By Mira Sucharov, Associate Professor, Department of Political Science
I’m getting ready to start a new term teaching a particularly controversial topic — the politics of Israel-Palestine. When I share with colleagues my trepidation, they sometimes like to remind me that, however difficult the task may be, it is the instructor, after all, who wields the power.
But is the direction of power in the classroom so clear-cut?
Certainly, instructors wield the grading pen. But when I grade, I am extremely conscious of the code of professional ethics that guides me as a professor. Assignments must be marked on their merits: logic of argument, marshalling of evidence, style, grammar, originality, thoughtfulness (sometimes creativity), etc. Liking — or not liking — something a student says in class, or the way a student otherwise conducts themselves should hold no weight. I know of no colleague who would disagree with this ethical standard.
But students, too, wield various forms of power. There is, most obviously, the power of teaching evaluations. These scores have a direct bearing on a professor’s livelihood — in the form of tenure, promotion, teaching awards, and, in extreme cases, the holding of a job itself. Do students feel themselves guided by a strict code of ethics when they fill out teaching evaluations (never mind when they fill out or visit ratemyprofessor.com)? I do not recall necessarily feeling a great sense of responsibility when I filled out teaching evaluations as an undergraduate. (I wonder what my colleagues recall.)
Moreover, the same ordinary and relatively fixed identity categories that animate power dynamics outside the classroom can shape interactions within the classroom too — so race, class, gender, sexuality, and so on, can have an effect — in multiple directions.
More subtly, students have the power to challenge a professor’s sense of themselves, particularly around ethical stances.
Students and professors need all sorts of intellectual, cognitive and even emotional challenges in order to learn and develop. This kind of intellectual tussling is a welcome aspect of an engaged classroom. But it can sometimes be tough, particularly when the subject matter touches a raw nerve of our sense of being in the world. For me, this happens most frequently when I experience a particular type of question or challenge as implying that I am trying to “spin” the students’ thinking in a particular political direction.
In the Israeli-Palestinian case, this can arise in various scenarios: in discussing whether Israel is or is not an “apartheid” state, a “settler-colonial” state, whether it is a true democracy, and so on; and in discussing whether terms like “occupation” apply only to the West Bank, or to Gaza as well, or to the entirety of Israel; and in raising questions of what is “realistic” when discussing Palestinian refugee return or whether questions about what is “realistic” should be eschewed in favour of a strict justice discourse.
I am working on responding more productively to these sorts of challenges, by taking student responses as opportunities to break new conceptual ground. But I still find myself second-guessing myself in a way I don’t do when I write op-eds, for example, where I feel well-girded for the blowback. The difference is that in op-ed writing I am treading on clear opinion-and-argument ground. In the classroom, by contrast, I see my role as distinct — as shepherding the debate rather than participating in it — and I hope my students see it that way too.
As the term begins, the question I have is this: can discussing this sense of power and powerlessness with our students help insulate the classroom from learning moments that might feel drenched with mistrust, or are these observations better left unspoken? If I do broach these questions with my students, will I appear insecure and defensive, or open and vulnerable in the best way possible?