T. Mills Kelly: An (R)Evolutionary Story?

This is an interesting article. As I understand it, the conclusions indicate a necessity for multiple types of participation in a virtual interaction model of learning about historical narratives for virtual learning to be viable. I would agree that this is important; it does not make good sense to cast a group into such an environment merely for the sake of saying we did. I believe there must be multiple perspectives and levels of understanding for virtual models to be useful, and thus the inclusion of not only multiple academic disciplines, but also of non-academics is necessary to make this tool useful. This was one of my previous points that I didn’t well develop. I’ll get back to this later.

Now I should admit that this article gave me pause. It used terms with which I wasn’t familiar. I had to do a little research about a few of the terms to better understand some of the underlying concepts and some of the limitations on the conclusions. I mean, if I didn’t know what Grounded Theory approach means, then I would have no clue as to its limitations in qualitative research by quantitative means. I still haven’t an understanding of the issues, but I do have a clue. I have worked on “coding” projects that aimed to identify keywords that were then scored and translated into a meaningful text. There are problems with this, because individual words or phrases can often be used in multiple ways. The project I was working on coded religious rhetoric in presidential speeches. Here we had a twofold concern: 1) Is there a certain venue in which a president is speaking that should be categorized as “religious?” and, 2) if the president ends his speech with “God bless you all, and God bless America” in a particular venue (such as a church as opposed to the Oval Office), does this mean we should code the phrase as more or less religious in nature? The fact that I have apparently used Grounded Theory approach in research before, but didn’t know it, drives home (I think) the difference between rote instructed actions and knowledge instructed actions. Enough.

I also found the explanation of the environments in which the two groups (CTs and HQTs) operated a bit ambiguous. This is likely because I missed something. It seemed as though the CTs were actually walking through the streets of modern day Amsterdam, while the HQTs were in a fixed location with virtual representations of the CTs’ locations. I have been to Amsterdam a number of times—it is a bustling place, especially around the Harbor, outside Central Station on the main thoroughfare and around Kerkstraat, which, if memory serves me correctly, is in one of the older developed areas of the “village.” This adds a dimension to the idea of virtual historical representation that, I think, can be avoided by interactive 3D modeling. Conflating modern Amsterdam with historical realities—however those are defined—is not efficient, in my opinion, in gleaning any significant answers to the usefulness of virtual models in creating historical understandings. I have none of the necessary data to form these thoughts and opinions, yet, so take them for what they are worth. I am not sure if this is the point of the experiment (which is an awesome experiment), or if the goal was aimed more at understanding how a “god-view” (I.E., the situational view of the HQTs) of a scenario might better inform someone’s understanding of an environment. If it were possible to take the HQTs and the CTs and make them one in the same (I.E., giving the subject the tools that the HQTs had and the mobility that the CTs had), then it would allow for academic study of sociological historical context as opposed to sociological pedagogical context. Were they examining the game method from a “how do we best learn” perspective, or from a “how can we best explain” perspective? I think that we can best “explain” social and historical phenomenon by throwing people into well-constructed (better than anything currently available) virtual environments by learning—as trained academics hungry for better understanding—from the observed experiences of those in the virtual space. If the goal is experimentation in brevity as a means of conveying full structural meaning to teenagers who would otherwise skim lengthy instructions and contextual information to figure out how to “win” the game, then this is a fine study. I’m not certain the two are related, but I am fairly certain that this is a tangential point to the main thrust of the article.

On the distractions of high-tech tools in learning, or playing a game, or watching a movie, etc., I submit that there is a “honeymoon” effect that is being observed. How does the “newness” of this sort of technology affect usefulness? Cell phones, for instance, and without any data to back up my thought, seem to have been initially a status symbol or a “neat toy”, but now are understood as valuable tools in road side emergencies or in getting communications to remote areas of Africa where there was no ability to do so before. I remember my first Nintendo. It isn’t very impressive in comparison to my PS3, but it played a different role in my mind—the role of “neat toy.” My PS3, which could be considered an iteration of the original Nintendo, plays a more functional role in my mind’s eye than did the Nintendo. It is my means of accessing Netflix, watching Blu-Ray movies, surfing YouTube etc. It is not the “neat toy” that my Nintendo was, but a useful tool in my home entertainment tool box.

I will complete this post by Tuesday, but even in that conclusion I likely will not make any more sense than I have made with this so far. Hopefully reading the other articles will assist me in making better sense of this, but I doubt it. It is clearly over my head.

