Editorials The barbarian tradition
The time is nigh for perpetuating the truly heinous custom of university life—final examinations.
Soon an almost tangible pall will drift over this campus, and every campus across the country—an atmosphere spawned by excess tensions, gnawing anxiety, naked nerves and overwhelming pressures.
THE UNIVERSITY POPULATION facing final examinations is similar to a citizenry whose country is at war. In normal times, we go our separate ways, exclusively engrossed in our individual quests for education. But in our biannual crisis periods, we are united. It is a period we universally deplore and abhor, something thrust upon us we didn't ask for, but which we must endure.
And we ask, as we do in wartime—why? Is the victory worth the price?
Whatever victory may be earned in this period pales before the fallacies of the comprehensive examination system and the effort poured into a useless venture. They are totally valueless, and prove nothing. Generally, they are nothing more than exercises in mental regurgitation.
PERHAPS THE MOST positive evidence that final examinations are worthless institutions has been the development of the very fine art of passing an exam without studying for it. It takes as much time, but only half as much effort, to learn how to bull through an exam, instead of studying, and the end result is the same—a passing, and perhaps a high, grade. And this, after all, is the only aim of most students.
For the minority of students who can avoid the horrendous pressures to make satisfactory grades and who study only to learn, a final examination is meaningless. These are the students who have studied all semester, not for grades,
but because they enjoy the pursuit of knowledge. Professors know who their real students are, and neither professor nor student needs the ordeal of a final examination to prove anything.
THERE IS A GREATER number of students who would like to study merely to learn but who, if they followed a relaxed pace, would not absorb enough fast enough to be ready to regurgitate on an exam.
The majority of students may have come to college with ideals—what a wonderful opportunity for learning, how satisfying to study for the pleasure of learning, etc., etc. They were quickly and mercilessly disillusioned, however, for campuses across the country have lost sight of the true purpose of a university. Instead of being learning institutions, universities today are more like giant vending machines—insert the proper number of grade points and you will receive a diploma (this machine does not accept slugs).
Therefore, most students, perhaps much against their will, become victims of the "gotta make my grades" syndrome. And so they bone and cram for final examinations, assimilating facts just long enough to spew them out on paper, forgetting most of what they "learned" as soon as the pressure is relieved.
APPARENTLY, A FINAL examination is designed to "prove" to the professor that the student has absorbed some knowledge in the course. In knowledge as in physiology, we regurgitate what we can't use or assimilate and we retain what is beneficial.
The student evaluation system in our universities is based on a false premise—that grades indicate the student's true performance and dedication. The system demands close scrutiny and sweeping changes whereby a student would be judged on his desire to learn rather than his ability to parrot.
— Karen Lambert
LITTLE MAN ON.CAMPUS
"SAY, THEY'VE SURE SPEEDED-UP THIS 'CHOW LINE' SINCE I WAS HERE LAST."
THE UNIVERSITY DAILY
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Haskell:
Students question faculty motives, methods
Is there a conflict between the students and the administration at Haskell Institute? If so, how does it develop? What causes it? What are some of the problems? What are students' views as to how they are treated?
The proud young Indian leaves his home and arrives at Haskell. He is poor in financial terms, but rich in dignity and in heritage. Families and tribes have helped finance his travel expenses to the Institute and provided him with clothing and some expense money. Many parents who own land borrow money so their sons and daughters can attend Haskell.
IF THE YOUTH completes his training at Haskell the parent doesn't have to repay the loan because the government cancels the debt. Consequently the young
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adult is aware of his responsibility to obtain the education Haskell offers. He is appreciative of that opportunity, but he is also afraid.
He is afraid to challenge what he might consider an injustice. He is afraid to question, to speak up for what he might consider a wrongdoing. The student knows he can be expelled and sent home.
THE STUDENT IS aware, too, that the government is providing him with the opportunity to learn. He is given free training, room, books, board and tuition. He doesn't object to the 12 hours a week of detail he performs to help pay for this privilege.
