It is the end of the semester and over the weekend I slowly worked through the pile of manuscripts I had received the previous week. I sighed over formatting errors and corrected grammar and spelling mistakes. I revised text that was awkward and was frustrated that so many authors ignored requirements that had been clearly explained. I encountered a graphic that was sideways and answered an e-mail from an author who wondered if it was too late to revise her text—even after the deadline—because what she had submitted was not well written. And then there was the note from one author telling me where I could locate some data that she had been too lazy to insert into her own document.

While I am sure that many colleagues would commiserate with me while expressing sentiments about the poor quality of student work, I was not dealing with a stack of student papers. The manuscripts were presentation proposals written by faculty members for a forthcoming conference.

A few years ago, while staffing the registration desk at a conference, I was helping sort out a problem for a colleague. Another faculty member joined us because she wanted tickets for one of the conference events. Then a third faculty member approached me. The three interrupted and talked over each other in an attempt to be the one I helped first. They were demanding and rude not only to me but to each other.

As I began to explain that I could only help one at a time, they realized that the next conference sessions were about to begin, informed me that they would come back later, and then dashed off to attend a workshop on dealing with student incivility.

I am no longer surprised when members of the faculty model the incivility about which we complain.

During the past few years, I have become inclined to walk out of sessions if the presenter is poorly prepared or if the information—even when well presented—is not relevant to me. And more recently, I did not simply roll my eyes during a particularly boring presentation. I pretended to stab myself with a butter knife. People at my table giggled as the presenter droned on.

By looking at my own expectations and behavior, I have become more compassionate to students as well as a better teacher. I also do a better job of modeling the civility I expect in my classroom. As a result, students have become more civil to me and to their colleagues.

For example, if I am not willing to have my time wasted, I need to make sure not to waste my students’ time. Or because I realize that life sometimes interferes with my teaching, I am more understanding when a student is called into work, needs to pick up a sick sibling, leaves a thumb drive or paper at home, or has a doctor’s appointment during class time. Furthermore, if I can ask the dean for an extension on a report, why would I not let dedicated students have the same option?

Arguing for compassion does not excuse inappropriate behavior. While it seemed funny at the time, the incident with the butter knife is not one of my prouder moments and someone could have rightly questioned the appropriateness of my behavior. Furthermore, the Dean is not giving me an extension as a reward for procrastination. I am being “rewarded” so that I can do even more work than is required to complete the assignment.

To gain better understanding on dealing with student incivility, we might not need another conference session. Maybe we just need to observe ourselves at the next faculty meeting or professional development seminar before reflecting on the degree of civility we show each other?

–Steven L. Berg, PhD

Photo Credit: Dr. Jennifer T. Edwards