Write a short statement (at least 500-1000 words) discussing your findings and reflections on interdisciplinary experiential education as related to the Gulf Oil Spill and, more broadly, how interdisciplinary education resonates for you in your current classes and outside class, outside UW.
Like Haiti, Darfur, and the many disasters that came before it, the Gulf Oil spill floated out onto the sea of mass communication and was ultimately swallowed up by the forces of the public eye. That is, a function of attention versus time that modeled a rapid increase followed by a continuous, irreversible decrease. And yet, I found myself in a class that continued to address the Gulf Oil spill long after the public’s fickle focus had been diverted to other, more entertaining political battlegrounds. It was refreshing, in a way: exploring a hot news item for weeks after the last of her flashbulb-cocking suitors had departed, to look past the populist bandwagon of BP-hate and address the disaster from angles that promoted impartiality.
Of all the angles that I experienced during this course, Mary Pat Wenderoth’s talk pertained the most to the Gulf Oil spill, closely followed by Frances McCue’s miniature writing workshop. But these lectures, even in conjunction, did little to advance my knowledge of interdisciplinary-ism. I came into the course knowing that every topic could be viewed from multiple disciplines. I came into the course wanting to know how poets and biologists actually collaborated on something as polarizing as the Gulf Oil spill. I came out only with the confirmation of what I already knew; that these differing viewpoints of the same event existed. I began to wonder, did the course aim to challenge us to do our own thinking? Did the guest speakers act merely as a nucleation sites for our own thought processes, like illustrations in a picture book that re-presented the text in visual form but caused you to wonder who lived in the purple mountains beyond Spot’s front yard where he chased sticks for Jack and Jill?
To that effect, the course had mixed results. I imagined scenarios where Professor Kalat’s informatics expertise helped Lecturer Wenderoth and Director Leschine estimate the extent of damage to Gulf species, where Ms. Tasker’s experience with portfolios published these findings and Writer McCue broadened the audience of the study. Professor Taranath defined the literature that would be relevant to the team, while Mr. Soder tackled the issue of making the information stream accessible to students through a theoretical framework. Perhaps this is really what happens in reality. But I doubt that it ever happens on a team of this composition – separately, certainly, but never as an intentional co-op between professionals of such different fields (excepting that of the informatician and the researchers).
This separation isn’t necessarily wrong, though. Mixing poetry and biology might make for good coffee break talk, but it would only dilute the scientific process whose results need distinction in order to be usable by people in other fields. Poets can end up using biology, but after it’s been researched by actual biologists. And publishing companies don’t often jump into the mix at the genesis of a research project; they review the results and suggest improvement after the initial cake has been baked.
Of course, there is no denying that each of these disparate fields internally relies on others in order to function. Science majors need strong writing skills in order to make their work known and authoritative, while writers often need a comprehensive knowledge set in order to craft plausible pieces. Many schools acknowledge this fact, and enforce core curricula that attempt to create well-rounded graduates with not only expertise in one subject area but a functional understanding of the surrounding puzzle that enables that subject to exist within the world of application. As such, interdisciplinary experiences inherently exist in my educational experience, with no further effort of my own. And undoubtedly, my future experiences will bring me into interdisciplinary situations, as the world is undeniably cross-linked by every imaginable field.
What more can I do? That, in the style of Shakespeare, is the question.
Like Haiti, Darfur, and the many disasters that came before it, the Gulf Oil spill floated out onto the sea of mass communication and was ultimately swallowed up by the forces of the public eye. That is, a function of attention versus time that modeled a rapid increase followed by a continuous, irreversible decrease. And yet, I found myself in a class that continued to address the Gulf Oil spill long after the public’s fickle focus had been diverted to other, more entertaining political battlegrounds. It was refreshing, in a way: exploring a hot news item for weeks after the last of her flashbulb-cocking suitors had departed, to look past the populist bandwagon of BP-hate and address the disaster from angles that promoted impartiality.
Of all the angles that I experienced during this course, Mary Pat Wenderoth’s talk pertained the most to the Gulf Oil spill, closely followed by Frances McCue’s miniature writing workshop. But these lectures, even in conjunction, did little to advance my knowledge of interdisciplinary-ism. I came into the course knowing that every topic could be viewed from multiple disciplines. I came into the course wanting to know how poets and biologists actually collaborated on something as polarizing as the Gulf Oil spill. I came out only with the confirmation of what I already knew; that these differing viewpoints of the same event existed. I began to wonder, did the course aim to challenge us to do our own thinking? Did the guest speakers act merely as a nucleation sites for our own thought processes, like illustrations in a picture book that re-presented the text in visual form but caused you to wonder who lived in the purple mountains beyond Spot’s front yard where he chased sticks for Jack and Jill?
To that effect, the course had mixed results. I imagined scenarios where Professor Kalat’s informatics expertise helped Lecturer Wenderoth and Director Leschine estimate the extent of damage to Gulf species, where Ms. Tasker’s experience with portfolios published these findings and Writer McCue broadened the audience of the study. Professor Taranath defined the literature that would be relevant to the team, while Mr. Soder tackled the issue of making the information stream accessible to students through a theoretical framework. Perhaps this is really what happens in reality. But I doubt that it ever happens on a team of this composition – separately, certainly, but never as an intentional co-op between professionals of such different fields (excepting that of the informatician and the researchers).
This separation isn’t necessarily wrong, though. Mixing poetry and biology might make for good coffee break talk, but it would only dilute the scientific process whose results need distinction in order to be usable by people in other fields. Poets can end up using biology, but after it’s been researched by actual biologists. And publishing companies don’t often jump into the mix at the genesis of a research project; they review the results and suggest improvement after the initial cake has been baked.
Of course, there is no denying that each of these disparate fields internally relies on others in order to function. Science majors need strong writing skills in order to make their work known and authoritative, while writers often need a comprehensive knowledge set in order to craft plausible pieces. Many schools acknowledge this fact, and enforce core curricula that attempt to create well-rounded graduates with not only expertise in one subject area but a functional understanding of the surrounding puzzle that enables that subject to exist within the world of application. As such, interdisciplinary experiences inherently exist in my educational experience, with no further effort of my own. And undoubtedly, my future experiences will bring me into interdisciplinary situations, as the world is undeniably cross-linked by every imaginable field.
What more can I do? That, in the style of Shakespeare, is the question.