When I was introduced to the practice of ungrading, I was drawn to a simple description provided by Jesse Stommel. The practice itself isn’t simple at all, but it was described, simply. I don’t even remember a super specific definition, just what it made me think about.
I remember that this description prompted me to reflect on how it felt to be graded, which was mostly bad. And when it felt good, the grade itself was still the focus of my pride, not the curiosity or problem-solving I did. I also have great memories where I don’t remember the grade, just the experience of doing good, challenging work, and the relationships with teachers who took away some of the power of grades on me.
I also remember how ungrading challenged ideas about assessment I thought I was comfortable with. I wasn’t ready to think critically about learning objectives or rubrics, as I had “already learned” how to use these tools to improve learning and set clear expectations, not just for summative assessment. But it was so worth it to examine how grades still unconsciously influenced my thinking about assessment.
This was all especially rich to ponder as I was part of a professional development program that gave people a chance to design and teach, in environments where grading wasn’t necessary.
I’m thinking about ungrading again because I recently read an article with a call to the ungrading community to be more specific about the term. It laid out a definition of ungrading that included creating student portfolios, and collaborative assignment of grades when required.
This definition was certainly more specific as an approach. But it didn’t elicit any desire for reflection and curiosity that I had when I first was introduced to the ideas. I went back to a recent definition from Stommel:
“Ungrading” means raising an eyebrow at grades as a systemic practice, distinct from simply “not grading.”
That felt much better. Beyond a general mindset, I think the ungrading community has done a lot to also drive the discussion around the context, details, and examples that are so important to put these ideas to work. There are articles about specific topics like rubrics, collections of FAQs and bibliographies to elaborate and prompt thinking, trials and lessons learned like Clarissa Sorenson-Unruh’s reflections on applying upgrading to chemistry, and collections of teacher experiences like Ungrading, edited by Susan Bloom. Again, being defined simply doesn’t mean it’s easy work. But I can raise my eyebrow at how grading influences me in many contexts. I think that’s more useful than worrying if I’m doing ungrading “right.”
I felt satisfied to be pulled back into this topic after not having thought about it for a while. I also realized that I never paid much attention to the “distinct from simply ‘not grading’” part in the definition above.
I don’t hear the word “grades” in my world anymore. I don’t have to grade in the way it’s done in higher education. And because of that, I think I resonate with ungrading even more, or at least in a different way.
What does grading leave behind when you don’t have to grade?
I’ve needed to reflect on this for a while, and I’m glad something came up in my feed to prompt me. I want to think through this more.
Even without grades:
Am I doing anything that can pit learners and trainers against each other?
Do I value “objectivity” in measurement over good feedback and the learning process itself?
Am I not questioning definitions of assessment enough? Advocating for formative assessment? Letting assessment be shorthand for grading?
Am I looking hard enough for how negative aspects of grading are laundered through requirements like compliance?
Who does my approach to assessment work for? Who doesn’t it work for? How does it feel to be assessed and what are the impacts?
I think there’s more, but it’s an ok list coming from a simple call to action. And I don’t think I’d ask these questions if ungrading was a strictly-defined best practice.
“To transform the world, education needs to be transformed.” -UNESCO Futures of Education Report
Author’s portrait, as illustrated by a second grader from MN whom I’ve never met. Note the bloodshot eye. The exhaustion is real…
This image perfectly illustrates why I LOVE my job. I truly do–even on days when I’m tired, going to work and being with kids all day is truly a gift. I love my students. I also worry about them–losing sleep sometimes. I strive to provide for my students what I want for my own two kids. I feel the weight of doing my job well, because I have a classroom full of students who are counting on me to give them my best. I don’t take this lightly. Probably because of this, I spend a lot of time in research and a lot of time in conversations with educational colleagues near and far. I know, as a system, we have much work to do.
Recently I stumbled upon a video made to highlight the work UNESCO is doing to globally reimagine and transform education systems. Clearly, I do not run in the same social or professional circles as these global leaders. However, I (and many of my colleagues around the state and country) also recognize the need for major overhaul in educational practices. In fact, I began my doctoral program journey several years ago with no specific end goal in mind, but with a very persistent urge to engage in the work of repairing and replacing a system that is broken, one that fails many of our learners and ultimately our communities and society at large. These thoughts are not meant here as hyperbole, as data upon data have illustrated how our dated systems do not meet the needs of all of today’s learners.
