Sharing Authority in Collaborative Digital Humanities Pedagogy

Background and Context

Collaboration is widely recognized as a core tenet of DH.8 In Digital Pedagogy in the Humanities: Concepts, Models, and Experiments, Amanda Licastro, Danica Savonick, and Katina Rogers lay out curated artifacts and resources that illustrate collaborative pedagogy among not only faculty and other academic staff but students as well, asserting, “Learning how to work together across differences is essential training for engaged citizenship and a robust democratic society. Collaboration is also critical in the professional environments that students will enter after earning their degrees. Teaching collaborative skills in the scaffolded environment of the classroom, then, makes sense not only in an effort to improve students’ learning outcomes but also to equip them to succeed beyond the classroom.”9 Unsurprisingly, then, the last several years have seen numerous case studies on library workers becoming involved in DH pedagogy, both within and outside the library’s walls, such as Daniel Tracy and Elizabeth Massa Hoiem’s case study of integrating Scalar into a graduate distance course.10 Stewart Varner posits that DH pedagogy presents an opportunity for library workers to partner with faculty, “not just because librarians excel at instruction but also because the library can provide access to the collections and tools that form the foundation of some of the most innovative assignments.”11 Harriet Green emphasizes that because DH is still emerging and growing, teaching students these research approaches necessitates collaboration between library workers and faculty. In an analysis of four case studies in collaboration and twenty-eight student-generated digital projects, Green declares, “We move toward promoting experiential, creative modes of learning in our students that must engage all of us in the pedagogical practices.”12 Yet none of these case studies take as their central question the roles of teaching partners and their experiences; they focus instead on the design of instructional services housed in libraries or the instructional design of DH assignments within courses.

Hannah Rasmussen, Brian Croxall, and Jessica Otis present five case studies of different ways that libraries approach teaching DH through interviews with five library workers. Like Varner’s, the cases they present describe the institutional context of each academic library—intended patrons, strategic directions, and service models. Within these institutional contexts, they identify many of the activities that constitute library workers’ labor when teaching DH:

1. Supporting faculty in developing syllabi and assignments for their for-credit courses
2. Conducting guest lectures in for-credit courses
3. Co-teaching or embedding in for-credit courses
4. Individually teaching for-credit courses
5. Teaching . . . not-for-credit workshops13

They conclude that “teaching digital humanities in the library cannot be a one-size-fits-all approach” but rather requires significant tailoring to local context, including negotiating the “willingness and ability of local faculty to invite librarians into their courses for one-off or a series of guest lectures.”14 While Rasmussen, Croxall, and Otis emphasize the importance of context, we look more closely at what it means for library workers to tailor teaching DH to that particular social and institutional context, performing the complex labor of relationship building, coaching, and managing emotions that library workers necessarily take on when partnering with disciplinary faculty to teach DH.

Paige Morgan eloquently calls attention to the work that she performs when consulting with researchers embarking on DH projects, observing, “The way that I provide guidance and information will have an emotional impact, and people will make better decisions if they are feeling steady, resilient, and energized, rather than depleted, by their work.”15 Crucially, she sees this emotional labor as essential not just for the success of individual projects but also for DH programs to become deeply rooted in their local academic communities. Consequently, for Morgan, acknowledging the expertise underpinning the emotional labor often performed by library workers can “contribute to reframing the relationship between scholars and librarians as one of more equal partnership, rather than mere service provision.” Morgan’s piece does not focus on the emotional labor library workers perform in the classroom, specifically, but it illuminates the dynamics already at play when library workers enter into collaborative teaching relationships with faculty.

To date, while there have been studies on research partnerships between library workers and faculty, such as Alix Keener’s, there has been no in-depth study of DH pedagogical partnerships and the ways in which workers occupying these different roles in the university collaborate to plan and perform instruction.16 Our work seeks to fill that gap. We not only explore collaborative pedagogy between library workers and disciplinary faculty but also examine closely the affective experiences of library workers, revealing the emotional labor they perform when undertaking these partnerships. To arrive at a more ethical and caring model of collaborative DH pedagogy, we argue, all individuals in a potential teaching partnership must acknowledge potentially uncomfortable realities and begin new collaborations with a frank discussion of the power dynamics between them, as well as how to anticipate, prevent, and heal from harmful behavior.

