Seeing Beyond the Student to the Writer:
 Disentangling the Writing Teacher's Conflicting Roles

By Maribeth Graves and Meg Petersen
 

 When we teach writing, or use writing to help students learn, we find it more effective to be a mentor than a judge.  As we strive to help our students experience the full potential of using writing as a tool for learning, we take on the role of a  master craftsperson with an apprentice. We encourage students  to experiment with different techniques and forms and to take risks with their writing.  In this process, we take on a nurturing role, acting more as a midwife than a taskmaster, more as  a coach than an evaluator.
 There comes a time, however,  when we have to evaluate students’ work.  We have to “slap a grade on it” and sometimes that can feel like slapping the student in the face. Chiseri-Strater (179)  notes that often students feel betrayed after writing teachers have led them, through positive feedback in conferences and on papers,  to believe that they are doing above average work,  only to receive a C- or worse. We have often found ourselves involved in unproductive defenses of our grading practices.  We begin to justify our grade by finding fault with the student’s work, which only serves to further destroy the relationships we have worked so hard to build up with our students.
 In part, we have been able to avoid this problem by grading as little as possible.  We clearly differentiate between formal and informal writing situations.  Generally, the informal assignments are not graded.  We assign a lot of first-draft journal writing to aid students in organizing their thoughts, responding to texts and trying out new ideas.  We might use this writing as a basis for class discussion and then merely collect and check it off, or more often, provide written comments in which we would give our students feedback on how the piece affected us, what particularly struck us in the writing, or where we were confused.  Almost never, however,  would we give this type of writing a numerical or letter grade.   Even on formal pieces of writing, which we eventually expect to be quite polished, we have found it beneficial to delay grading as long as possible to keep the process open.  We collect and comment on drafts and utilize peer response groups in the revision process. Eventually, however, this more formal type of writing does have to be evaluated.  By this time, we have worked with the writer and the writing for so long that it is difficult to step back, forget everything we know about the writer and the process and look objectively at the writing itself.
 We may have tried to avoid grading, or to delay it, or to minimize its impact and importance; we may have  spoken  to our students as if the grade  didn't matter (when, of course it often did matter greatly to them).  But in the end we were always faced with the necessity of grading and so we graded, usually alone, with trepidation and a lot of second guessing.
 One semester, we changed all that.  We decided not to grade our own students' writing portfolios.  We opted out of the whole dilemma, and in the process found a way to provide students with a more valid assessment of their work.  Our solution, which grew out of a simple frustration with our roles as evaluators, eventually revealed hidden complexities and subjectivities inherent in grading.  The lessons we learned are applicable in many different situations across subject areas whenever an objective evaluation of writing is called for.   We have never gone back to grading it the way we did before.
  We had long been aware of evaluation of writing as a process riddled with doubt. "Is this really an A, or am I too aware of the fact that this is her sixteenth draft? Am I too sympathetic to her struggle?"  Or, conversely, "Is this really a D paper, or am I only reacting to his snide posturing, his bragging to classmates about how quickly he can 'slap something together' before class?"  No matter how objective we try to be, these uncertainties remain.
 Some writing teachers embrace this subjectivity.  Tom Romano writes, "Evaluation of writing is necessarily a subjective act.  Objectivity is impossible... who the student is helps determine what grade I give, what response I make.  It cannot be otherwise... A paper of similar quality may be a C for Mary, an A for Max" (113- 14).  While not all teachers would subscribe to this extreme viewpoint, most would acknowledge some subjectivity in their grading process.  Lad Tobin writes, "Every time I read, respond to and grade an essay, I am also reading the student who wrote it; I am reading my own associations into that text; and I am reading the relationship I have and am trying to establish with that student.  In other words, while I am reading the text on the page, I am also wondering how hard this student worked on this draft, how capable she is of revision, [and] to what extent my own biases are shaping my responses" (67).  He lists 13 factors unrelated to the quality of the text which at different times "play a significant role in the grades that [he] ultimately give[s]" (66).  These include questions such as "What grade does this student expect? ... What might my colleagues say if I give her a grade that is much higher than they gave her? ... What do I know about this student's personal life that would explain why he did not do as well as he could have?"(65- 66).
   All teachers face the dilemma of weighing the quality of the writing against subjective influences.  Tobin resolves this conflict by "openly acknowledging the subjective, interpersonal  nature of assessment..." (68).  This acknowledgment, he feels, "frees [him] to do [his] best, knowing that in the end, it is all [he] can do" (69).
