Sustainable Teaching and Bad Math

It’s the second-to-last week of the semester, which for many teachers—perhaps especially those in higher education—is the most intense stretch in the academic term.  Though I’ve been at this job for quite some time, the sheer exhaustion I feel during these weeks often takes me by surprise.  All it takes is one stroll down the hallway of my department and a few conversations with colleagues to recognize I’m not alone.  Most everyone around me feels buried under a mound of work, and the word “exhausted” is one I find myself using and hearing more often.

The tiredness that teachers (and others) experience during this time of the semester is more than just physical, as evidenced by handful of articles making recent appearances in sources including The Chronicle of Higher Education, Inside Higher Ed, NPR, and even Christianity Today.  Whether the authors acknowledge it directly or not, these pieces portray an all-too-common experience of teachers and faculty members: compassion fatigue.

I would imagine most educators—especially those who have taught for awhile—would at least admit to understanding the concept of compassion fatigue.  Some might even go so far as confessing they’ve experienced it from time to time—perhaps even to a significant and even detrimental degree.

It can be risky, though, to acknowledge having really struggled with this experience; truly competent professionals shouldn’t and wouldn’t have to cope with this sort of emotional and intellectual limitation, right?

Sure, a teacher’s inability to fend off compassion fatigue could be symptomatic of a deeper, more problematic emotional and intellectual frailty. 

Maybe.  

But maybe not.

Perhaps compassion fatigue for teachers—especially those in public education—can be attributed, at least in part, to simple numbers.

Professor Smith serves on the English faculty at an open admission community college with a student enrollment of over 10,000.  In some semesters, her classes consist of well over 100 students for whom she wants to be an effective teacher, which means not only covering the required subject matter, but also doing so in a way that is kind, caring, and compassionate.  Not only does Professor Smith want to learn all her students’ names, but she also wants to know their stories and understand what types of classroom experiences they do and don’t enjoy.  She wants to answer each of their questions, help them with their papers, meet with them individually to discuss study strategies that will work best for them. 

Professor Smith wants to accomplish all of that in addition to preparing for and teaching her classes with excellence, serving on committees, attending department meetings, participating in campus events, and serving as an academic advisor during the school's registration period. 

Then there is the paper grading.  If Professor Smith has 100 students in a given semester, and each student writes 6 essays, this means she will have 600 essays to grade.  If it takes Professor Smith approximately 30 minutes per essay (which, in some cases is a conservative estimate), she will need to devote 1800 minutes, or 300 hours to grading alone over the course of a 15-week semester.  And yes, that means 20 hours of grading per week on top of her other duties mentioned previously.  What still remains are the other assignments, quizzes, and reports she will need to evaluate.

If we're going to take a holistic look at the expectations Professor Smith must fulfill, we can’t ignore the time, energy, and attention she must give to students facing problems outside of class that interfere with their ability to complete their coursework.  During a recent semester in a single class, Professor Smith encountered the following issues:

Students who often couldn’t afford the gas money to drive to campus and attend class.

Students who walked to and from campus each day—regardless of inclement weather—because they didn’t own a car or a bike.

Students about to be put out of their current living situation.

Students whose work schedules conflicted with their ability to complete major and minor assignments.

Students who not only worked part- or full-time jobs, but also had young children at home.

Students whose first language was not English.

Students with serious, absence-causing medical issues who also lacked the health insurance which would allow them to seek treatment.

            

These students were in addition to those who simply struggled to make it to class on time, or to engage with the subject matter.

   

The above-mentioned student issues actually occurred in just one class during one semester.  Professor Smith taught other classes as well, each with its own unique set of students who brought their own unique circumstances with them into the class.

Professor Smith genuinely cares about each student.  But—like many of her colleagues as the semester moves into its final weeks—she also feels more than a little overwhelmed.  One result may be that Professor Smith finds it increasingly difficult to continue responding to student struggles in the kind and thorough manner that she hopes to demonstrate towards each of her students.

Perhaps these experiences are the result of poor planning, a lack of resilience, or inconsistently maintained classroom expectations. 

Maybe, though, Professor Smith's brush with compassion fatigue is the unavoidable product of an educational system that needs to be re-examined in the ways this article suggests. 

Everyday Dilemma

The last paragraph of the last essay I read this term--from an exceptional student whose unexpected end-of-the-semester struggles prohibited her from submitting work that more accurately shows her real ability:  "It is clear that the author didn't address the prompt [in this essay], but she honest only wrote this paper so that her professor couldn't fail her in the class on the premise of not turning in the paper.  She obviously understands that her behavior near the end of the semester is unacceptable, but she has been tired and has the final of her English class to pass."  This student's amazing potential was--at least temporarily--eclipsed by the kinds of personal challenges that so many community college students face.   I find her response simultaneously heartbreaking and heartening . . . .

What Did I Miss?

On Fridays, I meet with two sections of Freshman Composition II, a course centering around reading and writing about literature.   It's one of my favorite classes to teach--a wonderful mixture of encountering poetry, short fiction, and drama, and learning to appreciate some really amazing texts.

Today, the class and I were 20 minutes into an energetic discussion about Susan Glaspell's Trifles when a student walked into the room, late. That in and of itself is not terribly unusual, nor are tardy students generally a problem (unless the same individual is repeatedly late and/or disruptive when joining the class).  

Today, though, upon entering the room, this student stopped in front of me, interrupting the class discussion.  When I paused, here is what he said:  

"I am late because I had to run home and get something that I forgot.

What did I miss?"  

Yes, this is a direct quote.

I could be offended by the fact that this student would have the audacity to expect a teacher to drop everything and attend to his needs.  And yes, that was frustrating.  But that's not what concerns me.

What's really troubling is that this student showed no awareness of the inconvenience that his request created for the rest of the class.  Not only did he expect me to immediately stop and come to his assistance. This student also actually expected  the other twenty-some-odd students to wait patiently while I updated him on what we'd been doing and they listened.  

At this point, I'm tempted to chime in with the next verse of the endless song so many educators are singing about our students.  The most oft-repeated word in that song is "entitled."  Believe me:  it's not hard to find reasons to join in that chorus. 

Instead, though, I'm imagining this student in the workplace. What's going to happen when he takes a similar course of action with an employer?

I'm imagining this student in a relationship.  What's going to happen when he has similar expectations from someone important to him?

Here, though, is an even more sobering question:  What--and who--has allowed this student to believe his actions and expectations today were appropriate?  How has he arrived at that conclusion? 

I hope I'm wrong, but experience tells me I'm not the only teacher who experiences similar scenarios on an increasingly regular basis. Such behaviors are becoming less of an exception and more like a new normal in the classroom.  

This leads me to another question:  Have I done anything to reinforce such a point of view amongst my students?

What did I miss?

Before we join in the increasingly loud lament about this generation's lack of self-awareness, perhaps parents, educators, and leaders need to do some of our own reflection.  

Perhaps we need to consider how we may be part of the problem, by unintentionally cultivating these kinds of expectations in our children, students, and society.

Perhaps we need to examine our own actions and expectations, and ask ourselves:

  

What are we missing?