Our other readings, if my limited understanding processed the information correctly, shed new light on the ideas in the Amsterdam experiment. They address the uses of digital mediums and media in education and what distractions, detractions and malicious effects digitized history might have in the discipline of history. I will first address the 2001 article by Kelly Schrum titled Making History on the Web Matter in the Classroom. It seems like it should stand alone in analysis because the other two articles For Better or Worse? The Marriage of the Web and Classroom and The Role of Technology in World History Teaching were both written by the same scholar, T. Mills Kelly. The former was published in 2000, while the latter was published in 2006. I was drawn to what Kelly had to say, mostly because it was, I thought, interesting realizing a possible evolution in his mentality regarding digital mediums and historical pedagogy.

First, of Schrum’s article, I found at the outset some of the points interesting, if not in some ways anachronistic points. I was trying to figure out why she was addressing issues that have been addressed, and for which reasonable answers have been given. I was tired. I figured that I had just not read the article with any comprehension. I assumed I just didn’t understanding her points’ relevance to the problems we often confront.

I reread the article after some rest. I realized that I had missed an important step in reading the article. I read the article as if it had been written last month, but it hadn’t. I finally thought to look at the publication date, which was May of 2001. To place this in perspective, the 9/11 terrorist attacks were still by many imagined to be something that could only happen in a movie. This oversight in interpreting the article reminded me that even the simplest observations that one is taught to make in reading a document can be overlooked when carelessness overrides good process. Can this fundamental oversight, I’m curious, be attributed to the medium? With a book, pamphlet or traditionally printed journal there is, perhaps, an automatic process. Unless the western reader is also fluent in Hebrew, the natural inclination is to begin at the top left of the first page and proceed to the bottom right of the final page. I was tired, and thus I didn’t practice good sound reading fundamentals; I feel like I would have done this instinctively with a printed text. We, since the earliest moments of our cognitive education, have been inculcated to follow a procedure in reading text—it would make no sense to begin at the middle of the page because we have been trained that doing so will incur much confusion about the meaning of a document. I know I am not addressing the points in Schrum’s article—yet—but please bear with me.

I then began thinking about how we learn. Is there a method of learning that is universal? Can we learn one thing better than another—given that we are in a state of ceteris paribus in relation to our peers—or is there a particular thing to which an individual is better suited? Set aside for a moment, if you will, the most brilliant among us, for I know that I, at least, am not the same as them, and thus I cannot judge the practice of learning based on their abilities. But for myself, and others like me, is there a particular discipline in which I am best suited to explore? I am asking this to illustrate a thought that I have. I am curious to know, as we study the uses of digital mediums—the problems they have presented, the questions for which they have facilitated an answer, and so on—have we as humanists overlooked a fundamental principle in education merely because it has not arisen in a practical way? I mean, we are taught at a very young age how to read a printed text, and so we have a seemingly intuitive reflexive response when presented a printed work—start at the top left and proceed to the bottom right. Is this really intuitive? Were we born with this process stored in our minds, a skill that has lain dormant in us all until exposure to a situation that requires its usage? Do the students, practitioners and administrators of pedagogic practices—perhaps I’m wrong, and I’m sure I am—employ what T. Mills Kelly describes as presentism when learning new uses of technology in the classroom?

A long series of not very well organized questions, for certain, but questions that I think are important to ask in determining the future of humanistic study. Why? It is my opinion, and so not sorted out enough to be clearly called a thought, that we too often discuss digitized documents in light of what we know, and not what we might, at some future time, potentially know. When the printing press was a new and inventive tool in information design, were these same questions asked? The dialogue, as I imagine it, might have gone like this:

“Will the book replace our stories? We are taught at a very young age—those of us fortunate enough to have the means to ponder these questions—to listen carefully. We are taught to harness our skill to listen to the first word of a story and not stop listening until the last. If we didn’t do this, we would surely lose our history, for we know it through the stories of those who came before. Will the book corrupt our minds’ causal thought process that allows us to understand consequences of actions and sequences of events? Will our stories be trimmed down into a mass of unintelligible fragments or conclusions because our people may skip the foundations of our stories and move quickly, impatiently to the end? Do we have an intuitive listening and thinking process through which we receive, process and assimilate knowledge that will be lost to the permanency and ease of access that books allow in storing information? Will we become less inclined to think, and more inclined to make reference? Will the book replace our treasured stories?”

