In a recent writing course, a professor required undergraduates to submit an annotated bibliography of the five peer-reviewed sources they planned to use in their research papers. The point of the exercise was twofold: to give students practice with the proper bibliographic style and to make sure they were choosing appropriate references well before the papers were due. In short, the assignment was intended to produce helpful feedback.
But one student did not perceive it that way. The professor had explained what qualified as a peer-reviewed source, but the student submitted a list of references that included Wikipedia, advocacy websites, and a popular magazine. So on this student’s bibliography — in addition to correcting some formatting errors — the instructor wrote, “THESE ARE NOT PEER-REVIEWED SOURCES.” Not long after, the student blasted back an email, accusing the seasoned professor of behaving unprofessionally by “yelling” at the student. Any future critiques from the professor that included “that tone,” the student wrote, would result in a formal complaint of a “hostile work environment” being registered with the dean’s office.
Flabbergasted is an accurate description of the professor’s reaction. In the flurry of emails that followed, the instructor explained that yelling had not been the intention. Using all caps was merely a way to emphasize a significant problem that, left unfixed, would make a difference in the ultimate success of the paper. The student remained unmoved and insisted that any reasonable person would know better than to “shout out” suggested revisions.
But would we?
No doubt some readers will look at this incident (and yes, it really happened) as a prime example of what’s wrong with “today’s hypersensitive kids.”
But is it?
Sure, the student overreacted. But this exchange is a good example of how generational differences can interfere with students’ ability to absorb and use the critiques we provide on their papers. And it got us thinking about how to improve the feedback we offer on students’ writing.
This is far from the first time that teaching practices have had to adjust to changing times. Many professors long ago stopped using red ink to mark up papers because students found it so jarring — they used to say it looked like the instructor had bled all over their papers. (Years back, as a new assistant professor, one of us recalls being visited by an enraged and tearful student who shouted that “only psychology professors on this campus still use red pens!”)
The interpretation of all caps as “yelling” represents a somewhat different problem — that is, how text-messaging and other social-media conventions have started to blend into our feedback processes. For faculty members, it also raises the question: To what degree should we accommodate students’ preferences on this front?
To “yell” or not to “yell”? We did a quick survey of our colleagues on two different campuses to gauge their views on the all-caps conflict. Perhaps not surprisingly:
- Younger colleagues insisted that the instructor had made an obvious error that should be avoided in the future, similar to the use of the menacing red ink.
- In contrast, older colleagues expressed umbrage at the student’s threatening response. One suggested that all caps didn’t go far enough: Perhaps underlining, italicizing, and exclamation marks should be added to drive home the intended — and purely helpful — message.
How do we bridge that generation gap to help today’s students learn most effectively from faculty feedback on their work? Here’s what we came up with:
Explain your feedback style. On the syllabus or the first day of class, explain in detail your philosophy about feedback. Say you have a tough-love stance toward feedback. Spelling that out up front may help students benefit from your stance instead of feeling resentful and seeing you as a fussy curmudgeon who doesn’t appreciate their hard work.
Identify your quirks, too. Virtually every professor we know has certain (sometimes visceral) responses to particular grammar, word choice, or other style errors. For example, one of us balks at the word “facilitate” whereas the other can’t abide “utilize” when “use” will do. Share your particular peccadilloes with your students in advance so they receive your constructive comments as, well, constructive.
Emphasize the “why.” Just because you think the learning-and-development goals of your assignments are obvious doesn’t mean the students grasp their intent. To escape routine criticisms of assignments as “busy work,” explain the role of feedback in developing professional communication and project-management skills. Explicitly discuss the value of a well-executed assignment linked to future career paths (e.g., “Learning the style rules of the American Psychological Association — including what is, or is not, italicized in a citation — will help you if you go to graduate school in psychology later.”) .
Highlight what students have done well. It’s all too easy to view grading as a problem-finding mission, which explains why students would feel overwhelmed by feedback that highlights some inadequacy in their work. Balance the corrections with praise for a well-crafted sentence or a clever supporting example.
Limit corrections to the most important ones. Faculty members regularly complain that students don’t read the feedback we provide. Giving them too much feedback — an Oxford comma here, an em dash there — may be too much. Avoid noting the obvious errors that represent low-hanging fruit and instead focus on larger writing issues. Show them how to avoid the dreaded passive voice and how to draft shorter, more-focused paragraphs with meaningful topical sentences.
Ask students which kinds of critique will be most useful. Do they want detailed feedback to improve their writing, or are we just wasting our time on explanations that won’t be read? Many students are looking for particular guidance where writing is concerned. They will be grateful if you can focus on their specific needs and more likely to take your recommendations to heart.
Give students an opportunity to revise to recapture credit. If we have learned nothing else, it is that students should have the same opportunity that we all have as professional writers to revise, revise, revise. Put another way, giving students the opportunity to learn from drafting and then polishing their work can help them take writing more seriously as they see their grades improve across time.
Resist the urge to adopt current slang in your feedback. You might see that as a way to “connect” with Generation Z students. Especially for older professors, such attempts come off as pandering and ludicrous. “Dude, that’s a dangling participle!” or “Awesome use of a simile!” will only show your hand all too well.
Farm out some of your grading before you begin. Practically every college in the country has a campus center designed to help undergraduates improve their writing. Why not make use of its expertise? Require students (with the writing center’s permission, of course) to take a first draft there for comments and revisions before they submit it to you. Alternatively, have students swap drafts with peers in your course in order to correct surface errors (e.g., typos, spelling, grammar) before they hand in their work to you.
The all-caps incident indicates that different critique triggers exist for students and faculty members, especially for professors of a certain age. We may be at an interesting juncture in which professionalism and social-media mania are redefining feedback on written work. To promote understanding and mutual respect — as well as advance our educational goals for improving written work — we need to meet students on their terms while articulating our own.