Question (from "Fern"):
Last spring, as a community-college adjunct, I received mean-spirited, unfair, and inaccurate student evaluations. For years, my evaluations have been very good—and no, I don't bring food to the classroom get them. Soon I know I'll run into many of my students from last year. There are two I'd particularly like to confront about their evaluations of my teaching.
I'm sure you aren't naive enough to think that professors can't figure out which student wrote which evaluation. How hard is it to suss out their handwriting, or match their demographic information on the front of the form with their critiques on the back? (Note: In all my classes last year, not a single student knew what the word "pedagogy" meant, yet they felt justified in evaluating mine.)
To the student ("Una") who wrote that I had not identified a single term during the course, I'd like to say: "Let me forward the 20 e-mails (literally) you wrote to me last fall that I answered after working all day, then taking care of my household (the second shift), and then taking on a third shift (your e-mails) full of questions about terms that you were unable to understand from the lectures. I explained the terms yet again. And then you wrote on your evaluation that I hadn't 'defined a single term all semester."
And then there's "Smokey Junior," the arrogant student who'd already flunked out of one college before he blessed me with his presence. He still lives with his parents and plays video games day and night, even though he is now in his late 20s. He missed 75 percent of the class sessions and was late for every one, yet wrote that "Dr. Fern couldn't lead a discussion." I wonder how he thinks he knows that?
It is our job as educators to help our students complete forms correctly. Why should their evaluations be exempt? I'm interested in knowing how to politely push back a bit on unfair student evaluations of teaching. Indeed, there comes a time when the cup of endurance runneth over, and given that I am at that point, I'd like your advice and opinion.
Answer: Ms. Mentor intuits that what you really want is revenge, and who doesn't? Who doesn't rejoice, at least a little, when a wicked witch is reduced to a harmless puddle?
One can call it education, or re-education, or revenge, but it amounts to the pleasure of changing someone else's behavior. Which is, of course, one of the hardest things on earth to do.
Ms. Mentor used to believe that the right words would change not only behavior but the whole person. What if, for instance, you told Una the Ungrateful that she hurt your feelings by ignoring all the time you spent explaining terms to her, and that you are overworked and underpaid? What if you said that when students respond negatively, you're cut to the heart?
Would Una say, "Oh, I am so sorry, I had no idea you felt that way. You're such a caring teacher, and I'll run right up to the department office and ask to change my evaluation, and I'll sin no more"?
Or suppose you told Smokey Junior that his behavior is arrogant, but you know that's not his true nature. (As all educationists say, "Criticize the behavior, not the person.") Suppose you said that he was probably a misunderstood child, and you know that he has the capacity to do great work, especially in class discussions, and that he has a fine mind that somehow hasn't yet been engaged by the school system. You're sure that with the right personal tutoring that you'll eagerly provide, he'll grow as a mind—and as a man.
Would Smokey Junior say, "Oh, I'm so grateful that at last I've found a nurturing teacher who understands me." Or would he say, "Eew! You're old enough to be my mother!"
Even if you said exactly the right thing, would Una and Smokey Junior see the error of their ways? Could you laugh and bond and share a bucket of fried chicken?
Ms. Mentor thinks not, and it's not just that young adults are often truculent and resistant to hearing advice "for your own good." Hardly anyone really wants advice or scolding. Everyone wants an A.
And so Ms. Mentor's opinion (not advice) is that while ranting at sinners can give the ranter a thrilling, sanctimonious jolt, it rarely saves the sinners. Sometimes it can turn a muddy scene into one in which you become the villain. If you confront Una and Smokey Junior, for instance, you'll have to admit that you broke confidentiality. You checked their handwriting. You snooped.
Sometimes you can look bad even when you're trying to be virtuous.
It's also infuriating that Una and Smokey Junior came to class on evaluation day and cast their ignorant votes. (Ignorant people do vote every day, but that doesn't make it right.) Ms. Mentor knows that some ears cannot hear. Una may have a lazy memory, not just a deficiency of manners. Smokey Junior may need some kind of financial crisis before he can wake up to become a grownup.
Ms. Mentor wishes she could supply you with a sword, but you may need a muzzle instead—because you're an adjunct, always vulnerable, constantly judged.
Ms. Mentor does have some handy tips for getting better evaluations—and yes, bringing food can help. But if you as a teacher are viewed as a sneak, a grouch, or an injustice collector, the student gossip mill can grind you into little bitter shards.
And so, Ms. Mentor would have you Rise Above. When Una and Smokey Junior next cross your path, you have Ms. Mentor's permission to ignore them. You can ostentatiously cross the street to avoid them. Your heart may pound, and your brow may furrow.
Or you can Go Magnanimous. Greet them with big, wide, all-embracing smiles. That will flummox them completely. Ask enthusiastically about how they're doing. Chat them up for as long as you can stand. Being gracious is better revenge than being crabby. It gives you endless moral superiority.
They've thrown dirt at a good person (you). You can throw it back, and sink under the weight of mud and blood. Or you can behave in a saintly fashion, far too serene to be bothered by gnats from the past.
Revenge ties you to the past. Ms. Mentor thinks it a far, far better thing to look to the future.
Question: Is it true that no matter how I'd like to coerce, flatter, berate, or educate other people, the only behavior I control is my own? Do I have to accept reality?
Answer: Yes.
Sage readers: Ms. Mentor has always enjoyed revenge scenarios: the trickster tricked, the miscreant hoist with his own petard. Nowadays many a grievance is filed, but Ms. Mentor grieves for the day when everyone had a petard. That would save so much time.
As always, Ms. Mentor invites comments, rants, and queries, especially about the throes of midterm time. She regrets that she can rarely answer letters personally, and never speedily. All letters are confidential, and identifying details are always scrambled. They'll never know you're fuming, plotting, and silencing yourself now only so that your genius will shine through later.
(c) Emily Toth. All rights reserved