I have nothing further here—because these thoughts are raw, and I don’t want to draw from them conclusions—except to ask again, do pedagogues use presentism in their consideration of the digital medium as a viable pedagogic tool?

As for Schrum’s article, I believe it to be a good read in that it pushes the mind toward past problems in considering future solutions. It makes us consider simple questions, such as, how do we choose a credible site? We have developed schema, as in T. Mills Kelley’s rubric for assessing a site, to determine a site’s usefulness in research. Part of this schema’s product is the seemingly natural way we gravitate toward .edu sites to find credible information. There are, I am aware, problems with asserting that the issue of determining credible sources on the web are solved, but we are surely much further along in web scholarship literacy than Schrum’s article describes. It is helpful, I firmly believe, to read over older material on problems that were once then omnipresent in academic discussions regarding digital scholarship in an attempt to understand how the uses of technology have evolved, and to what end are they ready for academic use.

Keeping in the same line of thought, I would like to go back to the Kelly pieces: I was very intrigued by what I felt was a clear display of an evolving thought process between 2000 and 2006—so much so that I was curious if there are any more recent articles written by Kelly. Indeed there are. He has an upcoming book Teaching History in the Digital Age that his GMU bio says is slated for publication this year (I looked for it on Amazon, but alas, I found no copy to purchase). I did find an article published last year titled“But Mine’s Better”: Teaching History in a Remix Culture. In this article he addresses a more specific subject in his conceptual framework on teaching history through digital means. The article, as with the other two, illustrates clear changes in Kelly’s attitude toward digital scholarship.

In 2000, I found Kelly a clinger to the ways of old even as he was trying to find new ways to merge traditional historical craft with the emerging digital one. He is consistently skeptical of the possibility of the internet replacing the library. “If they can stay focused on their task, students are just as likely to find themselves at a site of dubious provenance and so may end up writing a paper or answering a question in class with information that is anything but reliable. If these arguments sound a bit familiar, it is because one could simply substitute “library” for “web” and find that with the proper skills our students can do very good work or that without those skills, they can find themselves in real trouble,” writes Kelly. To that I ask, “If you are, and it seems you might be, saying that it is easier for students to misuse the web for finding solid information, why does it matter? It is also easier for students, trained in proper web use, to do better work. Is there some inherent value in a shoddy student paper that is written in a library cubicle that is more useful that a shoddy student paper that is written on the bed in a dormitory? I would also nervously ask similar questions that I did earlier of Schrum’s article—do we address digital mediums from a present position, or do we see parallels in historically employed modes of learning? Will the elementary school class that I took on using the Dewy Decimal System (a system that was over 100 years old when I was in elementary school) be replaced with a class on using the Shockley, Appleford, Burton or Mills Standard of Internet archival classification? I thought that he was reluctant to say that there is something inherently useful about the web in teaching history, perhaps rightfully so by 2000’s standard of web information design. He states, “Too often, the discussion about how these new technologies are changing what we teach and how our students learn takes on an either/or quality that ultimately does not prove very helpful.” He admits his reluctance to make an assertion about the web’s use in historical study—again, probably a good idea considering the year. In the 2000 article, Kelly doesn’t seem to be informed enough—due to lack of data that could support a broad ranging position—to pronounce any thoughts on what we now (at least some of us) recognize as “digital humanities.” His experiment that he describes in the 2000 article is focused and concise, covering a lot of ground in attempting to understand the psychology of a student in different modes of scholarly work, but less aggressive in trying to determine what a universal use of the web in scholarship might be. I am not at all qualified to critique his experiment, but I think the results as he sees them indicate some truth in my thoughts on his scope at that time.

In 2006 we see a new T. Mills Kelly. First I will address one thing that I felt was not the best illustration of why we should use caution in our co-opting of new technology for pedagogic purposes. At the outset, I admit that it is useful to describe valid positions on technology from various eras that seem universally useful across disciplines and time, but it seemed, in my not so capable mind, that he was making an attempt at instilling a cathartic and impulsive reaction to the following example, blinding the reader with the story’s interesting juxtaposition of time and meaning, dissuading the reader from critically analyzing the point, which was caution. I felt on first reading a sense of amusement at the way his illustration so powerfully say shame on you, colleague, for jumping upon the digital bandwagon without thinking of the consequences. My summary of his words do not do justice to the original piece, I don’t think, in conveying my idea. I hope to get the thoughts of others on his meaning at a later time, but for now, I’ll move forward.

