My Post-Covid Classroom

Although I’ve always tried to stimulate discussions in my upper-level business communication classes, it was never easy. It was particularly trying when classes were on Zoom. Between their fumbling with their mics and dealing with erratic Wi-Fi networks, I had difficulty getting them to respond to me, much less each other. So, I was thrilled last year when classes at California State University returned to face-to-face. Anticipating more vigorous discussions, I’d introduced a new guideline to promote civil and engaged participation.

Called the Oops! and Ouch!, these techniques provide a quick and easy way for students to retract their harsh or hurtful statements. Or for those on the receiving end of a barb to harmlessly air their injured feelings. The guidelines had been adopted by several college offices of diversity and inclusiveness to facilitate civil and engaged classroom participation (Ruiz-Mesa and Hunter, 2019, as cited in Treviño, n.d.).

But for the first few weeks of the semester, students seemed just as subdued as before. The face masks didn’t help matters. Even though they said they heard me clearly, I struggled to hear many of their muffled voices, and they couldn’t hear each other that well, either. Then one day things changed. As I entered the classroom, it was untypically abuzz before everyone settled down to their usual pose of civil attention. They were discussing the day’s reading, a case study in the Harvard Business Review.

I generally assign a few of these studies to break up the monotony of reading chapters in the course textbook. Every month the journal publishes a fictionalized case study of a business topic. Written as dramatizations, they feature a protagonist who confronts a dilemma involving, say, a marketing or ethical issue in the workplace. This particular study dealt with whether to report a sexist remark. Titled “Was that Harassment?” a female salesperson at a global beverage company, Coltra, must decide whether a male colleague’s off-the-cuff comment warranted filing a complaint for sexual harassment.

The drama begins with Ranier and Jackson, part of a newly formed cohort of salespeople slated for future leadership positions, sitting alone in a conference room, about to participate in a telephone conference with the company’s CEO. As they chat about why they had been chosen to be in the group, Ranier jests that it was due to his good looks. At that point, Tiera, the third cohort member, enters the room, at which point Jackson quips, “Were you selected for your good looks?”

Ranier notices a look of displeasure on Tiera’s face. But he probably wouldn’t have done anything had the company not recently adopted a zero-tolerance policy toward sexual misconduct. Although Tiera brushes the remark off when Ranier approaches her after the meeting, the policy makes every employee responsible for executing the policy. To Ranier, it’s a clear violation to imply that a woman was selected for a privileged program for reasons other than her achievement. So, Ranier files a complaint with HR, which, in turn, contacts Tiera. She has to decide whether or not to endorse the complaint, knowing that Jackson’s job is possibly at stake.

As the class settled down, I stood alongside a screen view of the case study’s first page, showing two light-skinned men sitting and conversing and Tiara, a person of color, standing in front of a half-open door wearing a distraught expression. “What would you do in Tiara’s shoes?” I asked, feeling more like someone who had joined the middle of a conversation rather than attempting to start one.

The only hand that went up belonged to Juan, who, when I called on him, said he was scratching his head. So, I called on Andrew in the back row.

“What was the question?” he sheepishly replied.

I wondered if this was the same class I had walked into five minutes ago. “What would you do if you were Tiara?” I said, trying to hide my annoyance. “Would you sign the complaint against Jackson?”

“No, I wouldn’t. Jackson was just kidding around. It’s ridiculous for him to lose his job over that.”

“Neither would I,” affirmed Jose, who sat next to Andrew. “Ranier never should have reported Jackson. He was a jerk.”

“Does anyone disagree with Andrew and Jose?” I asked, my eyes scanning across the room.

“I do,” said Clara, the only black woman in the class of predominantly Latino students. Located in the city’s northeast section, the university drew most of its students from East LA.

I had a feeling that Clara would speak up. Once, while I was emphasizing to the class the importance of using active instead of passive voice in business writing, she implied that I’d made the concept up because she’d never heard of it before. Since most of the class had taken the English Department’s first-year composition courses, her reaction surprised me, mainly because Clara was one of the better students. Still, while directing her to the page in the textbook on voice, I silently applauded her for having the grit to challenge me.

Clara said, “The case study shows that Jackson and all the other employees had undergone extensive sexual harassment training. Plus, he had the reputation of being a loudmouth. He should be held to account for his actions. How else is Coltra going to achieve gender parity?”

“Give me a break,” moaned Matthew from across the room. “The case study also shows that the company already has decent gender parity. Besides, who does Ranier think he is by filing the complaint? He should let Tiara fight her own battles. You, of all people, should understand that, Tiara.”

Tiara’s eyes began to steam. “Let me remind you,” I interjected. “We have a community agreement about disagreeing with another person’s opinion without attacking the person. Who recalls what the textbook’s chapter on logical fallacies calls the latter approach?” After several moments, I said, “Ad hominin arguments. “You might want to remember this for the mid-term exam. But was Ranier obligated to report what he thought was a violation?”

Sitting in the front row, Divya timidly raised her hand. “Yes, because Coltra’s rules require him to. He could get into trouble for not reporting it.”

“Good point, Divya. But is Tiara also obligated to sign the complaint? What would you do?”

“I’m not sure,” she demurred.

“I know what I’d do,” asserted Clara.

“Tell us something we don’t know,” said Matthew.

“I could tell you a lot you don’t know,” retorted Clara. “But it would probably fall on deaf ears.”

“Ouch!” replied Matthew, wincing.

“Well, even if I didn’t sign the complaint,” conceded Clara, “Jackson would probably hear of it and think twice next time before he cracks-wise.”

“I guess that’s true,” conceded Matthew, his voice softer than before. Clara’s lips betrayed a faint smile.

“Is there anything,” I asked, “that Tiara could’ve done that would’ve prevented the situation from leaving the room?”

“It’s difficult to hold her responsible,” replied Carlos, who rarely speaks in class. “Sure, Tiera could have called Jackson out on the spot, but it probably took a while for her reaction to set in. As one of the experts remarked, sexual harassment is a gray area, and often even the victims aren’t sure what happened.”

Visibly impressed, a few students turned their heads toward Carlos, seated in the back row. He was a remarkably bright student, who I think of whenever I ponder one of my favorite teaching quotes. That would be by University of Chicago Professor Leo Strauss, who wrote, “Always assume that there is one silent student in your class who is superior to you in head and heart.”

“Thank you, Carlos,” I said, handing out copies of the day’s pop quiz. “It’s nice when we all agree. But sometimes we learn even more when we agree to disagree.”

Reference

Ruiz-Mesa, K. and Hunter, K. (2019) Best Practices for facilitating difficult dialogues in the basic communication course Journal of Communication Pedagogy, 2, 134–141. As cited in Treveño, J. (n.d.). Diversity and inclusiveness in the classroom. Retrieved from http://www.washington.edu/teaching/teaching-resources/preparing-to-teach/teaching-the-first-day-of-class/