I know and work with a lot of truly wonderful, gifted-at-their-craft educators who pour their hearts, souls and minds (as well as freetime on many evenings and weekends) into the students in their learning spaces. I know and admire many educators who work for equity and who see the immense value of all our learners. I see colleagues who look past behaviors and meet children where they are, with what they need. I know without doubt that in countless classrooms, incredible things happen every day.
And yet, transformation of the full system seems out of reach for the students (globally) who most need it now.
As we hear about how our students are performing academically, as we see a rise in mental health crises, and we hear again and again about gun violence in schools, and on and on with issue after issue, we must reflect on how much has changed in our world since the time many of us as educators, educational leaders, and lawmakers joined the workforce. As the speed of information surpasses our mental ability to keep pace, we must question if our teaching methods attempt to address this. As we see increasing instability in our world (politically, economically, meteorologically, and in social justice), are we addressing that in our spaces? Are we teaching students to question and wrestle with the hard stuff, so they will be able to do that as adults, or do we continue on with our lessons with disregard for the impact these crises have on our communities and families?
I know that schools and districts across our state and country are wrestling with similar issues. With this in mind, I wonder: what is the lever that makes the difference for education as a whole? What is the breaking point at which we will be forced to make significant and drastic changes instead of band-aiding a geriatric system? UNESCO suggests four guiding questions for groups to gather around in these discussions: 1) what should continue; 2) what should be abandoned; 3) what should be reinvented; and 4) what will you do next?
I think to some extent, many of us are waiting for someone else to “fix” the system. While some system shifts have certainly occurred, glacially paced is probably the best descriptor for change within education as a whole. It’s imperative, I think, that more of us feel the persistent urge to get involved–at the very least to push the system, or hopefully, to thoughtfully consider and do the work toward making necessary change. We must find the lever(s), and pull. As I write, I contemplate my answer for question #4: what will I do next? I look forward to organizing conversations with colleagues around the state who are interested in systems change, reflecting on the four guiding questions above. Accountability to this change means we stop thinking about it, we agree to quit admiring the problems we face, and we work toward creating a new chapter in our educational system for generations of students to come, and more importantly for the students in our spaces who need this from us now.
It seems natural follow up that I would ask you to comment: how would you answer the four guiding questions?
I’ve been teaching at the college level for many years. My goal is for my students to learn more than they thought they could in my courses, and to be empowered by that experience. I push them to work hard and to show me what they’re learning. I have had many, many students who have impressed me with their learning, and it is a joy to see their growth. But sometimes, honestly, my students’ work disappoints me. Maybe they didn’t follow the instructions or look at the rubric (that I worked so hard on) when they were doing an assignment. Maybe they copied someone else’s work. Maybe they put ideas together in a creative but surprisingly illogical way. Maybe they asked me to tell them what to do rather than trying something out by themselves before asking for my input.
I think about these students a lot, because I want to support and encourage their growth. However, with increasing experience as an educator, I’ve found it increasingly easy to settle into my position as a subject area (astrophysics) expert. Over time, I remember less about what it was like to struggle to learn a topic or skill in my field, or to challenge misconceptions I held with new, evidence-based ideas. I work hard to improve as an educator. I am hard on myself and I don’t always get it right. But I still have a level of confidence in my subject-area knowledge that is different from that of my students.
So I thought I’d share how valuable it has been to me to become a student again. (Here I want to acknowledge several of my colleagues who post here on TMV are also students as well as educators, and they will have important and individual insight on this, too.) A few years ago, I began taking weekly classes in drawing and painting. While I have always been interested in art, I had little formal training in this area and did not consider myself “good” at art. The experience of studying and practicing drawing and painting has been extremely rewarding, often humbling, and overall very instructive (beyond painting), and it has fed into my practice as an educator.
A progression of expertise, a progression of expectations
Me, in art class circa 2018, happily accepting critique of my drawing of a hammer.
