What would we think of health professionals, or landscapers, or barbers who could do the least for those who needed their services the most? Amateurs, at best—probably downright incompetent. So what should we think of ourselves as educators? Shouldn’t the success of the students most in need of our efforts be the true measure of our success?
In the Spring 2013 issue of Liberal Education, Carol Geary Schneider, president of the Association of American Colleges and Universities, makes a strong case for the continuing value of liberal education. She argues further that the compulsion in academe to follow pedagogical fads (MOOCs, for instance) runs counter to the transformative, life-changing education offered by selective liberal-arts colleges.
We should use the success
of those disadvantaged students as the primary measure of our institutional effectiveness.
I’m thoroughly persuaded by her arguments, yet at the same time I am troubled by other studies, such as those highlighted in Richard Arum and Josipa Roksa’s Academically Adrift, that suggest those who need the transformative experience of a liberal education the most are getting the least from it. It’s disheartening to think that students who have been unjustly shortchanged by economics, discrimination, and chance are the ones still struggling the most in college. Don’t we carry the bulk of responsibility for that?
That’s why we should use the success of those disadvantaged students as the primary measure of our institutional effectiveness. Typically, institutions have put great effort into assessment for the campus as a whole but then, for these students, used the coarsest measures of success, like retention. I am deliberately vague about who such students are; they may vary from campus to campus, from decade to decade. But the underlying premise is that the hurdles for disadvantaged students are typically hurdles for all students—just not to the same extent.
At my own institution, we designed the Grinnell Science Project to increase success rates for students from groups underrepresented in science, math, and computer science: minorities, first-generation college students, and women. We began offering pre-orientations, mentoring, and more interactive curricular design, among other changes. Two decades of experience show that we have not only improved success rates for the target groups, but, in the process, also significantly improved science education for all our students.
In disability accommodation, this is called the principle of universal design. For example, an automatic door is essential for someone in a wheelchair but also benefits an able-bodied person carrying a heavy load. In our success-for-all model, we used the experiences of the least successful to identify what are barriers for them but often impediments for others, too. For instance, instructors should ask:
- What would a first-generation student not know about how to navigate a syllabus?
- What terminology would needlessly confuse a non-native speaker?
- How and where outside of the classroom are students actually learning, and how do class sessions aid that?
- How can I connect my students sooner with the academic services they need to improve in writing, math, time management, and so on?
Support for students from all backgrounds isn’t unusual. What I believe would be new is the idea of making that the guiding principle for an otherwise traditional, national, selective liberal-arts college. Making this measure the foremost indicator of an institution’s success would suddenly clarify much about its mission. It would unambiguously place learning at the forefront. It would integrate diversity issues into the college’s mission. Success of minority students (or first-generation students, or women in science) would no longer be an auxiliary goal with a charitable or even condescending flavor but rather the key indicator of success. The message of universality would communicate a clear recognition of interdependence among racial and ethnic groups, regions, religions, and socioeconomic classes.
The hurdles for disadvantaged students are typically hurdles for all students—just not to the same extent.
How might we measure our progress? Any and every way. At my own institution, as we created the Grinnell Science Project, studies of underserved populations showed significant differences in nearly all of the obvious, albeit flawed, measures, like grades, retention, graduation rates, and satisfaction surveys. In addition, simple measures of participation reflect engagement, and, as much research has shown, that’s essential for academic success. So basic figures on attendance, office hours, and help sessions could be part of a constellation of quick statistics. A number of commercial packages are designed to track these bits of information and inform interventions. What I am suggesting does not demand new technology, but rather a conceptual change that brings forward the comparisons between groups as a tool to assess the college as a whole.
That’s far from the kind of thorough and comprehensive assessment suggested by, say, the AAC&U Value rubrics, or the Lumina Degree Qualifications Profile. So why suggest such a simplistic shortcut? Time. While the measures I suggest are coarse, they have very short time frames; midterm grades within a single course would be sufficient to allow adjustments. We have a large, built-in control group of sorts in the form of the overall student body.
Such measures obviously wouldn’t excuse us from the broader consideration of a curriculum responding to the needs of 21st-century students. But they would help us become increasingly effective day to day, week by week, semester by semester. In any event, those larger issues are more appropriate for national and regional conversations undertaken by local consortia and organizations like AAC&U.
And a focus on the success of all students would generate additional benefits. The value to the institution of a diverse faculty and staff would become clear, as they provide visible role models. At the same time, the undue burdens placed on minority faculty members and others from underrepresented groups would be reduced as the success of all students became the business of all faculty members. The approach might even reduce the trend among many colleges to view faculty research as an end unto itself rather than as a tool that improves student learning directly (through student involvement) and indirectly (through faculty development).
But most important, a success-for-all approach would serve to remind those of us at selective liberal-arts institutions, and the nation as a whole, that we are leaders, not followers, in higher education.
