If you have heard the term "disruption" a lot in the past few years, there is a reason. As analyzed by prize-winning author and historian Jill Lepore, in the New Yorker (June 23 issue), the concept is everywhere. Disruptive innovation is the extended—and more positive—version of the term.
The concept's contemporary origin stems largely from Clayton M. Christensen of the Harvard Business School, and relates to market behavior, particularly the question of why established businesses often lose out to smaller startup companies. However, since the publication of Christensen's The Innovative University, in 2011, the term has also become a mantra, repeated by those who wish to reform higher education. As Jill Lepore notes, the book contributed to the "frenzy" for Massive Open Online Courses, or MOOCs.
Professor Lepore also teaches at Harvard.
Such disruption is invariably portrayed as necessary and inevitable—not unlike Darwin's theory of natural selection. Furthermore, disruptive innovation has spawned an apocalyptic cottage industry. From the New Yorker:
Ever since The Innovator’s Dilemma [another book by Christensen], everyone is either disrupting or being disrupted. There are disruption consultants, disruption conferences, and disruption seminars. This fall, the University of Southern California is opening a new program: “The degree is in disruption,” the university announced. “Disrupt or be disrupted,” the venture capitalist Josh Linkner warns in a new book, “The Road to Reinvention,” in which he argues that “fickle consumer trends, friction-free markets, and political unrest,” along with “dizzying speed, exponential complexity, and mind-numbing technology advances,” mean that the time has come to panic as you’ve never panicked before. Larry Downes and Paul Nunes, who blog for Forbes, insist that we have entered a new and even scarier stage: “big bang disruption.” “This isn’t disruptive innovation,” they warn. “It’s devastating innovation.”
Hence you may have noticed the concept at in-service training or professional development seminars. Isn't it just a matter of time until every school has (despite the rather Orwellian oxymoron) a Dean of Disruption? ("Henderson, I've been looking over your student evaluations. It appears you aren't very disruptive.")
Please read the entire New Yorker article (if subscription is required, it's worth a trip to the library). Jill Lepore is a clever and engaging writer, and you will likely enjoy the piece.
Dr. Lepore shows the many methodological flaws in Christensen's analysis. Most egregiously, she says, he is guilty of "hand-picked case studies," chosen intentionally to illustrate his point. However, many of the companies he profiles actually performed quite well after a purportedly devastating disruption, according to Professor Lepore.
Most importantly for educators, she draws a line between business and other activities:
Doctors have obligations to their patients, teachers to their students, pastors to their congregations, curators to the public, and journalists to their readers—obligations that lie outside the realm of earnings, and are fundamentally different from the obligations that a business executive has to employees, partners, and investors.
Most Big Ideas are handed down to us, almost officially, from the Silicon Valley. Here is Jill Lepore's portrayal of the acolytes of disruption, who hope to cash in:
The upstarts who work at startups don’t often stay at any one place for very long. (Three out of four startups fail. More than nine out of ten never earn a return.) They work a year here, a few months there—zany hours everywhere. They wear jeans and sneakers and ride scooters and share offices and sprawl on couches like Great Danes. Their coffee machines look like dollhouse-size factories.
Not surprisingly, her article has attracted response and criticism, such as this piece in Slate by Will Oremus.