Our work stems from sixteen in-depth interviews we conducted in fall 2016 with library workers who partnered with disciplinary faculty members to perform collaborative digital pedagogy, sampled from the Digital Library Federation Digital Library Pedagogy Working Group, more commonly known as #DLFteach. Our interviewees ranged in job title (both subject specialists, such as English or history librarian, and functional specialists, such as digital scholarship librarian or metadata librarian), credentials (both MLIS and PhD), and type of institution (both liberal arts colleges and research universities). We assigned each participant a unique, anonymous identifier, such as L01, L02, and so on.17

We focus here on the lived experiences of library workers—the role we, the authors, occupy. We focus, too, on the power dynamic based specifically on roles within the university organization. However, we acknowledge that white supremacy, patriarchy, and classism also profoundly shape encounters between collaborators in DH pedagogy.

“Always Giving”: Library Workers’ Negative Experiences of Collaborative Pedagogy

Although DH as a field espouses collaboration, library workers shared with us their experiences of disciplinary faculty seeking out teaching collaborations while in fact refusing to collaborate. When asked to describe their ideal partnership in DH pedagogy, one participant (L12) replied, “For me, a dream scenario is mutual respect”—implying that their lived experience of such partnerships does not always include a felt sense of respect. Another participant (L04) said, “You know, a partnership where I didn’t feel like I was always giving.”

About working with faculty to prepare, participants described being “at the mercy of their process” (L02) and expressed frustration at not being able to “weave organically what we [the participant and faculty] wanted to do” (L01). Certainly, disciplinary faculty face challenges of their own, including demands on their time. One participant (L07) observed, “Faculty have a desire to learn about the techniques and whatever associated thinking, modeling, theorizing, and they try”—but when the instructor has limited time to engage, the collaboration runs the risk that the library worker carries a heavier burden of preparatory labor and, furthermore, that the DH project assigned to students becomes an “appendage” (L07). Without that preparation, without deep engagement in the “why” of bringing a particular DH method to bear in a particular course, participants sensed that learners questioned the relevance of their expertise. For example, one participant (L03) reflected, “It’s almost as if I’m some sort of magician with a bag of tricks that I can bring out, and each one is more enticing and surprising than the last. And sometimes as arcane as a magic trick.”

Participants’ experiences while managing faculty and learner frustrations with experiential learning involving technology resonate deeply with Hochschild’s definition of emotional labor. For example, one participant (L01) recalled a class session when the faculty member was “expecting the technology to always work, and the students were grumbling because we didn’t prepare enough”—because of the perhaps unreasonable expectations of the faculty, and their lack of commitment to prepare (described further by L01), the students’ dissatisfaction fell on the library worker. Likewise, another participant (L12) described the demand placed on the teaching partner more expert in the particular technology to project calm when things did not go as expected—being the one tasked, explicitly or implicitly, with “managing the feelings” and “managing people’s anxiety” when the technology constantly goes wrong. The emotional labor that library workers perform, then, in the role of teacher of technology is to assure both faculty and learners that the learning environment is a safe place to try, fail, and try again.

This labor is considerable and sometimes leaves library workers feeling spent, as one participant (L08) recounted: “That particular collaboration was really pretty labor-intensive and exhausting. It began very shortly after I began my job here, so I was in some ways not in a position to set many boundaries. If it were to happen again, I would set more.” Yes, library workers can try to set and enforce boundaries; they can take this step as individuals. However, they would need their supervisors, their library directors, and their institutions to back them up. We believe that in collaborative teaching relationships, the disciplinary faculty who are the library workers’ teaching partners should share the labor of making their collaborators (both library workers and learners) feel cared for—in other words, that their time and energy are valuable and worthy of respect.

