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December, 2002, Volume 13, Issue 3 - How Many Students Make a Class at SMC? |
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By Hari Vishwanadha
“How Long Is the Coast of Britain?” asked Benoit Mandelbrot, one of the pioneers of Chaos Theory. Those of us who are geographically challenged would blithely answer: “That’s easy. Just pull out a map and trace a string along the outline of the island, measure the string, and translate it into kilometers with the help of a scale.” Mandelbrot, however, discovered that, as the scale of measurement becomes smaller, the measured length of the coastline rises without limit. He argued that “any coastline is—in a sense—infinitely long. In another sense, the answer depends on the length of your ruler” (Gleick 95-96).
Similarly, the question “How many students make a class at SMC?” is essentially unanswerable. The answer depends a great deal on whom you ask—as I have discovered. During the first week of classes, from the perspective of the students desperate to add a class (sometimes just about any class), it depends on the number of chairs in the room. If you were to consult the contract between the faculty and the District, you would realize the magic number is 18 (article 6.11 of the Contract). According to the Faculty Association--and the Administration has conceded--the real number is only 12 for the District to “break even.” What if we were to include a few F-1 students? Then would the number drop dramatically to . . . 7? But what if you were to talk to members the Administration in the crucial weeks and days before the beginning of a new semester (as I did), nervously watching the enrollment numbers online like a day trader on the stock market? We discover that the fate of a class depends on the magic number 14. In the crucial three or four days before classes begin, the class must have exactly 14 students. Not 13 or 12 or 11. The absoluteness of that certitude takes one’s breath away, especially amidst the various numbers swirling like so many leaves on a fall afternoon.
The current policy of determining the fate of a course solely on a specific number thus needs immediate re-examination. When a course with 8 or 11 students is cancelled, then those students have been deprived of a specific course that they wanted and needed to take. It is only a small consolation to inform those students that they can enroll in another course. At the most basic level, classes are not boxes of cereal. Despite what the commercials say, we know that on any given morning whether one has corn flakes of fruit loops for breakfast does not make much of a difference—it’s all sugar anyway. Though Asian Literature and Shakespeare both satisfy the IGETC requirements in the Humanities, students choose to take Asian Literature or Shakespeare for the specific body of knowledge that each course offers and not everyone who is not able to take one of the courses will enroll in the other. Courses in any discipline are not interchangeable.
The current policy also strikes at the heart of our mission as professional educators. In effect, the policy has abridged the right of the faculty to be fully involved in the education of students. We faculty should be trusted to offer our students a sound education in an environment of finite resources. The contract states: “A reasonable attempt shall be made to consult with the faculty member concerned before a class is canceled” (6.11). As far as I can tell, this consultation at present consists of informing the faculty member, with regret, that the class is cancelled. When students are not succeeding in a course or wish to drop out, we faculty spend countless hours with them in class and in our offices, helping them succeed, motivating them, urging them to remain committed, not to give up, not to abandon ship. We do not cancel them. The current policy in its implementation, however, ignores the commitment of the faculty and denies them a central role in the decision-making process.
Owing to its questionable assumptions, its flawed nature, and its harmful effects on the educational experience, the current policy should be re-examined. Is a different approach possible or feasible? Of course! Over ten years ago, I offered a course in Asian Literature in the evenings. That first semester, I think only about 5 or 6 students signed up. The college administration believed in the integrity and importance of the course and allowed me to teach it. The next semester I had over 15 students, and every semester since then the class has grown in size, so that for the last several years the class has had no trouble “making.” The college suffered no financial hardship as a result of this nurturing effort. It is possible to grow a class.
The faculty and the administration with the help of AS should come together to discuss this issue and formulate a rational policy that allows faculty to periodically offer new courses without the fear of the budgetary ax. As a college, we need to make much more efficient use of one of our richest resources: the wide interests and impressive expertise of our faculty.
The time for action is now. At the heart of the educational mission is the belief that growth is good. Our curriculum must keep pace with the growing needs of our growing student population.
Work Cited
Gleick, James. Chaos: Making a New Science. New York: Penguin Books, 1987.
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