In the Florentine Codex, the Mexica refer to the highest level of heaven as Ōmeyōcān, which I translate as “locus of duality.” (In case you’re wondering, this is residue from my sabbatical years ago, in which I studied the poetry and philosophy of the Mexica, whom we call the Aztecs. I get this translation from ōme = two + yō = a substantive-maker (sort of like the German -heit) and cān = location or place.) This highest heavenly level — the thirteenth, to be exact — was so far beyond our imagination that we cannot conceive of it, yet it is the source of the being of the cosmos.
That explains a lot about dual credit.
When we first rolled out dual credit, people stood up in public and said things like, “These are college credit courses at the college level — everything about them is college, except that they just happen to meet on high school campuses.” That’s a great example of how this “locus of duality” was so far “beyond” that we failed to conceive of what it’s actually like.
Now, of course, we know that this statement was shamefully naïve. Or if you prefer, BS.
And yes, some of us knew it was BS when people said it the first time. It may be emotionally satisfying for us to throw an “I told you so” party, but it won’t help our students progress.
So, it’s time, in my view, to rethink dual credit, and I offer this notion as a way forward.
The duality of dual credit
The duality of dual credit suggests that, like Ōmeyōcān, it is two things simultaneously. Not coincidentally simultaneous; but dual “in substance,” dual all the way down.
Let’s take one relatively straightforward example: textbooks. From the college perspective, the textbook is the professor’s home turf. We choose, we assign, we correct, critique, embrace. But we have control — or at least our departments. And any hardships (like cost or availability) is SEP — Somebody Else’s Problem.
But that same small entity, the physical object that is a textbook, in the eyes of the ISD, is an asset like a desk or a projector screen: An item to be purchased once and used repeatedly, a resource for generations. You get the idea.
Duality becomes visible when these perspectives collide. Like this: a professor slated to teach a dual credit section has a conflict and drops the section. Another prof picks it up, but orders a different textbook, the textbook. From the college side, business as usual. But to the ISD, it’s like finding out three days before classes start that all the desks have to be removed and replaced.
Duality also rears its head(s?) for students. For instance, to a dual credit student, your course is both college credit and a HS graduation token (usually). So, to students, all the rules of HS graduation token-collecting apply. They bring their concerns about collecting the token and related matters, like how that grade is weighted compared to AP, and whether you still get the token if you miss class for UIL forensics — all that rides straight into your college classroom on the backs of the students. To be blunt, it would be inhumane and irrational to tell them to check their HSness at the door.
Nevertheless, we could take the position that these concerns are SEP. If they want college courses and college credit, then let them deal with college culture, we could say, congratulating ourselves for our high standards. But consider what happens when — on their turf — we want things that we take for granted in our place, like unrestricted internet access, or a computer and projector that actually work. And what if their response is SEP, dished out with a scoop of sarcasm about the Ivory Tower?
The Path to ŌMEYŌCĀN
This path is for front-line professors and leaders involved with dual credit.
Trigger warning: The next several points may annoy, irritate, or even exasperate you. You have been warned.
First, let’s get oriented on the path: Dual credit is here to stay, at least in some form. You and I may embrace it, or we may reject it, we may see it as good, we may see the End — but the fact is, we are in for the long haul. So today I’m announcing that I’m no longer going to spend any more of my heartbeats talking with people about what a bad idea it is. That ship, as they say, has sailed, and like it or not, we’re deckhands.
On the contrary, I’m going to spend my heartbeats thinking about how we can do it better. So here’s the first step on the path to Ōmeyōcān: Embrace the duality of dual credit, and get over it.
Embracing the duality means that we should rethink every element of the dual credit course from perspective of duality, because, in fact, just about everything about it has a dual nature.
Second step: Unlike the thirteenth level of heaven, if we work at it, we can deepen our understanding of the dual credit student’s experience. Think about it: Most likely, the duality of dual credit isn’t the thirteenth heaven for the students, either. Once we come to understand what is driving their anxieties and concerns, we’ll be in a better position to work on calming them.
Why should we do that? you may reply. After all, I’m there to teach my discipline, not hold people’s hands.
Excellent — that’s just the right question to motivate the second step. Aside from basic human compassion (we are, after all, in the business of individual success), aside from trying to make the world better, aside from the Geneva Convention — a really good reason to deal with dual credit anxieties is that it is in your interest as a dual credit professor.
Think about it: The energy you free up by addressing student anxieties and concerns preemptively could be put to use deeply engaging your discipline. As in, the reason you are there to begin with, in the Place of Duality.
In short: You too must find the Place of Duality.
Next step down the path: Partner with the ISDs at every level to make the duality of dual credit work for all of us, especially our students. This is not, and can’t be, a one-sided operation. The Mexica saw that a one-sided highest heaven is, at the end of the day, monotonously impotent; Ōmeyōcān is the source of everything that is, precisely because it isn’t One.
Here’s a practical example of partnership: Let’s say a student’s latest essay gives you cause for concern, and you start wondering if we should intervene. That’s a difficult enough situation to cope with on an ACC campus, with all our policies and procedures, counselors and intervention teams, etc.. But what are you supposed to do with that student when it’s dual credit?
Well, guess what: ISDs have that problem, too, and the odds are very high that they have a support system already in place to deal with it for high school students. But the problem is that you, as a college professor, aren’t in those in-service training days when ISD teachers find out about support structures. But you need to be getting that information as well, because your students are HS students.
You won’t be making the journey alone, but we need leaders who get the duality of dual credit—both in the administration and in the classroom. I’ve packed my bags for the trip.
If we embrace the duality of dual credit, address the dual credit student experience as it is, and partner with ISDs to make the duality of dual credit work for all of us, I’m convinced we can make dual credit better. But above all, it’s going to take professors who are dedicated both to their disciplines and to the special habits of mind and action that allow us to see the duality of dual credit in every dual credit thing we do.
It’s not likely to be the thirteenth heaven, but the Place of Duality is good enough.
