“This is physics by intimidation.”
That Monday had started like many others, with most students a little groggy and not quite fully alert. I could offer my own rationalization, such as how I was up until 2 AM the night before working on my own classes. But that’s beside the point: our students are often exhausted from balancing commitments. So we were all in the same boat, a little bit too tired to process details about (as I recall) inelastic collisions.
As we did every day, we formed our teams of 4 to start working on the day’s problems. Our team was often quiet, as we read the problems and thought for a bit before discussing how to tackle them. Somehow, our silence seemed to strike a nerve with the instructor that day, and he decided to tower over our table and drill us on the questions.
We all answered the first one, quite confidently. Instead of any acknowledgement, he immediately demanded the answer to the next one. Our answer was slightly more hesitant, but came out nonetheless. No break. What’s the third answer. We just lost one student responding. What’s the fourth. Now we’re down to two half-hearted attempts. The fifth. Mumbles. The sixth. Then came the gut punch:
“This is physics by intimidation. Now. What is the answer to the next question?”
I had been uncertain about our response on the fifth, so I looked down to re-read it and try to clarify it in my mind. As I was deliberating, I heard fingers snapping. “Hey. Buddy. What is your answer on [the sixth question]?”
“Actually, I haven’t looked at that one yet, because I’m still trying to make sense of [some detail about the fifth question].”
“Fine. You go ahead and work at your own pace. You can do whatever you want.”
[Editorial note: I really wish there was an obvious font for expressing condescension. I guess italics will have to suffice.]
I was dismissed. A figurative wave of the hand to exclude me from his tutorial. But my teammates weren’t. For the next 20 minutes (yes, I kept watching the time), he stood by the side of our table, occasionally interjecting comments about how wrong an answer was.
As a student, I was infuriated. Our group had a quality working dynamic. We weren’t exuberant in our discussions, and we probably spent a lot more time in quiet reflection than anyone else in the class. But that was our dynamic, and it had been working. Instead of letting it work, his intervention disrupted it and ejected me from that day’s discussions.
As a faculty member and education researcher, I was embarrassed. I cannot think of any sound pedagogical reason to berate a team this way. I can give him a small benefit of doubt and state that he may have legitimately thought we were not working. As I said, our preferred modus operandus did not exhibit the outward activity that many flipped classroom groups do. Regardless, there were many, many superior ways to address such a concern.
In the end, I felt (and still feel) that this particular instructor does not respect students. He routinely makes comments that make students wince. I have no doubt that he believes it to be wit. But that doesn’t matter when you’re an instructor. Your students’ perceptions of your classroom IS the reality of your classroom.
So how do you avoid this? I have a few tips/observations:
- In a flipped classroom, you are handing over responsibility. When students are forming their teams, allow them to establish the standard process of working and respect it.
- Offer guidance, not intimidation. Instead of demanding answers, ask more questions: “What information do you need to get started with this problem?” “What is unclear about the instructions here?”
- Trust and respect your students. If you don’t, do not be surprised when they fail to trust or respect you.
I wish I could say that this was a freak occurrence and everything returned to normal after that, but I can’t. Two students missed the next class, having not missed a day previously (we were more than half-way through the semester). Within two weeks, one of them disappeared and never returned. Another one made it to class every 3 or 4 days.
Ultimately, our group–which had previously been quite successful and enjoyable–never functioned again. As it turns out, intimidation is an easy way to destroy students’ motivation. In a flipped classroom, that is the death knell of learning.
Bridging the digital divide 