education held in Denver, Colorado.  The opening keynote presentation, held in the expansive Wells Fargo Theater, featured the former vice-president of the World Bank, Jean-François Rischard.  The topic of Rischard's address was, "Global Problem-Solving and the Critical Role of Educators and Technology for Education."  I looked forward to the opportunity to hear a world leader share his insights and perspectives as to how educators could help to solve some of the world's gravest problems.

As I looked around the theater prior to the start of the evening's program, I was struck by the size of the congregation.  Thousands of educators from around the world filtered in, took their seats and examined the gifts left for them by the corporate sponsors.  The cavernous theater buzzed with excitement and anticipation.  Much of this was reflected in the back channel chat that the ISTE organizers encouraged via two huge displays at the front of the theater.

The evening began with welcoming and opening remarks.  This process took awhile, but the enthusiasm of the crowd did not diminish noticeably.  By the time Jean-François Rischard took the stage, I have to admit, I had begun to think about dinner.  Given the 5:45 - 7:00 PM time slot, I am sure that I was not alone.

Soon after Mr. Rischard began, it became apparent that the night's presentation focused on serious stuff.  The topics included climate change, extreme poverty, world hunger, the financial crisis and other equally challenging issues facing society.  It also became obvious, that Mr. Rischard believed that the facts surrounding these serious issues were compelling enough to energize the crowd before him and incite them to action.  Unfortunately, the back channel chat revealed that this was not the case.

Attendees began commenting on Rischard's poor presentation style.  Indeed, it was wanting.  Mr. Rischard read from horribly busy PowerPoints, spoke in a low monotone and even turned his back to the audience on occasion.  Soon, people began streaming out of the theater.  This was no doubt encouraged by the back channel discourse that seemed to justify such a response.

As I watched my colleagues leave the theater, I felt a bit embarrassed.  I shared their opinion that Mr. Rischard's presentation was far less than it could, or even should, have been.  Yet, I valued hearing from one who had a unique understanding of many of the problems that I had only read about.  Here was a world leader who actually valued education and educators.  A world leader who thought teachers and students played a serious role in addressing these problems.  But many in the audience could not tolerate the messy PowerPoints and dry (I may be being kind) presentation style.  I thought back to the frustration often expressed by teachers that students today, "always want to be entertained." 

Upon my return to the office, I shared my reaction to the mass exodus.  I expressed my belief that we, as educators, need to be deeply concerned about the issues discussed and that the behavior that I observed in Denver suggested that many of us are not.  In fact, I noted, the behavior suggested that we, too, want to be entertained. I stated my belief that we have a responsibility to respect the message regardless of the media or style of the presentation.

One of my younger colleagues vehemently disagreed.  She believed that the responsibility rested with the messenger.  She argued that the presenter, knowing the importance of his message, had an obligation to craft the message in such a way that people could appreciate its relevance.  This argument did not persuade me.

Later, I read a book called, Don't Be Such a Scientist, by Randy Olsen.  Olsen received his doctorate in biology from Harvard and was a tenured professor at the University of New Hampshire.  He also earned an MFA in cinematography from USC.  Olsen contended that scientists were trained to be poor communicators.  As he recounted presentations by scientists he had observed over the years, I immediately thought of Jean-François Rischard.

Olsen explained that scientists typically address only one organ in the body, the brain.  This, he stated, greatly reduces the audience since few people respond to information that is simply intellectual in nature.   To reach a diverse crowd of any appreciable size, Olsen argued, one must appeal to at least three additional organs.  To incite passion in the listener one must address the heart.  A message that engages the gut elicits humor and good will.  Venturing even lower, adding sex appeal to your presentation, promises to engage just about everyone.

Olsen's insight gave me a much greater appreciation of what occurred that night in Denver.  People gathering in a clearly festive mood over the dinner hour were not ready to hear with their brains alone.  This was exacerbated by the fact that the keynote was held over the dinner hour and during the opening celebration.  Rischard's message failed organically.

While Olsen and my young colleague made valid points,  I still feel that we, as educators, have a higher calling.  We must understand and value the importance of the message regardless of the media or the style.  Why?   Because in many cases, we are the ultimate messengers who must instill the passion needed to ensure that vital messages are heard and understood by others.  After all, isn't that what education is all about?