“So That Dance Continues”: Strategies Library Workers Deploy to Align Collaborative Pedagogy with Their Values

When invited into a humanities classroom to teach a digital scholarship tool or method, library workers hold considerable responsibility for creating a learning environment where students can feel safe and supported while they practice using an entirely unfamiliar tool or method for the first time. However, they do not have sole authority and autonomy to create the conditions they see as necessary for learners to reach meaningful access to a particular technology through experimentation and play and sharing of authority. Our interviews uncovered strategies that library workers deploy in order to create more rewarding experiences for their learners, their teaching partners, and themselves.

Multiple participants described advocating for appropriate scaffolding for learners. At times, this advocacy requires frank discussion between collaborators at the planning stages. For example, one participant (L13) recalled a faculty member who wanted to do a topic modeling module in a Victorian literature class; the library worker advised the faculty member that topic modeling would require a basic literacy of text as data, so they suggested approaches that would give students a firmer footing, and together they agreed on a different approach. Likewise, another participant (L09) shared with us, “If someone were resistant to providing scaffolding, I would potentially be willing to back away from that collaboration. I’ve never had that happen, but I’m always really upfront that we can’t expect students to instantly adapt their conceptions of what scholarship means to different mediums; we have to give them time to practice and find their new voice.” Other times, if trust is still being established between collaborators, the opportune moment to articulate the need for appropriate scaffolding comes later in the collaboration. One library worker (L16) recounted sitting down for a retrospective with the instructor of record and sharing their perspective that too many tools and too many assignments were “stresses of that class” and that in the future they would like to provide “greater collaborative support.” Library workers who become a part of a course are positioned to share not only their own perspectives but also the perspectives of students. As one participant (L12) told us, not being the grader invites candor from learners, and “if you have a good relationship with the faculty member, you’re a conduit to talking to them about what the actual sticking points are with a given assignment.”

There is only so much a library worker can do if their faculty collaborator is not willing to acknowledge their expertise and observations. During their first time working with a particular faculty collaborator, one participant (L02) pressed back against the proposed timing of their appearance in the course, to no avail. Their prediction that the timing would not work held true, and in the midst of planning for a future iteration with the same faculty member, and revisiting the question of timing—which is fundamentally a question about scaffolding—they remarked to us with a touch of weariness, “So that dance continues” (L02).

Successful collaborations require that each collaborator is both frank and willing to trust in the process and each other, as described by one participant (L07): “We were both really honest with each other going into it that we weren’t quite sure how it would work out. That was a huge success for me because it is almost never perfect the first time around and if you can just build that relationship with somebody where you . . . say we’re going to do the best we can, and we’ll just take whatever learning we can get from it and get it better the next time around.” Participants deployed many strategies to shape their collaborative relationships around their values as educators. But the responsibility for caring collaboration does not rest solely with the library worker. Together, both collaborators should perform the emotional labor of creating a mutually rewarding teaching and learning environment for their learners and for each other.

Not “This Person’s Better at This, This One’s Better at This”: Integrating and Deepening Both Library Workers’ and Disciplinary Faculty’s Expertise

Throughout these interviews, we heard participants grappling with how to define their own expertise and that of their collaborators—and as a result how to understand their respective contributions to collaborative DH pedagogy. We see genre theory as a useful frame for understanding the distinct expertise of library workers. We take our cue from Alexis Logsdon, Amy Mars, and Heather Tompkins, who observe, “Librarians who are skilled at navigating different genre communities are positioned to be allies and leaders to those undertaking collaborative, interdisciplinary DH projects for the first time because they are adept at shifting their vision to see diverging and converging values and norms and adjusting their language to speak to different disciplinary cultures.”18

Many participants in our interviews spoke to a seemingly natural division of labor of disciplinary faculty member as subject-matter expert and library worker as process expert. However, we contest that assumed division of expertise and subsequent division of labor based on what participants shared with us about their ideal collaborative teaching experiences and based on our own experiences: there are areas where we hold subject-matter expertise ourselves (as do many library workers), and we have also worked with faculty who have technological expertise or other types of process knowledge.

