Sal
Khan has a simple mission: a free, world-class education for anyone,
anywhere. Naturally, people think he's crazy. The craziest part is not
the "world-class education" part, because plenty of people want that.
And it's not even the "for anyone, anywhere" part. It's the "free" part.
Crazy
or not, it's an idea that has attracted attention from Downing Street
to Washington DC. And like a lot of crazy ideas, it started by accident.
Khan
– working as a financial analyst in 2004 after earning degrees from MIT
and an MBA from Harvard – started remotely tutoring his cousin, Nadia,
in Louisiana, who was struggling with maths. "Then the rest of the
family heard there was free tutoring," he says, and more relatives
started taking part. The demands got too much – until a friend suggested
he could film the tutorials, post them on YouTube and let the family
members view them whenever they chose.
"YouTube? YouTube was for cats playing the piano, not serious mathematics," Khan recalls thinking. "I got over the idea that it wasn't my idea and decided to give it a shot."
Since 2009, Khan has devoted himself full-time to his Khan Academy,
a tutoring, mentoring and testing educational website at
khanacademy.org that offers its content free to anyone with internet
access willing to work through its exercises and pithy videos, the
majority narrated by Khan himself.
"It's no exaggeration to say
that there's a revolution coming in education, sparked by Sal Khan,"
says Rohan Silva, a Downing Street senior adviser on technology.
Using
the internet to widen access to education is not itself revolutionary.
The success of iTunes U applications from Apple and the rise of the
massive open online courses – nicknamed Moocs – at institutions such as
Stanford University show the appetite is there.
But the Khan Academy is different. Although it also carries tutorials in arts, computing
and science, its core remains secondary school maths, in which it
couples hand-holding video instruction with online exercises, from basic
addition and multiplication to the farther reaches of algebra and
calculus. There's no accredited qualifications, just a self-paced course
combined with sophisticated software that charts progress and
highlights weaknesses, making it simple for a parent to use to help a
child with homework without knowing the finer points of algebra.
There's an easy way to see what the fuss is about: the website allows
anyone to sign up and start viewing tutorials and taking the
interactive tests that are at the heart of the academy's method.
The
concept is simple: watch a video in which Khan explains the subject
being learned, and then take the online tests that follow. The software
times answers as well as noting missteps, offers encouragement for doing
well or even just persevering. Then, when satisfied you have mastered
the topic, it invites you to move on to a related topic.
In a
classroom setting, students can move at their own pace, and make
repeated viewings of tutorials if they don't understand first time
around. The teacher can track progress on their own laptop, and
intervene to give an explanation when they see a student struggling.
"I
started this out as a hobby," Khan, 36, told a packed theatre at the
London School of Economics last week, after the inevitable question
about his academy's not-for-profit status. "Although my friends in
Silicon Valley were quick to ask me: 'What's your business model?' I
said: 'I don't have a business model.'"
A slight figure dressed in
American smart-casual that belies teenage years playing heavy metal,
the 36-year-old owes a lot to the transformative power of education. The
child of Bangladeshi and Indian immigrants, he was born in America's
deep south. "Louisiana was as close to south Asia as the United States
could get: it had spicy food, humidity, giant cockroaches and a corrupt
government," Khan writes in his book, The One World Schoolhouse.
Business
model or not, what the Khan Academy does have is a lot of fans, and
about 6 million regular users a month, not to mention tens of millions
of viewings of its 4,000 online tutorials. When Khan asks the audience
at the LSE how many use his site, perhaps half raise their hands, some
sheepishly
.
From the beginning Khan made a deliberate decision to stay out of
camera, and in the early days used relatively crude drawing software on a
black background to mimic a blackboard. Khan's cordial tone and
mellifluous voice combine to make the tutorials approachable and, thanks
to a 10-minute time-limit initially imposed by YouTube, concise.
Word
spread that there were tutorials in basic maths freely available. Khan
began to notice appreciative comments appearing under his videos. Then
letters started arriving. One that grabbed his attention was from a
woman with two disabled children who had used the videos. "She said that
her entire family prays for my family every night," Khan relates. "To
put that into context, at the time I was working for a hedge fund."
More
importantly, the US educational establishment was taking note, starting
with the Los Altos school district in California, which began a pilot
programme using the Khan Academy's tools. The initial results were
spectacular, in Khan's telling, and since then the movement has spread.
With backing from supporters the academy has been training teachers to
use its tools and methods in places such as Idaho and Kansas.
Has
he had any discussions about the Khan Academy partnering with schools in
the UK? "Nothing formal now but we would like to," Khan replies.
By
2009 Khan decided to leave the hedge fund for what he describes as a
closet in his house in Mountain View, California – although American
ideas of what constitutes a closet are more generous than in Europe.
Paying the bills was a problem until a local philanthropist, Ann Doerr,
made the first significant donation, first of $10,000 (£7,000) and then
$100,000, after she realised Khan was in effect working for nothing.
It
was Doerr who tipped Khan off about a turning point for the academy. At
the Aspen Ideas Festival – a US version of Davos – in 2010, Bill Gates
told an audience that he had been using Khan's videos to teach his own
child. "It actually made me a little nervous," says Khan. "It was a
video made for Nadia, not Bill Gates."
Soon a call came from Seattle for a meeting with Gates himself, and the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation
became one of the academy's biggest supporters. "I've used Khan Academy
with my kids, and I'm amazed at the breadth of Sal's subject expertise
and his ability to make complicated topics understandable," Gates wrote
in tribute to Khan being named one of Time's 100 most influential people
of 2012. Gates concluded: "He started by posting a math lesson, but his
impact on education might truly be incalculable."
Google and others have since got on board, as the honours mounted up for Khan. Earlier this year the Mexican billionaire Carlos Slim
– said to be the world's richest man – announced his foundation was
funding the translation of the academy's work into Spanish, and the
academy says its material is used in classrooms around the world,
including Mongolia.
There are critics who have challenged the Khan
Academy's content and Khan's approach. Some have posted detailed
criticisms of his tutorials, although Khan says he is happy for the
scrutiny. "It'd piss me off too if I had been teaching for 30 years and
suddenly this ex-hedge-fund guy is hailed as the world's teacher," he
told Time last year.
Khan is no fan of traditional education,
which he derides as "lecture, homework, lecture, homework". "The real
problem is that the process is broken," he tells his LSE audience, to
nods of approval. "We identify the gaps [in children's knowledge], then
we ignore them."
(From: Richard Adams of Guardian Newspaper in London)
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