Legal Commentary

All profs know the sinking feeling we get when we read exams that make us wonder if the student ever showed up for the class.  As a colleague of mine reminded me yesterday, describing the exam period, "never do so many show so convincingly that they have learned so little."  The sinking feeling we get when we read those exams is due in part to the fact that it's too late: the course has been taught, you've given it your best shot ... and all you get is the satisfaction of making big red X marks over entire paragraphs.

A different challenge is posed by pre-exam office hours (you know, the only office hours where students ever show up -- yeah, those).  Most students do a good job of coming in with focused questions that show they've struggled with the material.  But then you get the students that ask questions like the one in the title of this post.  They look at you earnestly, and ask you to re-teach the entire course.

I tend to be accommodating on most things.  (In discussing the exam earlier in the semester I even remarked that I tend to be a pushover when students try to negotiate things with me.  Note to self: don't say that ever again.)  But the request for a private tutorial during exam prep pushes me to the limits of flexibility.  It's not enough, I think, to give what I take to be the standard advised response here: "What issue within the Commerce Clause is confusing you?"  Frankly, that is my normal response.  But in my experience that usually just elicits a meandering reply that doesn't frame the issue any better.  And you're still left with the question.

Thus, my alternative strategy, which I confess I use only sparingly: answering the question at the level at which it is asked.  If a student says the commerce clause is confusing, then I reply that the commerce clause is the part of the Constitution that gives Congress the power to regulate interstate commerce.  Then I stop.  Because I answered the question.  I'm happy to take follow-ups, but they have to come from the student; I won't anticipate the question.  I don't follow this strategy when a student asks a more probing, detailed question that reveals some level of knowledge and effort; with that kind of question I'm happy to meet the student more than halfway, pointing out exceptions and hazards to the doctrine we're discussing, even if the student doesn't raise them herself.  But if a student asks a question that shows she didn't even show up for class, sometimes I'll give an answer appropriate for someone with that level of knowledge. 

I like to believe that I apply this strategy with no animus toward the student.  But candor compels me to say that during these usually-tense discussions I visualize us playing tennis -- or maybe, given my upbringing, Pong.  The question-cursor floats over to me.  Then the answer -- blip -- and it floats back across the black-and-white screen.  Sounds not nice, I guess.  But come on.  I may not be a great teacher, so if someone comes in confused about a point or two I'm happy to assume that it was my bad.  But if a student comes in with this kind of question then I don't hold myself responsible for what happened, and I don't see my responsibility to re-teach several class meetings. ("So, there was this case called Gibbons ....")

I'd also like to think that this strategy is effective in forcing the student to articulate a better question -- in effect, that it does better at jumpstarting the learning then the standard response noted above.  But I think I'd be kidding myself.  The student usually says something in response, but if she is really asking such a basic question I can't realistically expect a more focused follow-up question.  It's not always the case: sometimes this kind of question is just a throat-clearer and my answer elicits the student's real question. But often it doesn't.  It's a terrible situation: I'm being confronted face-to-face with a student that is utterly unprepared for the exam.  And thus face-to-face with the fact that at least one student learned nothing in my class.  It's the bad exam, but this time as a premonition, with the author looking at me in the face, laptop on lap, waiting for me to save her.

Usually I'll try.  But sometimes I won't.