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Liveshots...and Plan D:
The wonderful world of teaching TV to Moroccan college students
I never want to hear the phrases: "But there's a problem" or "But, madame, it's impossible" ever again! The past few weeks my task has been to impart some of my knowledge of TV journalism to two different groups of college journalism students. One group is Francophones (four women - three Moroccan and one Egyptian and one man from Senegal) and the other Arabophones (I believe there are supposed to be at least 15 in this group but I've never seen more than eight including one Sudanese and one Mauritanian). I had taught these same groups radio most of the time using my one mini-disc recorder and laptop equipped with a digital editing program. By the time I got to the bigger group, the university had heeded my request and installed another computer with editing software in the radio studio. This was a big deal. Why? Because while these students gathered their sound in the field with decent (though antiquated) tape decks, the editing, is done with razor and grease pencil but not by the students. You see, the students have their very own editors. No wonder, I realized later, they were so incredibly keen to learn to edit digitally. So I felt like I'd worked a bit of magic on the radio side, and was eager to move into the domain of video storytelling. My first group (the Francophones) seemed eager to focus on presentation (I had also been asked by the administration to do some work in this area) and so I figured I'd have them do a liveshot (a "liveshot" is when a TV reporter is standing someplace, talking into the camera and usually ends with "...reporting live from ...") and some reporting as well. The liveshot went quite well but when it came to having them do an actual story—that was when the "problems" began. They were going to shoot a little natural sound piece south of Casablanca, but the first couple of days, the car wasn't working. OK... so that was a problem. I suggested they come up with a Plan B and a Plan C just in case they couldn't get the car working. But then when the car was fixed and they still weren't shooting I asked them what was going on. "The administration is using the camera," I was told. Ah, now I understood. The camera and car (and camera man!) were a package deal - the students didn't even do their own shooting. Well, that changed everything. I figured they could at least learn about shooting (they were about to graduate) and so when we had a camera available I taught them some basic shooting skills. We then moved into the studio and control room and showed them how that worked (switcher and all). And that was it—we had run out of time. I had one week left at the Institute and that was reserved for television for the Arabophones. I had been asked by the Institute's Director of Studies to spend some time focusing on presentation skills, so I figured I'd spend a day lecturing (only half the students showed up) and the next day we'd do a liveshot (again, half the students) and critique. My students in the U.S. had always seemed to have a love-hate relationship with liveshots, so I suppose I was a bit surprised when my Moroccan kids took their critique in stride then practically begged me to arrange another one for the following day. OK, no problem, I told them. When I showed up the next day (after waiting for at least four of them to show up!) they said something about having a two-hour block of TV programs due the following week. I suggested we work on that rather than due another liveshot. They hesitated. This is where we started having issues. They clearly weren't too keen and I asked them why. Here are some of the problems they mentioned: not all the students were present (so, we'll do it without them, I suggested), there's no way we can complete two hours without all the students (so we'll do one hour, I said), we don't have time (we have one week, I reminded them), and finally, the piece de resistance: "It's impossible," they proclaimed. My retort? "No it's not, nothing's impossible" and these aren't "problems" but "challenges" and "let's at least try to deal with some of these challenges." I guess they didn't want to hear that and then I realized that they were one week shy of completing their four years of classes... their biggest "challenge" was a lack of motivation. I continued for some minutes to try to cajole and coax them, explaining that one hour of programming would be better than nothing. They said that Mr. Asloun (the director of studies and the one that had outlined this two-hour programming assignment for them) wouldn't accept that. I sent one of the students to find Asloun. I was getting frustrated and tired of their whining. Finally, Asloun showed up and they whined to him instead (in Arabic, but it was clearly whining!). He let them continue for a couple of minutes before he started in on them... part in Arabic and part in French. It was clear he was telling them they really didn't have a choice, they needed to complete the assignment and if half the class wasn't there then, ok, do one hour instead of two. I could have hugged him. He finished. I thanked him and looked at the students. They were definitely not impressed. They clearly thought they'd be able to negotiate their way out of the assignment in its entirety. Their brilliant Moroccan bargaining skills had failed them. I felt a certain sense of victory but knew we still had a long ways to go before my victory would be complete. I tried to organize and cheerlead the students. Their glumness continued. No energy... nothing. Finally, I left them to sort themselves out and told them I'd see them first thing the following morning. I showed up the next morning. Only one student was there. I was furious. I waited. Over the course of the next hour and a bit a few more trickled in, oblivious to my frustration and disappointment... until I let it all hang out. When I had a barely captive audience of about five I let them have it. I told them I had other things I could be doing instead of waiting for them to get their proverbial shit together, that I felt disrespected and that they not only needed to work as a team but to learn to work with different styles of teachers/editors/producers etc. They looked at me as if I had just arrived from Pluto. In utter frustration I left the studio, escaped to the not-so-private courtyard of the Institute. Tears welled up and I desperately tried to pull them back. A couple of them dribbled down before I could control them. One of my students came to chat. He tried to explain that they weren't used to having someone challenge them, to suggest they think outside the box, to try something different. They were used to simply going with the flow, and if things didn't work out, oh well... not a problem. Unless of course you made it one, which apparently I had by challenging them. I left so intensely frustrated and filled with self-doubt trying to remember if I had experienced similar emotions in Rwanda or even back in the U.S. Several hours later I realized that I had, that this is what teaching is all about, well, at least some times. It's like hitting the wall when you're running a marathon (no, I'm not speaking from experience!) but then the wall miraculously opens and you make it to the finish line. I think that's where I am now. I was supposed to finish my work at the Institute last week but I offered to come in this week to help the students finish their one hour of programming. So, I went in this morning (it's Easter Monday, March 28). Most of the kids showed up within 15 minutes and one of them was already working with editor when I arrived. They had clearly organized themselves and even sought my input. They were, it seemed, trying to impress me! One of them even quipped to the tape editor, looking back at me, "no, it's NOT a problem. There are no problems!" I smiled, I laughed, I encouraged. And then I realized that I had learned something as well. Sometimes, less is more. Sometimes you just have to let people do their thing, to give them the rope and to trust that they'll do the right thing. But then I also think my mini-meltdown helped kick their butts as well. Hope you're all well.
Hugs, |  |
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Previous Columns
Leaving Morocco
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