Christine Tardy’s work on genre knowledge illuminates how a division of expertise is impossible. Tardy asserts that people move from novice to expert in a particular genre by deepening their knowledge in four overlapping domains: subject-matter knowledge, process knowledge, formal knowledge (i.e., knowledge of formal characteristics), and rhetorical knowledge (i.e., knowledge of audience).19 Expertise in a particular genre requires knowledge in all four domains, but as someone becomes more expert, they recognize these domains of knowledge as inseparable. In other words, as people gain knowledge in one domain, they completely restructure their understanding of other domains. Tardy’s work describes genre expertise that individuals attain; we use her model to understand the learning about genres of DH that takes place within collaborative teaching relationships. Perhaps a disciplinary faculty member comes to a teaching partnership with considerable subject-matter knowledge but less process knowledge for the particular genre they wish to assign to learners. Perhaps it is the reverse for the library worker. When these two individuals collaborate, the disciplinary faculty will deepen their process knowledge and understand their existing subject-matter knowledge differently. At the same time, the library worker will deepen their subject-matter knowledge and understand their existing process knowledge differently. During the most rewarding partnerships in DH pedagogy, this is the process that unfolds for all collaborators. When the collaborators in teaching roles are so comfortable with unlearning and relearning, they are in turn better equipped to help learners in a course to “occupy realms of authority,” as one of our participants (L12) described.

When asked about the distinct expertise that library workers tend to possess, two participants anticipated the view later espoused by Robin Kear and Kate Joranson that library workers possess knowledge of the “material and social practices of academic labor.”20 One participant (L03) asserted that library workers understand “intimately how scholarship works from the very beginnings of the idea formation process to publishing and archiving the works of a professor emeritus.” Similarly, another participant (L15) said that library workers know “what the library has that can be fodder for digital scholarship.” Other participants emphasized the wide-angle-lens view of research, teaching, and learning afforded by their position within their campus communities and the nature of their work. One participant (L12) observed, “What I see as a librarian is things in the aggregate. So, tons of syllabi, tons of teaching, tons of students.” Similarly, one participant (L11) speculated that disciplinary faculty do not “need to be familiar with a wide variety of information and digital resources and tools,” in contrast to library workers, who pick things up in the course of working with a range of classes and departments. They continued, “My next-door neighbor is our research data librarian. If I have a question about GitHub or Python or R, I’ll just ask.”

It might be tempting, then, to associate library workers’ knowledge with only some of Tardy’s domains of knowledge—certainly process knowledge, such as use of particular digital tools and methods, and perhaps to a lesser extent subject-matter knowledge, rhetorical knowledge, or formal knowledge. But what we heard from our participants about how good partnerships work reveals how difficult it is to disentangle these forms of knowledge from each other. One participant (L09), describing a graduate DH seminar that is always cotaught by a disciplinary faculty member and library worker, reflected that bringing in “different disciplinary perspectives and different ideas on ways of working . . . helps students make sense of what the digital can mean for them in terms of imaginative and speculative possibilities.” Another participant (L06) echoed this perspective, saying, “As long as you’re learning from each other, that’s benefiting the students, as well, that they aren’t viewing it as ‘Oh, this person is better at this, this one’s better at this,’ but ‘Both of these people, their backgrounds are blending in a really nice way.’” Indeed, understanding the use and application of a particular digital tool or method or the kinds of iterations particular to composing in certain mediums—what Tardy might call process knowledge—can never really be separated from the possibilities they create for certain disciplines or communities. One participant (L04) expressed this particularly well: “I think generosity of ideas needs you to embrace new and different ways of asking those questions, so the most successful collaborations I’ve had with faculty are with those who are open to seeing my role and the role of technology as being a productive one that opens up questions rather than one that closes down questions.” This participant acknowledges two kinds of knowledge, which both collaborators do not necessarily possess at the outset of their collaboration. One collaborator who understands the affordances of a tool or method can partner with someone with deep disciplinary knowledge so that together they can understand the bearing of a particular technology on the questions of a particular scholarly community. If the process expert is not able to wrap their head around the questions of the discipline, or if the content expert is not able to grasp the affordances of the technology, together they will not be able to communicate to learners the relevance of the method to the question, nor will they be able to model effective collaboration. They risk learners seeing the assignment as an “appendage” (L07) and the library worker as a “magician with a bag of tricks” (L03). In time, though, as teaching partners learn from each other, they bolster each other’s nascent knowledge in different domains and together move toward expertise in a new genre.