THE YOUNG WOMEN are not permitted to leave the campus except for an hour, between 6 and 7 o'clock, during week days, and on Saturday afternoon from noon until 5 o'clock. They cannot go off Massachusetts Street when they go into town. No student is permitted to enter North Lawrence.
What are some of the problems that students encounter? The main problem as far as the students are concerned is that they are "treated like children."
Lights are turned off in the dormitories on week nights at 10:30 and at midnight on Saturday. Students must be in bed when the lights are turned out and they cannot study after that.
One student commented, "We're not sleepy. We
usually talk for an hour. I wish we could study longer."
AN EARLY PUBLICATION of Haskell Institute contains this passage: "The University of Kansas is located in Lawrence and the facilities of that university would be of great value to the Indian school from a cultural standpoint."
This was one of the points made by Dudley C. Haskell, a Congressman, in pointing out the advantages of locating one of the new Indian schools in Lawrence. The school later was named after him and Haskell was located at Lawrence, but the Haskell student is not permitted to visit the campus—unless he is with a tour group from the school.
What is the cause of this restriction? The administration says it is because of the responsibility to protect the student while he attends Haskell. The student thinks it stems from the drinking problem.
Is there a drinking problem on the campus? The administration says no, the students—yes.
THE PRINCIPAL, Wallace E. Galluzzi, said the drinking problem is a "minor one." He said it was no more of a problem than any other school would encounter.
Yet, during two months of school this semester, 48 girls were accused of drinking—47 in one dormitory, one in another hall. All of the women students in the three dormitories received punishment in the form of restriction from extracurricular activities.
When a male student is caught drinking, or has the smell of alcohol on his breath, the first time he is given 20 hours of extra duty. The duty is usually custodial work, mapping and waxing floors. The second time he receives 40 hours and the third time, 60 hours. The next infraction brings a bus ticket for home. All privileges are taken away from a student during the period of punishment.
STUDENTS DETEST the idea of staff members coming up to them in the Student Union at a dance or other activity and, while appearing to engage in friendly conversation, standing there and trying to smell liquor on their breaths.
No drinking is tolerated. "What is wrong with having a drink? All of us are 18 and over. We're not allowed to drink socially. What will happen when we
leave here and go into city life?" These are questions students want answered, but they are afraid to ask them outright to staff members.
DR. KENNETH COEIN, school physician, says he has not made a study of the Indian drinking problem, but he contends that there is nothing in the metabolism of the Indian to crave drink. "It is more of a socioeconomic problem," he said. "The Indian uses alcohol as a mechanism of escape—an escape from reality."
Is there a conflict? When you come to a school and you are poor, you are obligated, you are proud, you are afraid, you are treated as a child, your future is undecided and you are not expected to return home but rather go into the "major culture" and work as a semi-skilled or skilled worker.
"There sure are a lot of relatives around here," one student said. This seems to be a standing joke among the students.
A check in the school directory shows that about one-third of the staff members are married or blood relatives. At least 20 couples, 40 persons of the slightly more than 150-member staff are married and both work at the Institute.
A student explained it this way: "Let's say Tom is going with Mary and Tom gets into trouble with his instructor. The instructor goes home and tells his wife, who is a matron at one of the girls' dormitories. Mary then begins to receive warnings or criticisms from the instructor's wife. It just isn't fair."
WHAT KIND OF problem does this pose for the students?
The school library contains about 10,000 volumes. Most of these are books for the high school student.
NO HISTORY OF the Indian is taught at the school. "It's almost as if we are expected to forget cur rast." a student said.
Officials at the school maintain that Haskell's emphasis is not on negating Indian customs and beliefs, but in stressing positively modern American mores, ideals and techniques.
And so the young Indian comes to Haskell to learn a trade and the social graces so he can be assimilated into the American way of life. Is he prepared?
Monday: Haskell and its graduates. — Robert J. Rollins