 But is this all we can do?  We found ourselves uncomfortable with the way subjectivity has been embraced as a value.  Student writers need and deserve a more objective assessment of their work. As Peter Elbow notes, we have “an obligation to students, but we also have an obligation to knowledge and society.  Surely we are incomplete as teachers if we are committed only to what we are teaching and not to our students, or only to our students, but not to what we are teaching, or a half-hearted commitment to both” (219).  We asked ourselves if there were a way to minimize subjectivity so that writing could be evaluated, if not totally objectively, at least fairly.   But how can we act as objective evaluators without jeopardizing the caring relationships we must have in order to be effective writing teachers?  Noddings notes that in grading, "we are asked to look at the student as object-- as a thing to which some measuring stick can be applied... This is demeaning and distracting.  It violates the relationship" (194).
 In the teaching of writing, perhaps more than in any other type of teaching, the essence of learning is in the relationship.  Writing teachers build relationships with their students as they look together at emerging drafts.  Workshop and conference teaching emphasizes relationship, creating a safe place within which writing can be nurtured.  As students generate the text of the course through their writing, the way that text is handled becomes crucial. Teacher and student-writer work closely together as a team, that is,  until grading time when "suddenly, grindingly, [the teacher] must wrench herself from the relationship and make her student into an object of scrutiny" (Noddings 195).  This creates resentment on both sides of the desk.
 To avoid this breakdown of the relationship, Noddings proposes a radical solution, that "if [grading] must be done, it should be  done by external examiners, persons hired to look at students as objects" (195).  Noddings herself recognizes that many problems are inherent in her proposal.  While we would certainly not recommend further intrusion of outside authorities into the classroom, we did find the germ of an idea in the concept she puts forth.  What if student work could be submitted for grading, not to a hired authority, but to a trusted colleague?  Could this be a way to preserve the teaching relationship, while at the same time, giving students a more objective assessment of their writing, and continuing to promote those values which we espouse as teachers of writing?  We decided to exchange, for grading, our students' midterm and final writing portfolios.
 Obviously, this type of cooperative venture would only be possible for teachers who share similar philosophies and values about writing and the teaching. We had worked closely together for several years.  Maribeth had actually worked in Meg’s classroom alongside her for two semesters as part of her graduate course work.  When she began teaching her own classes, she followed the pattern she had seen Meg use. Thus, our plan was facilitated by the many similarities in the way our classes were set up. More specifically, our grading structure was virtually identical.  We each required a midterm portfolio containing three student-selected pieces, which would receive numerical grades.  These grades, however, would not count towards the final grade.  When we informed our students, at the beginning of the semester, that someone else would be grading their papers, the fact that this grading would not “count” was probably a factor in their easy acceptance of the idea. This midterm grading would give the students an indication of their progress in relation to the quality of writing we expect of first year writing students, and encourage the students to revise their pieces further for submission in the final portfolio.  The final portfolio, which would also be evaluated by the “other teacher” counted for 40% of their final grades.  It would contain five pieces, along with supporting material.
 We recognize that not all teachers will have available a colleague with whom they have worked closely enough to trust absolutely.  We would recommend that teachers who think they might like to try this approach, find a philosophically compatible colleague.  It works even better if that colleague teaches in another school because there would be little chance of he or she  knowing the same students.  You can then meet together and decide on a grading scale and practice grading student papers, preferably students neither of you know well, until your grading has come more or less into line.  Each of us has used this procedure to begin exchanging portfolios with other colleagues with satisfactory results.  It works best when the assignment structure is similar in your classes.  The one time it did not work as well was when Meg found herself grading papers on assignments she would never have given.  Any inequities in class size can be worked out by only exchanging an equal number of portfolios and if the class is larger, selecting the portfolios about which the teacher would anticipate having the most trouble being objective to have her colleague grade.  However different pairs of teachers choose to set up the procedure, we recommend that the first grading exchange be for “information only” and not affect the students’ final grades.  This greatly facilitates working with the results of the evaluation.
 Our grading system involves an analytic scale in which specific writing traits (focus, language, mechanics, information, etc.) are awarded zero to five points each.  See Figure 1.  While our scales were similar, we had not synchronized them, thus there were minor differences in our grade sheets.  However, this did not present major difficulties as, through past collaborations, we had evolved shared definitions of terms.
 By exchanging portfolios, we hoped to separate the role of teacher from that of evaluator.  The actual effects of our exchange ranged far beyond this initial limited goal.
  At midterm, we passed huge piles of colorful folders off for one another to grade.  Although we didn't express it at the time, we each felt reluctant merely to hand them over without explanation to help the reader understand our students and the process out of which  their work had grown.  It was a strange feeling.
