The Assessment Circle: Indigenous Ways of Knowing and the Assessment Cycle

We end where we begin, and then begin anew. Indigenous ways of knowing offer valuable, challenging, and humbling new methods of exploring the assessment cycle through a closer examination of the circle—which, while a similar shape, constitutes a vastly different way of thinking, working, and sharing. Although the assessment cycle is a worthy model for meaningful assessment, it and its components carry far less weight and worth without a deeply held and consistently practiced underlying philosophy. Greater than the purposeful and necessary pursuits of success or change, community, connection, and conversation can extend beyond traditional definitions to mirror a grander commitment to learning and the many people and places our work can impact.

For the most part, my knowledge of indigenous beliefs and practices and their origins has come via secondhand means through work with a local institution’s Indigenous Student Services. These hidden and complex patterns offer a deeply interconnected and holistic view of the world (Eglash, 2002), where relationships are more than coefficients or scientific fact; they are essential connections that offer the balance and diversity necessary to maintain harmony among all forms of life. This highly subjective and strongly interconnected worldview disrupts traditional notions about power and privilege, both in higher education and in the assessment cycle itself.

What qualifies as a “good” result or the “best-case scenario” when analyzing data is not, and cannot be, decided on by a single person or committee. In fact, even if an arbitrary point of positivity were marked, that point quickly would become a moving target, heavily influenced by the observation and interpretation of the external environment and individual student behavior. Thus, assessment is much more than evaluation and much bigger than a grade or rubric. Each step along, beside, or even off the path of one student’s learning journey can and will affect everything around him or her. No one person or event is too small to make change.

Expanding on the commonly discussed challenges to the weight of subjective data on influencing decision making, the concept of dewhu:Li’, from the Washo language of the Washoe tribe, acknowledges rather than dismisses the considerable and profound knowledge of the many innermost thoughts and feelings students carry with them into our institutions. Though inherently inaccessible, these ghost realities remain just as valid and reliable as the stories that are spoken and shared externally. The source of information we use to make change may be unknown and the data collected are not always reliable, but the positive impact on the wider, deeply connected community—both those who participated in the program and those still yet to join in—is what must be described and counted as success.

In a political, social, and institutional climate riddled with the challenging, complex, and constantly changing demands of accountability and responsibility, indigenous ways of knowing, learning, and evaluating individuals and experiences seem to run counter to the fervent goals of remaining relevant, visible, and ahead of the wildly swinging curve. Navigating an environment rife with contentious, fickle standards can elicit a response of over-justification, in which we examine and extract every piece of information and as much data as possible to prove our worth. The ultimately courageous worldview that the indigenous culture provides, however, puts aside ideals of value and status for a strongly held conviction of connection—thereby deepening the view of the whole student and the holistic student experience into one of a whole community, widening the assessment cycle to overlapping spheres of influence that incorporate, rather than reject, the significance of all parts of our external and internal worlds. As Chief Seattle, chief of the Duwamish tribe after whom the city was named, offered, “We did not weave the web of life; we are merely a strand in it— whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves” (Jeffers, 1991, p. 21). Assessment is therefore not merely a method of inquiry but a courageous and continuous act of exploring and strengthening each strand of the web, following the cycle wherever it may lead.

Therefore, the act of assessment is a method of evaluation, a mission of discovery, and the strengthening of community. The cycle is not a single circle, but a series of overlapping, interconnected rings that represent the deeply personal stories of our students. Each time we end a cycle, we find new ways to celebrate and encourage success; when we begin again, we carry those lessons with us, helping to write new sentences and chapters. The cycle is both a practical process and an abstract metaphor; it reminds us that our work continues with us and will carry on long after us. Indigenous customs and culture teach us that learning is not a destination to which we must rush; rather, it is an intentional, thoughtful, and often meaningful journey we never have to take alone.

References:

Eglash, R. (2002). Computation, complexity and coding in Native American knowledge systems. In J. E. Hankes & G. R. Fast (Eds.), Changing the Faces of Mathematics: Perspectives on Indigenous People of North America. Reston, VA: National Council of Teachers of Mathematics.

Jeffers, S. (1991). Brother eagle, sister sky: A message from Chief Seattle. New York, NY: Dial Books.

Originally posted as part of the 2015 NASPA Knowledge Communities Publication. Click here for more from the 2015 Knowledge Communities Publication! Contributor: Lisa Endersby, Assessment Consultant

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