The work that library workers do to deepen faculty expertise (in addition to student expertise) is part of their work as educators. We heard this from participants who deliberately take a train-the-trainer approach to their collaborations in DH pedagogy—whose faculty collaborators become so proficient in the technology that they are teaching that “maybe in the future [they] wouldn’t even necessarily want or need me to come in again” (L03). Another participant (L06) told us, “As we were planning the course in the fall semester, I was also teaching him TEI the first time. . . . By the time we had the second iteration of the course, we made a lot of improvements to the course that clearly reflected his deeper understanding of text encoding.” Furthermore, to work closely with a faculty member until they attain a certain level of integrated genre expertise, thus freeing up the library worker to partner with others, is labor that brings an ethos of generous collaboration to the classroom and campus scholarly communities. And it is administrative labor that requires the library worker to bear in mind sustainability and scalability. As one participant (L09) told us, their job is “building socio-technical supports: so, people, policies, technologies, communities to enable a culture of radical transformative collaboration.”

“We’re in This Boat Together”: Examples of Best Practices

Reflecting on what the term digital scholarship pedagogy evokes for them, one participant (L15) said: “I think of experimentation in groups. I think of collaboration. I think of learning by doing. And doing together. And supporting each other through that process. It helps if somebody knows a lot about certain tools or methods . . . but not always is that the case, and so it’s a ‘We’re in this boat together’ process.” Participants spoke warmly of collaborative teaching experiences when they felt that they were included in the design process and their expertise was acknowledged. Those inclusion and acknowledgment practices are core to successful partnerships, and we urge our faculty collaborators to consider doing the same when asking a library worker to teach with them. To wit, one participant (L04) nodded to the “faculty-centered culture” at their institution but appreciated one faculty collaborator in particular who “saw herself as assembling a team.” Similarly, another participant (L14) said of their faculty collaborator, “Writing in librarians or archivists into the grant shows that he values those people in their human expertise, so I always felt that he perhaps saw us as equals or partners.”

Instructors who are new to a particular technology may feel intimidated by the task of providing learners with meaningful access to unfamiliar tools, but in fact their very newness is a strength. Banks emphasizes that this newness connects them with their students’ experience as learners and, further, invites them to make visible to their students the awkwardness that is necessarily a part of learning new skills.21 Recalling a rewarding collaborative teaching experience around video games, one library worker (L12) said that their faculty collaborator brought a “beginner’s mind,” which in turn framed the relationship between teachers—whether faculty or library worker—and learners: “Having the professor present broke the ice and made other people feel more comfortable; it is modeling good behavior. I think the sessions go better and the work product is better because the faculty is collaborating with the students to create something, unlocking the process of how people do this work. But also it was allowing the students to occupy realms of authority that helped them have really positive learning experiences because they were learning alongside them and it wasn’t just critique, critique, critique.” We heard again and again that acknowledging one’s own newness goes hand in hand with acknowledging the growing expertise of other collaborators (and we have certainly appreciated this when working with a new collaborator in our own work). When teachers embrace their own newness to a particular technology as a strength, rather than a deficit, it becomes natural to also see learners as equal contributors to the learning environment. The same participant (L12) credited their faculty collaborator with “setting a tone that she is constantly sharing authority in the classroom and thinks that everyone is a collaborator in learning.” One participant (L15) described the dynamic among disciplinary faculty member, library subject specialist, and library functional specialist: “We all played equal parts in teaching everyone how to do things. We would work on our own for some of it, then come back to the group and say, ‘This is how we did this. You can look at this tutorial or you can use this version of this tool.’ And then you might say, ‘These are the things that might go wrong along the way, but this is how you fix it or do a workaround.’ So all three of us really played a really equal part in educating ourselves and each other.” As these participants suggest, acknowledging the considerable expertise of a collaborator certainly contributes to a more rewarding experience for the person acknowledged, but also models a particular way of practicing membership in a scholarly community, one that is ever curious and ever generous.