 The strange feelings grew as we each sat at our respective kitchen tables and worked our way through stacks of folders filled with papers written by students we had never met and would never know.
 We each procrastinated before beginning, and neither of us took to the grading chore with great enthusiasm.   Yet, the more we got into the task, the more surprised we were at how much simpler it was.  We had begun by trying to read papers as we always had, trying to read the person behind the words, the history of the paper, looking for clues to help us to gauge the author's expectations and intentions.  We soon discovered that to do this would be overwhelming, requiring us to imagine students' entire history as writers and as people.  We gave up and settled for looking only at the works before us.
 The work of grading became cleaner, simpler and quicker, with unintended benefits.  We were much more aware of when we were becoming fatigued and needed to take a break from grading.  When we had graded our own students' works, the tendency had been to press on, because we knew the works and the students well. We could fool ourselves into thinking we could get by with a less focused reading.  However, in this new situation, every paper clearly presented itself as a new challenge.
 As we worked through the stacks of folders, an unaccustomed confidence in our grading criteria developed.  Unencumbered by the normal plethora of subjective considerations, we were able to view the works more clearly.  While we still occasionally wondered about the student behind the words, the futility of such speculation soon caused us to abandon these musings.
 We were each aware that the grades we had given were somewhat lower than we were accustomed to giving, and so it was with some uneasiness that we returned each other's folders.  Trepidation gave way, in some instances, to shock as we reviewed the grades our students had received.  Each of us began to see the other as a ruthless critic, incapable of recognizing the true value of our students' work.  We each set to reading certain students' papers over with the intention of proving the other wrong in her assessment, and making the necessary adjustments.  However, in this reading, we could no longer hide from ourselves the subjective factors which would have influenced our own evaluation of the writing.   The arguments which we mounted seemed never to be based on the work itself, but rather on the personal factors the other  had not been able to consider. We were forced to accept the validity of our colleague's assessment.
 While this experience was sobering, and somewhat disconcerting, we realized that we had done what we set out to do.  In our post-portfolio conferences with our students, we were able to maintain our supportive teacher/coach role, as we looked at the results together.  Many students were pleasantly surprised that their writing had held up under the scrutiny of a distant reader.  And while many  grades did not meet students' expectations, this could no longer become a personal issue.   Elbow (1988) suggests that “One of the best ways to function as an ally or coach is to role-play the enemy in a supportive setting”(229).  Our post-evaluation conferences with students centered on the mid-term portfolio allowed us to meet that “enemy” together as true allies.  No longer were we forced to justify/defend the evaluations.  We could work together to assume the perspective of the distant and anonymous reader.  This triangulation was easier for us, as teachers, and therefore we were able to use this opportunity to guide students in viewing the work from a more distant perspective.  Perhaps because we felt so confident in the fairness of the evaluations, and had prepared the students for the process, no one complained about the procedure itself. The fact that the midterm grades would not influence the final grade greatly facilitated this process. At the same time, we were motivated to work toward the preparation of the final portfolio.
 When the time came to exchange and read the final portfolios, we found it considerably easier than even the midterm had been.  Our initial experience gave us more confidence in the validity and value of our venture.  We moved rapidly and confidently through the folders on our kitchen tables.  The significant improvement that we saw in the writing, and which was reflected in the grades, was clearly unrelated to any wish-fulfillment, ego-involvement, compassion or other subjective considerations which might have influenced our grading in the past.  In many instances, we were touched by the writer's words, or impressed by his or her skill. For the first time, we could be confident our students were writing in a way that reached real readers.
 This process made us painfully aware of how often we, as writing teachers, read the student, rather than the work before us.  In grading each other's portfolios, we were able to assume a different role. We didn't know or care how often the student had shown up late to class, how many revisions had been made, or how attractive and likable a person he was.
 This is not to say that effort and motivation should be ignored in a student's final evaluation,  and it is crucial to note that each of us gave these factors ample weight in our final grading schemes. However, we do believe that somewhere in the evaluation process, a place must be created for a less biased assessment of the writing and the writer.  We owe our students no less. No matter how great a leap a student has made in the quality of her writing, and no matter how much we might be tempted to reward that effort, her move from an F to a C does not equal an A.  Perhaps writing teachers have known that all along.  The difficulty lay in knowing how to disentangle our conflicting roles, and in seeing beyond the student to the writer.

