I return to the study conducted by Kathryne M. Young, an Assistant Professor in the Department of Sociology at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst, and an Access to Justice Faculty Scholar at the American Bar Foundation, which I first mentioned in
Saying Goodbye to Law School Grading Curves?. Young published the results, along with her methodology and examples of the interviews underlying the study, in
Understanding the Social and Cognitive Processes in Law School That Create Unhealthy Lawyers, 89 Fordham L. Rev. 2575 (2021). The study was undertaken to understand the effect that law school education practices contribute to the higher-than-average rates of depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and other mental health problems that afflict lawyers. The study concluded that several aspects of how law is taught contribute to the problem. Two of those aspects pose challenges that I addressed early in my law teaching career. The other day I described grading curves. I now turn to “cold calling.”
Cold calling is not unique to law schools. Any time that a teacher calls on a student who has not asked to be questioned, the student is encountering cold calling. In any environment, whether fifth grade, an undergraduate history course, or a law school course, being called on and thus asked to respond in front of one’s classmates and the teacher can be intimidating. For someone who is prepared, there can be doubt about how the response will be received and there can be a general anxiety about speaking in front of others, especially in a classroom setting. For those who are not prepared, it can be excruciating, and downright awful. So it’s no surprise that cold calling contributes to anxiety and worse.
For me, cold calling generates a mixed reaction. I can think of reasons it is inefficient and perhaps ineffective, as well as being harmful. Yet I also can think of reasons it is helpful and sensible. I will explain.
When I started teaching law school, I engaged in cold calling. That’s what most of my law school professors did, though I was keenly aware of its adverse impact. So I permitted students, as have and as do other faculty, to respond with “not prepared” or “pass” and then proceed to someone else. But often, rather than admitting a lack of preparation, or even avoiding responding when prepared, a student would answer in a way that indicated the student was not prepared. Though some faculty, especially years ago, would “stick with” that student through a frustrating exchange of “Socratic method” questioning, I was among those who tried to determine if the student was prepared and needed help refining the nuances of the response or was trying to wing it. I would stick with the former but move on from the latter. Of course, all of this took time, and ultimately reduced the coverage of the course. Thus my reaction that cold calling is inefficient, and in some instances ineffective.
It was during this first year of teaching law school that a student approached me and asked that I not ever call on them. This wasn’t the typical just-before-class-request to spare a student that day because of something awful that had happened to the student or the student’s family or friend. This was a request to be exempted permanently from cold calling. I asked why. The answer was along the lines of “I am terrified speaking in front of more than one person.” I asked, “What will you do when you are in a courtroom, or a deposition, or at a meeting with several senior partners and associates in the firm?” The answer, “I won’t be doing litigation nor working for a law firm.” “What will you be doing?” “Something else.” So we talked about lawyering in corporate counsel offices, in government positions, as a judge’s law clerk, but the student thought that there was some place that a lawyer could simply read cases and write memos without interacting or speaking with more than one person. I decided to accommodate the student, even though I was confident that the student, like any lawyer, would encounter the equivalent of cold calling in the future. Judges ask questions. Senior partners come into offices, or call, or show up on Zoom, and ask questions.
So I ended up relying on volunteers. I always welcome questions and responses from volunteers, though admittedly that leads to some students actively participating and others remaining silent and passive. There is the danger that one or two or a handful of students will dominate any discussion, so special care must be taken to go first to the student whose hand is raised for the first time ever or for the first time in a while.
Some faculty try to reach a middle ground by telling a small group within the class that they will be “up” for the next class or the next two classes or the next week. Though this lets the rest of the class breath a sigh of relief, and perhaps even put aside concerns about doing the required reading before class, it still puts those within the group on the “hot seat,” and that is no less stressful. In other words, whether or not a student knows that the cold call is coming, the anxiety exists. The anxiety isn’t only “will I be called on?” but also “what will the question be?” and “will I answer well enough to avoid embarrassment, ridicule, or some other adverse impact?”
I found what I think is the solution, or I should say that what I think is the solution was presented to me by now Dean Paul Caron, he of the TaxProf blog. Many years ago, he introduced me to what were then called “clickers” and what has evolved into what are student response systems. Yes, the technology has taken us from hand-held devices pointed at infrared receivers mounted on the wall – a story for another day – to students using digital devices to respond over the internet. By using student response systems, I can ask the same question simultaneously of all students, not just one. Students can respond without revealing their identity or their answers to other students. The responses tell me whether I need to invest more time in the issues raised by the question or can move along to the next set of issues. Sometimes I am surprised, and learn that what I thought students understood wasn’t, or that what I thought was stumping the students generated correct responses from all students. Most students enjoy seeing the results, whether to find out how everyone fared or to learn the answers to warm-up questions such as “Do you have a will?” or, in years past, “Have you prepared your own tax returns?” And, of course, the array of answers permits me then to invite students to explain why they selected that answer.
Granted, when lawyers appear before a judge, whether in person or remotely, they won’t be using these response systems. The same can be said of the other situations in which lawyers find themselves. But what I think happens is that as students use the response system and realize that, yes, they DO know the answer and they DO understand the material, their confidence builds. As confidence builds, anxiety decreases. The goal of education, in any field, is not only to help students acquire knowledge and understanding, but also to help them build confidence. The use of student response systems, a component of a broader formative assessment approach that I started using despite opposition and long before it became all the rage in segments of legal education, might not guarantee confidence growth in all students, but it helps and surely is an improvement over what once was and in some instances still is.