These interviews illustrate how library workers navigate the power dynamics they encounter when collaborating with disciplinary faculty to perform DH pedagogy. We have drawn attention to power differentials that exist between faculty member and library worker, between instructor of record and invited guest; we have not begun to examine factors beyond the academic caste system that further shape these power dynamics, such as race, class, and gender. We recognize that the particulars will vary from collaboration to collaboration, depending on the education, experience, identity, and social position occupied by each collaborator. Regardless, the work of bridging the gap between values and actions does not lie solely with library workers. All collaborators, including disciplinary faculty, should share the labor of laying the groundwork for mutually rewarding collaborations, both for learners and for each other. All collaborators should deepen their knowledge across various domains in order to help students see the “imaginative and speculative possibilities” a particular technology has for the questions that matter to them (L09). To that end, we make the following recommendations when undertaking collaborative DH pedagogy:

1. Disciplinary faculty and library workers, have a conversation about your power dynamic and the “underlying system of recompense” per Hochschild. Where do you each hold power? Feel vulnerable? How can you share power? Equip or embolden each other? What forms of recompense are each of you seeking—whether “money, authority, status, honor, well-being” or something else? How can you help each other to secure that recompense? Much work has been done on how project charters and memorandums of understanding “express intellectual and even emotional support for projects; these agreements universalize intent.”22 But here we suggest that collaborators discuss not only the intent of the project (e.g., what they hope learners will know or be able to do) but also their intent as individuals—their motivations and the forms of credit they are seeking.
2. Teaching partners, try doing your own assignment if you have not. Understand the relevance of the method to the guiding questions of the course and the relevance of those questions to the method.
3. Disciplinary faculty, work toward “graduating” from your collaboration with library workers for a particular course or method. That is not to say that you will never collaborate with that person again! But take on the responsibility of deepening and integrating your own knowledge across multiple domains (subject matter, process, formal, rhetorical) so that you are equipped to teach a particular tool or method independently. Library workers are thinking about the scalability and sustainability of their collaborative teaching across the entire campus community.

We believe that practicing generous collaboration helps us to model for students what the humanities can be and helps us to create more just campus communities.

Notes

With enduring gratitude to our participants for their thoughtfulness and candor; the Wake Forest University Humanities Institute for funding transcription of interviews and purchase of software for data analysis; the University of Michigan Libraries for providing wages for a research assistant; Autumn for contributions as a research assistant; and our early readers, Carrie, Gabe, Stephen, and Frans, whose questions and responses helped us to surface our argument.

1. 1. Muñoz, “Digital Humanities.”

2. 2. Risam and Edwards, “Transforming the Landscape.”

3. 3. Vandegrift and Varner, “Evolving in Common,” 76; Nowviskie, “Skunks in the Library,” 58.

4. 4. Shirazi, “Reproducing the Academy,” 90.

5. 5. Hochschild, Managed Heart, 12.

6. 6. Banks, Race, Rhetoric, and Technology, 40.

7. 7. Hochschild, Managed Heart, 7.

8. 8. Spiro, “‘This Is Why.’”

9. 9. Licastro, Savonick, and Rogers, “Collaboration.”

10. 10. Tracy and Hoiem, “Teaching Digital Humanities Tools.”

11. 11. Varner, “Library Instruction,” 207.

12. 12. Green, “Fostering Assessment Strategies,” 197, emphasis added.

13. 13. Rasmussen, Croxall, and Otis, “Exploring How and Why,” 80.

14. 14. Rasmussen, Croxall, and Otis, 81.

15. 15. Morgan, “Not Your DH Teddy-Bear.”

16. 16. Keener, “Arrival Fallacy.”

17. 17. Rowell and Keener, “Data.”

18. 18. Logsdon, Mars, and Tompkins, “Claiming Expertise,” 159–60.

19. 19. Tardy, Building Genre Knowledge, 22.

20. 20. Kear and Joranson, “View on Libraries,” xxi.

21. 21. Banks, Race, Rhetoric, and Technology, 139.

22. 22. Burress and Rowell, “Project Management,” 305.

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