How to Tweet Productively
Last week, I reshared a video that one of our literacy fellows posted on Twitter (for more on our awesome literacy fellows and their projects, read this and this). I didn’t expect it to cause a stir.
The video demonstrates the practice of decoding by analogy, a form of analytic phonics. In the video, you can hear the reading interventionist and two students reading in chorus. When they reach the second clause of each sentence, the interventionist trails off, allowing the students to supply the new word.
“We know ‘may,’ so this is clay.”
“We know ‘may,’ so this is sway.”
“We know main, so this is rain.”
In the exercise, students are using words they are already familiar with (may, main) to help them decode unfamiliar words (clay, sway, rain).
Shortly after I reshared this video, a well-respected interventionist and literacy expert, whom I admire, criticized the video, calling decoding by analogy “bad teaching” and not aligned with “the science of reading.” (I would share a screenshot of the tweet, but the tweeter deleted it).
Then, another literacy leader chimed in to say that she agreed with the criticism.
I was…not happy. I felt like my fellow was being attacked and dismissed. I was frustrated that the commentators did not ask questions or seek to understand the context of the video. I also felt guilty because I was responsible for elevating this fellow’s work and putting her in this awkward position in the first place. But what really upset me was that the tone of their responses seemed to foreclose debate on the subject - as though the right answer were obvious. (It’s not obvious.)
(As an aside, if you want to read more about the controversy surrounding decoding by analogy, you can read Tim Shanahan and Stephen Parker for two different takes on this subject.)
But now back to Twitter. I needed to respond. But how?
I thought about ignoring the commentators. I thought about messaging them privately and angrily…but then my fellow wouldn’t see me rising to her defense. So then I thought about responding publicly and angrily…but then my boss might see. I thought about blocking them. (I did block them momentarily, but then I unblocked them.) I knew I needed to do something before my fellow saw. So here’s what I tweeted:
In other words, I calmly and dispassionately asked the critics to share more specific feedback about the video. Then, I directed them to a different but related thread about decoding by analogy.
To my delight, one of the critics took the bait and dove into the new conversation. At first, she exchanged questions with the creator of the curriculum the fellow was using. But then others joined in, including a professor from William and Mary, the moderator of Reading Forum, an educator from Georgia, a parent advocate and tutor, a reading teacher from Ohio, two professors from Virginia Tech, and a professor from the University of Buffalo, among others. Research papers were exchanged. Observations were shared. Questions were asked. Disagreements were aired. I learned something.
So what’s the lesson here? Here are three that I can think of:
It’s possible to recover from an unpleasant moment or exchange on Twitter, especially if you assume good intent and keep your commentary dispassionate.
Twitter can be a productive forum for nuanced conversation.
But we shouldn’t expect all or most conversations to end in consensus. This one certainly did not.