He uses a quote from a 1963 excerpt of Charles McIntyre’s writing in the Journal of Higher Education on the uses of technology in the class room in reference to television. He doesn’t explain at the outset when or about what the article is speaking, but only says that it is relevant to the conversation. McIntyre is quoted as having written, “It should not be necessary at this time to elaborate the reasons that the effective integration of technological developments into educational practice may be highly desirable, if not essential.” Using this excerpt to demonstrate a point about using caution when jumping into a new technology and using it in the classroom doesn’t seem to produce evidence that (1) the television is not a useful technological tool in the classroom (it is used often, and in a way, we use this at Clemson University in the classroom every time we watch a “film” through the computer and projector), and, (2) that new technology should not be explored for its uses in the classroom. He doesn’t outright say anything like, “don’t be so quick to use new tools,” but in using the television, with all of its popular culture baggage, he seems to be using television as a pejorative term—in my unworthy mind—to incite grave misgivings about the internet’s use. McIntyre follows by stating of new technologies that, “They apparently provide the means, if we have the will and the wit to use them appropriately.” Kelly makes the point in subsequent paragraphs that, in reference to using new technologies in the classroom, if these means are “carefully constructed” conceptual uses of the new technologies, they have potential for helping teachers. He then says that “Common sense tells us that these media have the potential to change both teaching and learning in substantial ways.” This seems to be a re-telling of the McIntyre excerpt in explicit terms.

I have, I’m certain, been careless here again in my interpretation and analysis, for who am I to judge the carefully constructed propositions, carefully chosen copulae, and carefully tested predications of Dr. Kelly. It is not my place at this time to do this. Perhaps I’ve done so haphazardly, and so I ask your forgiveness, for I simply opine without good cause or direction.

There was a clear point in reading the 2006 article that I began pondering questions related to Kelly’s views on digital history and how they might have changed between 2000 and 2006. It makes sense that they would have—the medium that he is writing about, the web, changed a great deal during that time. And then I became curious about his position on the role of the student in determining the usefulness of the web for digital scholarship. Does he seem cynical about the ability of students to adapt to and demonstrate uses of new technologies in learning (I.E., his statement, “a minority of our students are doing very interesting work in the vast online archive we are creating for them–producing essays, multimedia presentations, weblogs, and other results that are quite impressive.”)? Does this say that he thinks students and our—well, most of us—lifelong integration in the digital medium is of no value in determining if the web is a good teaching tool? To place my questions in context, I’ll make an attempt at an illustration. If my grandfather, who is by trade an electrical engineer having graduated Clemson College in 1958, attempted to use a graphing calculator to solve a mathematical problem in engineering, he might find the calculator to be distracting because it has too many functions for him to find a starting point (or if he did find a starting point, he might get frustrated in trying to find his way to the end function because of all of the many ways the technology can be used). This might be similar to the way that hypertext seems to be portrayed by some (ADH(ypertext)D, if you will); however, should a recent engineering graduate want to solve the same problem using the instruments my grandfather had—basically a slide rule, pencil and notebook paper—he might find that antiquated technology equally as useless for similar reasons. It is not enough, I don’t think, to hold to our own generational understanding of technology in assessing its functionality, nor is it wise, again, I don’t believe, to conservatively cling to outmoded methods of synthesizing historical narratives. While the internet and digital platforms are relatively new in pedagogy, it is a leap that far exceeds, in my mind, any medium that Kelly may have been exposed to when his foundational understanding of technology in pedagogical applications was formed. The book, for instance, was not a new tool in teaching for him. Maybe the word-processor, I don’t know—I was unable to find, though I didn’t look terribly hard, his age, but I did find his faculty bio from GMU, and it says he was a Pew Fellow in 1999, making him likely an undergraduate, high school and elementary school student before the internet age —but the word processor is only an “upgrade” on the typewriter, and not an innovation in information design and delivery like the internet might be.

Again in the 2006 article, Kelly, in keeping with his 2000 disposition, implicitly laments the idea that physical libraries are being overlooked by students in doing research—students, according to Kelly, predominantly make the internet their first and often primary stop when conducting research for a paper. Again, why, according to Kelly, is it so terrible that research be done in a physical library as opposed to online? I can see his point in the year 2000, maybe even in 2006, but, while I think I understand his nostalgia, I don’t understand his objection in the context of 2012. Perhaps he has altered his position, I don’t know; it will be interesting to read his book Teaching History in the Digital Age.

