Over my time spent as a university professor for the past 20 years, I’ve frequently found myself musing over the significance of grades. Recently, these reflections have become increasingly challenging and unsettling, somewhat adding a layer of complexity to my role.
My children’s academic results have never been a major point of concern for me. Of course, it’s beneficial for them to excel and sometimes, they might require a certain grade or a specific score to achieve their ambitions. However, during examination periods, I constantly remind them of the lack of intrinsic value in grades. Having high grades can be beneficial, while lower ones might pose hurdles, but that’s all there is to it. Achieving a high score doesn’t make you superior, nor does a lower one demote you as a person.
Grades represent organisational and administrative aspects rather than being reflective of morals, character, or intellectual capacity. We rejoice in success and provide solace in moments of dismay, though these emotions are sympathetically detached. I don’t vicariously experience joy or disappointment as my child’s identity is in no way defined by their exam results. The results can influence future decisions, much like unpredictable weather or unfortunate travel delays, but we adapt to the circumstances we didn’t select.
Indeed, I can relate to this. During primary school, I was naively categorised as “educationally slow”, but I later surpassed expectations, undertaking the kind of education and professional career only attainable for those with outstanding grades. Over three decades of my involvement with universities, both as a learner and an educator, I noticed a pattern between high attainment and emotional fragility, reflected in both my and my peers’ experiences.
I might be a university professor, but my children’s grades have never been significantly important to me.
Although not all those who excel academically have delicate self-esteem, it can be a driving force behind success. What exacerbates the issue is that such success reinforces the fragility of the ego, endorsing the belief that anything less than perfect grades makes one unworthy of love. As long as this belief goes unchallenged, the more probable it seems.
It’s important to acknowledge the role of validation in society, with grades serving as a typical example. Yet, there are numerous other indices of worth that rely on quantifiable metrics, including finance, body mass, athletic prowess, commercial performance, and digital engagement. These aspects, coupled with personal shortcomings and unwillingness, often supersede true self-worth, resulting in societal hierarchy. This high achiever mentality is common among influential figures.
Work has commenced to disentangle education from historical systems of subjugation, thus recasting syllabi. A genuinely reformed system would shun this detrimental number-driven anxiety-inducing competitive approach to learning. Most tutors realise the detrimental effects of exams, grading also shares this negative connotation. It’s counterproductive to coach students in a manner that feeds their fear of failure and rivalry, especially in the face of persistent issues like climate change and economic disparity.
The allure of teaching lies in the passion for the subject and the students, and the rewarding process of nurturing minds to comprehend the world better.
For the sake of survival – which is becoming a distant possibility – it’s crucial to change our existing habits and thought processes. We must rethink knowledge creation and sharing so it deviates from industrial norms but could encompass both novel and ancient methods. Restructuring the curriculum needs to go beyond substituting works of dead white authors with those of living authors of colour and delve into the ways education instils hierarchical thinking.
Likewise, to foster citizens who rank the universal right to clean air, safe drinking water and edible food above enriching the wealthy and impoverishing the vulnerable, we must rethink our grading system. It shouldn’t hinge on awarding high scores to some, low ones to others, and could potentially exclude grades entirely.
The majority of us chose the education profession due to our passion for the subject matter and our pupils, fuelled by the genuine and ongoing pleasure derived from equipping individuals with the means to alter their perspectives and broaden their understanding of the world. We find it fulfilling to supply what is currently termed as “feedback” to our students, offering tailored responses to unique work. The necessity of assigning grades is a cost we bear, but it’s always valuable to ponder, who gains from this? What would be the consequences if we ceased this practice?