When I began taking art classes, I didn’t expect much of myself. I experienced the simple joy of finding out that I could paint something recognizable. I wasn’t too hard on myself if my composition wasn’t perfect, or if I chose the wrong background color. I was receptive to my instructor’s corrections. I was a beginner, after all. Over time, however, I began to expect more of myself. Recently, I decided to try a new medium and was frustrated by how hard it suddenly felt to mix colors or hold a paintbrush. I wanted instruction but also wanted to be able to successfully paint on my own. I’ve realized that it now takes much more bravery to begin each painting. I worry that the new painting won’t turn out well, and I go so far as to imagine that if that’s the case, it might prove that I’m not really an artist. I now have a lot of attachment to the idea of being an artist, where I didn’t before.
At these times, I can remind myself that I may be experiencing something akin to what my students feel when they are taking a test or beginning an assignment or project: if they don’t get positive feedback on this test/assignment/project, how will that reflect on them as a learner? How will their peers and instructors (like me) judge them? How will they judge themselves? How can I help them approach their learning with open-mindedness to the subject and to the outcomes of their work, especially as their expectations for themselves grow?
Bravery and the potential for failure
Sharing something you’ve worked very hard on can be an act of bravery. There is uncertainty about how it will be received; it is always possible to misunderstand the instructions or what is expected. It is possible to fail. Putting myself in the position of being a student has helped me experience for myself why a student might not try hard on an assignment or might act like a topic (or whole subject, like math) isn’t important. Among other things, this may be because they are avoiding the potential, terrible feeling of failure in the wake of hard work.
Experiencing this has made me think harder about how to make space for students to make mistakes and, occasionally, fail. How can I help them take risks? How can I help them use their mistakes, challenges, and failures to learn more? How can I make space for mistakes and failures in my own teaching, and learn more from them, so that I can get better at supporting my students?
Learning as a not-quite-linear process of growth
Although my continued art practice has improved my ability overall with respect to technique, composition, and working with color, every so often I start a painting that doesn’t come together the way I’d hoped, or I work on a painting so much that, honestly, it gets worse rather than better. These paintings are still a part of my learning process, and they have taught me a lot about learning itself: learning is not necessarily a linear process. I cannot assume that each painting will be better than the last, or that each time I use a painting technique I’ll show improvement. However, I have to practice, experience challenges, and overcome both failures and failure avoidance to become more skilled.
Similarly, I have to be cognizant that my students may experience setbacks in their learning. They may get stuck on a concept and have a hard time getting “unstuck”. Like me, they may procrastinate because it’s easier to think about the nice grade they got on the last assignment than to start all over with a new assignment. Or, also like me, they may be discouraged by a past grade or outcome they’d hoped would be better, and need some time to approach the task again.
Caveats and conclusions
I want to emphasize that experiencing these things is much more instructive than conjecturing or writing about them. Directly experiencing the uncertainties involved in learning something new has given me deeper insight into what my students’ experiences might be. A major caveat here is that I cannot assume that my experiences directly mirror those of my students.
What are some strategies and considerations for better supporting students?
It is important to let students know that we do not judge them as whole human beings based on the outcome of one test, one project, one assignment, or one course grade.
Students may feel more like we see them as whole human beings if we give them ways to let us know a little more about themselves, including what is important to them, their responsibilities outside of classes, and what their relationship is with the subject matter of the class. One way to do this is to give students surveys, and read and respond to what they write.
It can be important to give students constructive, critical feedback at times, to let them know how they can improve. This can be a sign of our respect for what they can achieve, and we can let them know this comes from a place of respect.
What are some strategies and considerations for becoming better educators?
Acknowledge and work with our positions as students and practitioners of education itself. It’s worth noticing the parallels between the fact that we are constantly learning about teaching while our students are learning about the subject we are teaching.
We can always consider ourselves students with respect to addressing equity, diversity, and inclusion in the classroom. As we aim to improve in these areas, we can keep in mind that our growth may not be linear, and may include high expectations, hard work, and failures, as well as successes.
We can remind ourselves that the point of this work is to support the incredible, whole human beings that we teach. It’s a side benefit that we get to grow alongside them.
Thank you to the many colleagues and students that I have learned from at the Institute for Scientist & Engineer Educators (UC Santa Cruz), Sonoma State University, and Santa Rosa Junior College. My sincere thanks to my art teacher, Mary Fassbinder, and my fellow art students.