As I said, while I was not able to access the book, I was able to find Kelly’s 2011 article “But Mine’s Better”: Teaching History in a Remix Culture.

When reading the earlier articles by Dr. Kelly, I obviously had many questions. “Is this information having us evaluate problems that have been solved? Telling what is a quality website? How students evaluate a website? How professors can integrate digital sources in education? What about campus wide access to “smart” classrooms, is this fiscally feasible? What role does the student play for Kelly?” To my concerns over Kelly’s skepticism over the student’s ability to provide insight on the problems associated with digital history, he opens his 2011 article with this:

“Everyone who teaches has had moments when students do, say, write, or create something that causes us to think about teaching in new ways. Sometimes, it is only with hindsight that we realize just how profound the effect of such moments was.”

In this, he also begins to tell a story about how he has been impacted in his evolving understanding of digital history by student centered perspectives. I mean, does he seem more cynical about the ability of students to adapt to and demonstrate uses of new technologies in learning? If so, does this demonstrate a quickness of evolution in digital tools that he perhaps didn’t expect in 2000? His experience involved a student reworking a primary source video of World War II war crimes tribunals. When he initially showed the footage in class, the students felt it was akin to the Nazi propaganda that he had shown previously. Their perspective was informed by the music that the original news footage had used to provoke a triumphant mental image in the viewer that would overlay the visual image and convey deeper meaning. One student, according to Kelly’s story, “fixed” the video and brought it to the next class meeting. He created two new versions, one using the title track from Jaws, the other using more serious classical music. The student did this to illustrate the propagandistic nature of the original, telling Dr. Kelly in response to Kelly’s criticism that the “new” item was a “fakery,” “Yeah, but mine is better.” A debate ensued between Dr. Kelly and his class regarding the originality of the new footage and its use in scholarship. Kelly isn’t able in his story to convince about half the class that what the student had done was wrong. He addresses in a later example the concept of authenticity versus originality in the sense that the remixed war crimes tribunal footage, was perhaps, more authentic, or at least as authentic, as the original. He ponders the students remix of the footage, and makes a tentative comparison to the practice of cropping a photo for use in a book or truncating a quote to make it conform concisely to a particular argument—both common practice in our field.

He addresses my point, “While the internet and digital platforms are relatively new in pedagogy, it is a leap that far exceeds, in my opinion, any medium that Kelly may have been exposed to when his foundational understanding of technology in pedagogical applications was formed. The book, for instance, was not a new tool in teaching for him. Maybe the word-processor… but the word processor is only an “upgrade” on the typewriter, and not an innovation in information design and delivery like the internet might be,” with this excerpt from his 2011 article:

“Unfortunately, no matter what we might like to believe, in the last century, there really has been almost no significant innovation in history teaching. Teaching history through primary sources rather than through textbooks? That “innovation” dates from the last two decades of the nineteenth century. How about “problem-based learning”? Alas for us, that innovation—all the rage at the moment—first appeared in history classrooms in the first decade of the 20th century. To be sure, we have been very innovative with respect to the kinds of history we study and teach about. The increasing diversity of historical investigation has enriched our understanding of the past in many ways. But when it comes to teaching methods in history, until recently there hasn’t been much new under the sun.”

Kelly’s thinking on uses of digital media in historical study seems to have morphed from 2000 to 2011 from reluctance to acceptance. He goes on:

“What then is a historian to do in the face of students more interested in authenticity than originality? First and foremost, we have to set aside our squeamishness, if only so we can examine those feelings for what they are. I’ll admit to having had to force myself to do just that over the past several years. After all, I am a firm believer that history is built on a foundation of evidence—evidence drawn from primary sources in as close to their original state as we can access. So any remixing of those sources makes me more than a little squeamish. It makes me downright uncomfortable. But as much as I hate to admit it, my thinking about these issues is, as my students would say, “old school.” More than four decades ago, Thomas Kuhn introduced us to the idea that when existing and accepted paradigms no longer suffice to answer pressing scientific questions, first a crisis and then a revolution occurs, leading to new ways of thinking about old problems. Historians are more fortunate than physicists, because we are experiencing no such obvious crisis. In fact, as a discipline, we seem fairly well pleased with ourselves when it comes to the state of historical research and analysis. But we are mistaken if we think we can ignore the revolution going on all around us. Our choice is to be part of the changes in the way a new generation is making history or to stand aside lamenting that change from the sidelines. While Helene Hegemann’s fairly well pleased with ourselves when it comes to the state of historical research and analysis. But we are mistaken if we think we can ignore the revolution going on all around us. Our choice is to be part of the changes in the way a new generation is making history or to stand aside lamenting that change from the sidelines.”

