Because student grades were posted Friday, Monday will begin a semester ritual in which certain students will contact the dean’s office because they received a poor grade. The problem will, of course, not be their fault. For them, claiming that their instructors were the problem is far easier than admitting some failing on their own parts. Even in spite of contradictory evidence (e.g. e-mails, syllabus, worksheets, BlackBoard announcements, and so forth) and documented lack of attendance or unsubmitted assignments, students will still blame instructors for their own failures.

On several occasions, I have had students complain that I did not provide them with any feedback on their research. However, in all of those cases, I was able to show that the student had skipped the mandatory conferences—held during class time—where feedback was given. I have also been able to produce copies of e-mails sent to students that the student “never” received. In some cases, I can even produce the student’s response to the “unreceived” e-mail as well.

Given that many of these students have been problematic throughout the semester and it is a serious waste of valuable time to have to counter frivolous complaints, I am sympathetic to the response, “Flunk the little [expletive-deleted].” However, might we better use our time to try to turn this negative situation into a learning experience?

I realize that it is difficult to feel charitable or have any sense of metta in a situation where an irresponsible student has filed a frivolous complaint, but I have found that such an approach can not only help the student, but also helps lead me back to a sense of equanimity.

A couple of years ago, I glanced at the final paper a student had just handed to me. After glancing at it, I suggested she verify her references before she submitted it for final evaluation. She informed me that there was nothing wrong with the documentation and that I should grade it. Because her errors qualified as academic dishonesty, she failed both the paper and the course.

After she read my response to the complaint she filed against me, the student sent the dean a note that essentially said that Dr. Berg was correct and that she had been stupid. The dean then forwarded—without comment—the student’s e-mail to me. The dean knew that I could deal with stupid and that I would not want a student to fail a course for stupid. The dean knew that I would work with the student to correct her documentation errors.

When dealing with such students, I ask myself what purpose would be served by failing the student; especially compared with the benefits of continuing to work with him/her? In many cases, the answer is that there would be no benefit by failing the student.

I realize that some situations are too severe to be resolved. For example, even had she taken responsibility for her behavior, there is nothing that could have been done to help the student who asked me if she could do extra credit to make up for the 12 weeks of class she had missed. But if a student is able to take responsibility for his/her behavior, I would prefer to work with the student to turn the negative situation into a positive learning experience.

Often, it requires intervention on the part of the dean to help a student move from “It’s not my fault” to “It was my fault.” But when the dean is successful in getting the student to accept responsibility, whenever possible the student needs to be rewarded.

In the collegial classes I teach, I am clear that I will continue to work with students—even after the semester ends—to complete course requirements. While my willingness is not unlimited, it is an offer that is available to all students. Therefore, I do not worry that I am giving “special” or “unfair” advantage to the students with whom I am willing to work after they have filed a complaint.

Sometimes, the best course of action is to force the student to accept a failing grade. However, working with students with a spirit of compassion can help them learn valuable skills that will serve them well in future academic and professional endeavors. And sometimes, such a compassionate response takes even less effort than does forcing them to fail.

–Steven L. Berg, PhD

 

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