I just received from one of my correspondents one of the most vicious letters I have ever read. It is fifteen hundred words of pure scorn. From its rambling quality, I surmise it was scribbled out in one sitting until the author’s rage was satisfied. The reader will be more shocked to know that it was originally twice as long, and perhaps even more malicious, before I cut it down and smoothed some of its meaner parts. I shudder to think that there are such bitter souls on this campus.
Dear Sir,
A scornful writer myself, I have always admired Dante’s Inferno. Dante does not only damn his enemies—he literally places them in hell. It must have been quite therapeutic for him, as it would be for me, to imagine his enemies suffering the most brutal modes of torture for eternity. I, too, have given much thought as to what eternal fate, if I had the choice, I would condemn my enemies. And perhaps no single mortal has garnered more of this consideration than the inventor of “participation points.”
I do not know who he is. He probably retreated into obscurity after the failure of his invention, as I would as well, were I responsible for the utter collapse of classrooms around the country. Technically he could be a woman, in which case my fury would be improper. But to make things easy I will assume him to be a man and attack him accordingly.
It is possible that this devil was a teacher, but something tells me he was one of those generic administrators, working in the vaguely defined field of education. It is they who, since having received a prestigious degree, and “having worked in education for over twenty years,” presume to know what is best for students. Their work, as I can tell, consists of making surveys for students, the findings of which they then present, in ascetically pleasing pie charts and bar graphs, to their colleagues in shiny meeting rooms. Every now and then, they sit in on classes for a glimpse at their subjects. They observe the humdrum of class with the superficial amazement of American tourists in foreign countries who gush over locals going about their jobs—and are just as despised. Teachers and students, otherwise at odds, unite in opposition to these impostors.
I envision my great foe as a card-carrying member of this club, and like to think that it was in one of those brief stints in a classroom that he hatched his nefarious plot. He probably noticed how only two or three students tend to raise their hands, the rest of the class being lost in their own worlds. Perceiving the limited engagement as a problem, he began devising a policy to fix it. And then and there occurred to him the stupidest idea that ever popped into the mind of man: to require, as part of the final grade, that every student participate in every class. Only the most disconnected academic, who thinks only in pie charts and bar graphs, could ever devise a plan so contrary to human nature.
The aim of participation points, which is to engage more students, assumes that every student has something to contribute and that the more contributions, the better. Unfortunately, as anyone who has spent time in a classroom recently knows, not everyone has something to say. I do not mean to disparage any students or come off as condescending. I believe that every human being has a gift to give to the world—but not to the classroom. Proponents of participation points think that all quiet students are shy Einsteins whose genius would pour out if only they opened their mouths. In truth, most of them are normal kids, with normal minds, who make it through their lectures by playing video games on their computers, doodling in their notebooks, or counting the tiles on the ceiling. They are not concealing any profound thoughts behind their glassy eyes.
Participation points do not “engage” them. They still pass class with the same diversions. The only difference is that they now have to pause their daydreaming once a class to remark that “The author makes a really interesting point in the second chapter…like, I just found it interesting that she, like, emphasized the significance of like, fighting for justice…and that, you know, we need to work together to end societal problems.” Having delivered themselves of these soliloquies, and earned their points for the day, they withdraw from the rest of the class. And we are supposed to believe this is “engagement.”
The only way to refine their contributions and prevent them from reusing the same hollow talking points day after day, would be to evaluate the quality of their contributions, rather than treat them all the same. I have been promoting this ever since I finally, and with much reluctance, accepted the permanence of participation points. If everyone must speak, why, let them speak well. In fact, I have volunteered to record what every student says and submit a transcript to the professor at the end of each class. I would even be willing to compile, at the end of the semester, an anthology of each student’s greatest remarks, formatted with the same distinction as “The Speeches of Abraham Lincoln.” With the sum of their contributions thus arranged, the professor would notice, as I do, that certain students just so happen to draw the same conclusion from every reading—that every author is “playing with conventional tropes” ; that every female protagonist is “subverting traditional gender roles”; that every ending is “meant to make us reconsider the assumptions we made along the way”; that no part of the text is every mentioned except for that which has already been discussed in class—that the bulk of what is said in class is textual analysis from students who did not read the text.
Participation points, and their assumption that all participants are equal, have become too entrenched in academia to be uprooted. Professors are past the point at which they speak their minds. They have given too much to the myth of participation points. The delusion must go on. Professors must insist that all questions are good questions, and respond to every contribution, even the most threadbare, irrelevant crumbs of nonsense, with unequivocal praise, thus guaranteeing that a fifth of their lectures will be devoted to hearing about “the power of the significance of the societal boundaries of the social fabric of the basic human rights of the laws and institutions of the world we live in.”
If you think I am being too harsh on participation points, or hyperbolic in my account of their effects, I implore you to come witness one of the classes of
your most humble
and obedient servant,
John DeGrumpy
