by Janet Mizrahi

When I started teaching in 1997, my students came to class ready to learn. They were attentive (for the most part), believed that a college education would lead to success in life, and showed me respect. They even laughed at my jokes! When they walked into my classroom, they were animated, and chatted with one another, or approached me to ask a question.

Today we face a different breed of student. Gen Z is not only famously anxious—its members do not view college as a time to explore ideas, but rather as a transaction they must complete so that they can move on to the next step in their lives. According to research, they do not socialize with one another, refuse to read, and obsess over grades because they view them as part of the formula to landing a job.

Professors, on the other hand, report a preponderance of cheating, lack of work ethic, a general cynicism about education, and a corresponding lack of engagement. The high cost of college has garnered a student-as-client mentality that has resulted in many instructors dumbing down material so the “customer” will be happy (and the instructor will keep her job).

Furthermore, we read about the dire state of higher education–that it is on the brink of an ideological collapse, and that students and their families cannot afford the often obscenely high fees and debt their education will impose. Is college even necessary? we hear again and again.

This scenario would have been unthinkable in my early years as a writing instructor and certainly in my own experience as a student. It is true that our students have lived through a lot in their young lives–the Great Recession, the pandemic, and a world and nation at odds. But so have we. We have been told we must wear kid gloves with our students, be flexible, change our syllabi, adopt groundbreaking new technology, and handhold and cheerlead and counsel. And while such demands would have been inconceivable 25 years ago, today I grudgingly accept them. If the institution of higher education is to continue to be the breeding ground of an educated populace, we instructors must adjust to the students we face in our classrooms. Then we must dredge up empathy and teach our subject matter with conviction if we hope our students will be motivated to learn.

But that does not mean we have to be pushovers. I refuse to hand out As. If a student thinks “Cs get degrees,” it’s fine with me. But I cannot allow a student to think that mediocre work is excellent, and my grading will reflect that. That’s why I am clear about my expectations, while I also show my students that I care, because I do. When students see disengaged and disheartened teachers, how can they feel engaged? I may need to give myself some pep talks, but I will walk into my classroom with enthusiasm for what and whom I teach.

One last point. We are all profoundly aware of the level of anxiety this generation experiences, and I, for one, am not going to be the push that shoves them into an abyss. We hear that students need support, that they have not been taught to be independent. I am in a position to help to a degree—but I will set limits. I am not a therapist or a counselor, and I believe it would be wrong of me to take on that role. But I will learn what my campus can offer a student in crisis and will literally walk students to the help they need.

We’ve all been through a rough few years. But when students come into my classroom, they will find an instructor who believes in what she teaches and who will show compassion—but one  who will also hold onto her priorities and convictions.

I hope it will continue to work.