In one of our articles I recall that history classes are described as perhaps “boring” from the student’s perspective. While that proposition is debatable, Kelly seems to be hitting on a possible answer—not solution, but answer, I say—to this problem. In discussing remixes of primary historical media, he addresses the concepts authenticity and originality again. In essence, I think he is positing that while it is true that altered primary source media not in its original form is perhaps “fakery,” altered primary source media that provides deeper context or alternative perspectives can be authentic. Kelly in explains:

“notions of originality and authenticity might seem easy to dismiss as a passing fad of the young, it’s not so easy to dismiss the flood of historical remixes appearing on websites such as YouTube. To cite but one example, a fruitful hour could be spent examining all the ways the story of the “Tank Man” of Tiananmen Square in 1989 is being told on YouTube. You can watch American television news footage of his courageous act of standing in front of a line of tanks (an original source of sorts). You can watch Chinese state news footage of this same event (the same video, but a very a different version of the narrative of his actions). Or you can watch remixes of those broadcasts with entirely new audio tracks—everything from classical piano to rock and roll. Perhaps the most interesting version currently available is one that mashes up the now iconic footage of the Tank Man facing down a line of tanks with a speech by the American activist Mario Savio on the steps of Sproul Hall at the University of California, Berkeley on December 2, 1964. As we watch the events in China, we hear Savio say:…and in time when the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can’t take part, that you can’t even passively take part. And you’ve got to put your body upon the gears, upon the wheels, upon the levers, upon all the apparatus, and you’ve got to make it stop, and you’ve got to indicate to the people who run it, to the people around it, that unless you’re free, the machine will be prevented from working at all…This particular version of the Tank Man story is “Little Man vs. Big Machine” and is set to Boards of Canada’s “Music is Math,” a far cry from the audio tracks of CNN or Chinese state television. Since this particular version of the Tank Man video appeared on YouTube, it has had more than 326,000 views (as of April 15, 2011). How many historians of the events of 1989 in China can claim an audience of that size? And this video remix of the “Tank Man’s” exploits is just one of dozens of remixes of that same short video clip—everything from a short clip on how to dance the “Tank Man Tango,” to a serious eight-part documentary film on Tiananmen Square and the Tank Man’s role in it. Each of these videos is an authentic, if not original representation of those events, in their own way “thought experiments,” to use Natalie Zemon Davis’s way of describing what filmmakers do when they make history on film…Lest you doubt the power of video sharing websites such as YouTube, according to the anthropologist Michael Wesch, since 1948, the three major American television networks (ABC, NBC, CBS) have delivered approximately 1.5 million hours of programming over the airwaves,  while YouTube users uploaded more than that in the first six months of 2008.”

Kelly asserts that the vast amount of material—some of extremely high quality—and the amount of interest for that material is an indication to the academy that they must recognize the power of digital mediums to facilitate historical understanding in students of history. I don’t want to pretend to be enough informed to agree or disagree with is suppositions on remixed historical media, I find his thoughts very interesting. I find more interesting his evolutionary thought process in considering digital uses for teaching history. It is an evolution for some, perhaps, but a Permanent Revolution for others. Tank Man might weep at this description, still others might lament the implications. Where do you stand?

T.  Mills Kelly, The Role of Technology in World History Teaching “Roy Rosenzweig Center for History and New Media » Essays”, n.d. http://chnm.gmu.edu/essays-on-history-new-media/essays/?essayid=44

T.  Mills Kelly, For Better or Worse? The Marriage of the Web and Classroom “Roy Rosenzweig Center for History and New Media » Essays”, n.d. http://chnm.gmu.edu/essays-on-history-new-media/essays/?essayid=20.

Kelly Schrum, Making History on the Web Matter in the Classroom “Roy Rosenzweig Center for History and New Media » Essays”, n.d. http://chnm.gmu.edu/essays-on-history-new-media/essays/?essayid=

T. Mills Kelly,“But Mine’s Better”: Teaching History in a Remix Culture, http://www.societyforhistoryeducation.org/pdfs/Kelly.pdf (accessed March 12, 2012).