 Figure 1: Evaluation Scale for Portfolios.
 

Each piece in your portfolio will be rated on a 0 to 5 scale on each of the following criteria:

Openings/Endings-  The lead captures the reader’s attention, and is honest and relates to what is to follow in the piece. The ending leaves the reader with something to think about and is more than just a restatement of what has already been shown through the piece. The ending should follow naturally from the piece and not read as if it had been tacked on.

Focus:  The paper has a point to develop.  All of what is included in the paper acts to advance this central meaning.  The paper should show the reader something through what the author chose to include.  The piece should display unity and purpose.

Language/Mechanics:   The paper should be free of spelling, grammatical, punctuation and other mechanical errors which make the piece difficult to read.  The words used should be well-chosen with strong active verbs and more specific nouns.  Excess words which do not advance the meaning of the piece should be eliminated wherever possible.

Clarity:  The piece is easy to follow, clearly written.  The piece provides specifics, examples and details which allow the reader to visualize what is being described in the piece. The details should be appropriate to the focus of the piece and be carefully selected.

Emotion/interest:  The writer should make the subject interesting to the reader and evoke an emotional response in him/her.  This can be done through building suspense, foreshadowing, and showing a strong personal connection to the topic. The voice should be consistent throughout the piece.  The author should have a clear style.
 
 
 

 Works Cited:

Chiseri-Strater, Elizabeth "Evaluation as Acts of Reading, Response, and
Reflection" in Newkirk, Thomas (ed.) Nuts and Bolts: A Practical Guide to Teaching College Composition  Portsmouth, NH: Boynton/Cook 1993.  Pages 179- 202

Elbow, Peter “Embracing Contraries in the Teaching Process”  in Gary Tate and Edward P.J. Corbett (eds.)  The Writing Teacher’s Soucebook (Second edition) New York: Oxford University Press 1988  Pages 219- 231.

Noddings, Nel Caring: A Feminine Approach to Ethics and Moral Education Los Angeles: University of California Press 1987.

Romano, Tom Clearing the Way: Working With Teenage Writers Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann Educational Books. 1985.

Tobin, Lad Writing Relationships: What Really Happens in Composition Classes Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann Educational Books 1993.