Knowing what share of faculty have what are called concealable stigmatized identities, or CSIs — and whether they reveal those identities to their students — would broaden the way researchers understand students’ opportunities to see someone like them succeed in science, said Brownell, a professor in the school of life sciences at Arizona State University and director of its Research for Inclusive STEM Education Center.
So Brownell and her co-authors sent a survey to some 50,000 instructors in biology, geosciences, chemistry, and physics from every doctorate-granting university in the country that has very high research activity. To avoid skewing their sample, they framed the survey broadly. And, though it would have raised their response rate, they avoided advertising it in ways that would over-sample professors with these identities (say, by emailing affinity groups).
The team also surveyed a sample of undergraduates at some of the same institutions to provide a comparison.
Their findings were recently published in CBE—Life Sciences Education.
The researchers collected responses from 1,248 undergraduate instructors. Though that’s a small share of the faculty who received the survey, given professors’ reluctance to complete surveys and the lack of any kind of baseline data, Brownell was encouraged by that number.
She and her team found that 35 percent of respondents said they struggle or have struggled with anxiety, and 27 percent struggle or have struggled with depression. Twenty-nine percent of respondents were first-generation students, and 19 percent grew up in a low-income household. The other identities the researchers asked about were less represented.
Nearly all of these characteristics were more prevalent among the surveyed students. But the findings suggest that such students could well have instructors who share them without knowing it. “Overall, very few instructors disclosed any CSI to all of their students; for each identity, the number of instructors who never disclosed their identity to undergraduates was higher than those who revealed their identity to all undergraduates with one exception: having struggled academically in college,” the researchers write.
Revealing certain identities is a personal decision, Brownell emphasized. And doing so is riskier for professors who lack privilege or status.
Some professors did cite the potential for negative student reaction, lower course evaluation, or possible disciplinary action as a reason to keep their identities concealed. But the survey findings suggest that fear of professional repercussions is not the predominant reason faculty members do so. Larger shares of instructors indicated that they didn’t disclose in general, didn’t see it as relevant, had not considered doing so, or considered it inappropriate. That, the researchers say, suggests there is untapped potential for professors to be role models.
“It’s obviously super hard to change the culture of science,” Brownell said. Having instructors with a concealable stigmatized identity consider sharing it with students is a more achievable step. In other research, Brownell and her colleagues are digging into possible benefits of such disclosure to students, and their early results are encouraging: Students with depression and LGBTQ+ students benefit more than other students when a depressed faculty member or an LGBTQ+ faculty member reveals their identity. The response of other students is mixed, with most perceiving a neutral impact, a few negative responses, and some perceiving a positive impact.
Revealing an identity, Brownell adds, doesn’t require a drawn-out discussion. It can be done quickly and in context. For instance, Brownell has surveyed students in her courses about their own characteristics and shared the findings anonymously. This can correct misconceptions, she said, and make students feel less alone. When she reveals the percentage of the class who indicated they struggle with depression, Brownell has mentioned that she does, too.
What do you think? Do you have a concealable stigmatized identity? If so, do you tell your students? Why or why not? What has happened if you have? Let me know at beckie.supiano@chronicle.com,and your response may appear in a future newsletter.
What students need
I’ve gotten a bunch of interesting reader responses to a recent newsletter on deadline extensions. This week, I’m sharing two that focus on students’ needs.
Usha Rao, a professor in the department of chemistry and biochemistry at Saint Joseph’s University, writes: “Undergraduate students, especially those who experienced the chaos of the pandemic during their formative years in high school, absolutely need structure and scaffolding to learn how to succeed in college and beyond. But without flexibility, structure quickly becomes stifling. Good teaching always rests on the knowledge that we teach humans, not content. Teachers who struggle to connect with students, in my experience, focus primarily on something other than building an engaging connection with students that inspires them to learn — their focus may be instead on assessment, technology, or just an inflexible approach to teaching. When I’m genuinely invested in student learning, I am able to recognize that it is far better for students to complete a homework set and learn from the process, rather than to skip the homework because the deadline has passed. This makes it easier to see that a no-penalty extension may encourage struggling students to try to make up any missing work, and that heavy penalties or outright refusals to accept late submissions actually impede student learning. At the end of the day, I just want my students to recognize how joyful learning and mastery can be.”
Cheryl A. Huff, an associate professor of philosophy, English, and humanities at Germanna Community College, writes: “Those of us teaching at community colleges have always faced the need to be flexible as our non-traditional, non-residential students have complicated lives: kids, aging parents, special needs, economic crises, gas prices, etc. I learned long ago that professionalizing the process of extensions not only enhances my students’ success but also improves their self-advocacy and planning skills, which will benefit them in future degree programs and the workplace.
Students are simply required to provide the following information, privately via messaging in Canvas, before the due date: When do they plan to submit the assignment? They do not need to disclose a specific reason or excuse or any personal/medical information to have the extension. They are guaranteed this extension of up to a week, without penalty, with the only caveat that if they need several extensions in a row, we will meet to discuss how we can improve on time management, childcare, tutoring, mental health services, emergency funds, etc. This is universal in order to be equitable for those who need it as well as those who do the work on time.
The only real exception is at the end of the semester when final grades are due, and an incomplete grade is sometimes possible but requires forms, etc.
It works wonderfully. They stress less, feel seen and heard without the need to expose their personal issues, ensuring their chances of success in achieving the learning outcomes. I don’t have to be the gatekeeper. This may not work for everyone but then, in teaching, what does?”
Stay tuned for more reader comments that come at this issue from a different perspective. And you can still send me your thoughts, too: beckie.supiano@chronicle.com.
As a reminder, my questions were: Are professors still adjusting to students’ heightened expectations of flexibility? Have those expectations shifted? Or do you think you’ve figured out a good approach for balancing structure and flexibility?
Small vs. local
In a recent issue, I shared a piece by a political science professor on defining student success and asked readers to weigh in. Here is a thoughtful response I received from Dominic J. Voge, senior associate director of the McGraw Center for Teaching & Learning at Princeton University:
“Creating ‘global citizens’ is on every university homepage, it seems. I’ve lived, studied and traveled abroad and interact with a global community, so I don’t need to be persuaded of the value of this aim. However, when working in an institution that is educating the global elite, the ubiquity of this objective highlights what is missing from the discussion, what I take to be other very valuable outcomes of a college education in an ever-more-global higher-ed context.
Some other aims are not ‘small’ … so much as they might be understood as ‘local.’ Why are we not expressly talking with students more about returning to their home communities and making local, deep impacts? Is creating a physical therapy practice that is deeply embedded in the community, offering free physicals to local student-athletes with therapists on-hand at games, providing opportunities for local students to have internships in their summers, any less impactful than being in the state legislature or something ‘bigger’? We also need skilled accountants who help local, skilled craftspeople run local businesses. Your local library needs not only committed librarians, but administrators who understand the communities they are embedded in, their families, schools and potential partners. Deep roots make for deep impacts. Uplifting your community IS global impact, it seems to me.
While perhaps not as sexy as many ‘homepage stories’ of global visibility, neither is educating ‘local citizens’ a mutually exclusive aim. Perhaps we can balance the conversation, and in so doing, help make students’ futures feel more accessible, tangible and personally meaningful, and thus more motivating to our charges.”
It’s not too late to share your thoughts on this topic for possible inclusion in a future newsletter: beckie.supiano@chronicle.com.
Thanks for reading Teaching. If you have suggestions or ideas, please feel free to email us at beth.mcmurtrie@chronicle.com or beckie.supiano@chronicle.com.
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— Beckie
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