By Rhys Hague
March 23, 2022

VIP modules are pretty distinct from many more “traditional” modules. They tend to take a lot of paradigms and structures and either ignore them or turn them on their head, often resulting in a lot of educational benefits and a lot of fun! They can take a lot of getting used to, though, but luckily one of the ideas they ignore is that once the semester is over, the module is too — I have now been in the Biodiversity Literacy VIP for three semesters straight! Thanks to this, the learning curve necessary to fully engage didn’t chew up all the time I spent in the VIP, and I’ve also had ample time to reflect on the interesting dynamics resulting from such a module structure.

  

There is something that came to the forefront more than ever in this third semester, and it emerged in multiple ways at the same time. This something is an amazing example of how VIPs shift normal pedagogies into new forms with clever inversions. This something is also a structure I found to be immensely fun. Though I’m leaving the VIP behind after this semester, I’ll remember it fondly, partially thanks to this. So, what am I talking about? 

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I’m talking about the flip-flop of who is the teacher and who is the taught. Often, you do hear things about teachers learning from their students, often in the context of teachers wanting contributions and participation in their classes. However, I personally think these messages feel a bit contrived in a normal teaching environment. Lectures are very much lecturers talking at you, not with you, and needing to rush around between lectures mean that it can even be hard to go up and ask a question afterwards. On top of this, most student-lecturer communication comes in the form of the student asking the lecturer for clarification, less so the other way around. Even for assignments that focus on student contributions, such as presentations, lecturers have to be the more knowledgeable ones so they can grade things! This isn’t so much the fault of the lecturers as much as the setup. They may really want to learn things from their pupils, but the system doesn’t facilitate that very well. 

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I can very confidently say that this doesn’t feel to be the case in our little Biodiversity Literacy group. Not only that, but I can confirm it from the point of view of being the teacher. 

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For the first two semesters of the VIP, we focused on bird species. This was a matter of convenience, as the project was new and we had a lot of things to figure out — may as well work with the animals that our supervisor already had plenty of experience identifying. This semester, though, we started to work with plants, with a focus on trees. It was slightly inconveniently timed as most of the trees had no leaves, what with it being winter, but we went out to try and identify them anyways. Species ID guide in hand, we wandered a small wooded area near our base of operations, picking out certain identifying characters. Look, here, the common beech is still holding onto its dead leaves. And here, the ash tree can be spotted by the presence of its seeds, known as keys or samaras. As always, we students would point out something unknown, and ask, “what’s this?” But this time, instead of a confident answer, we would often get the response of “I don’t know.” This wasn’t a typical student-lecturer conversation. This was a group of peers on equal footing figuring things out together. None of us confidently knew any of the trees, so we discussed options and flipped through the ID guides together. It was exciting and novel, but moreover, I think it established something profound. Most of the time, it can be very intimidating to ask lecturers questions. After all, they have years of knowledge and experience that you don’t, and there’s always that nagging idea that they’ll think your question is silly (no matter how many times the mantra of “no stupid questions” is repeated!) 

Hearing that “I don’t know” repeatedly in a short span of time changes things. A precedent is set: it’s okay, even expected, to not know. Why don’t we find things out together, as a team? This feeling persists even long after it first arises, and I think it led to people being more willing to chat, to contribute, and to ask for help. 

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(So, remember, your lecturers also have things they don’t know; go up and ask that question you’ve got in mind!)

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This wasn’t the only time the teacher-pupil paradigm was flipped this semester, though. In the VIPs, we undertake a great many projects that simply cannot be completed in one semester. This, coupled with the fact that you can take the VIPs repeatedly, results in the ability to develop alongside a project over a longer span of time. To use our supervisor’s terminology, some of us are “old hats” — three semesters in, I’m a group grandparent. People ask me, and the other “old hats” for advice. However, this isn’t yet the inversion. The inversion is the fact that despite the fact I am a more senior member, I often find myself asking the others questions too! In many cases, people in their very first semester bring great new ideas and knowledge to the table. All it takes is for them to get used to the untraditional idea that nobody (not the senior members, not the supervisor) knows everything about what we’re doing. Some know more about one thing and less about others. We’re all equals, and I’ve noticed that once a new person really grasps this, the amazing ideas and pre-existing skill sets they have suddenly make themselves known.  

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It’s important to note that I don’t think this is specific to the Biodiversity Literacy team, or even the VIP modules in general. I think that in all modules, the newest members have fantastic things to contribute right off the bat — it’s more that the VIP system allows for the intimidation factor to be diminished. It’s a lack of truly feeling like a peer to a lecturer rather than a lack of knowledge. 

In this last semester, I have learned perhaps the most important thing. 

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Every single one of us students/newcomers/”less-experienced people” can bring amazing things forward. We just need to realise that there is, in fact, already a seat at the table meant for us!