CELL Blog | Center for Engaged Learning in the Law

“So do you feel like your class is full of whiners?” a professor asked me recently.

“Oh my God, yes!” I responded.

“Why do you think that is?” my professor queried.

My response? Because you let them.

In all fairness to my classmates, the current and habitual state of flux in which our fledgling school operates (and I use that term loosely) could make even Mother Teresa go postal. When they told us in our very first week that “it depends” was the quintessential law school answer, we assumed they referred to answers of substantive law as opposed to answers to questions like, “What day does class start?” But a year and a half later, the hallways still ring with shouts of that most noble epithet, “Give me ambiguity or give me … something else!!” In a culture such as this, legitimate complaints understandably abound; yet we – over-achievers to the core – have found a way to exceed even this lofty threshold with our endless moans and groans.

My favorites include: (1) the school-wide state of mutiny whenever more than one assignment is due in the same week; (2) the audacity of demanding Litigation majors wear courtroom attire 4-hours per week during Trial Ad (which takes place, oddly enough, in a courtroom); and (3) the affront to those having to adjust their dinner schedules to accommodate one evening class per week.

While I don’t speak enough psycho jargon to get to the true Freudian core of whining as a social skill, I can tell you that, just as with small children, letting big children get away with a bad behavior only makes the behavior worse. When complaints like those above are raised, the usual responses include (but are not limited to): cajoling, ignoring, nodding, and encouraging.

Why!? Why on God’s green Earth would one entertain as legitimate the complaint of a future lawyer affronted by the concept of wearing a suit to court?? Why would one cajole the tears of a future patent attorney who runs the risk of malnutrition for want of knowing how to feed herself in between class times?? And why oh why oh why would professors, themselves licensed attorneys, adjust the due dates of assignments to accommodate those operating under the delusion that practicing attorneys never, ever have more than one assignment due in the same week??

It seems like these responses from professors to students follow the same logic as between parent and child: here, take this lollipop and go away so Mommy can get her law review article written. But we’ve all met kids raised like that (I hear they turn into whiny law students, but that could be mere rumor) and at this stage of the game, it’s just silly and counterproductive to continue the pattern. It sets everyone up to fail: the students will flop in the real world when the staggering realization of deadlines, fiduciary duties, inflexible senior partners, and even less flexible judges sets in; the school will fail when the legal community realizes it’s churning out whiny toddlers instead of polished, professional lawyers; and students with legitimate complaints will be met with a proverbial lollipop instead of a genuinely concerned ear.

So the next time a litigation student whines about having to wear a suit one night of his life for the next 10 weeks, do everyone a favor: look him dead in the eyes and shout, “ARE YOU FREAKING SERIOUS!? GROW UP!!” (or…you know…something to that effect)

My seat in the back corner of every class provides a wonderful perspective from which to observe (and now comment on) legal education and its impact on students. From the cheap seats, the behaviors and responses of the class are visible, as is the effectiveness of the person in the front of the room. So for those desperately interested…

WHAT WORKS

1. Telling It Like It Is

Whether it’s a case everyone knows is bunk; a statute so convoluted Scalia himself couldn’t make sense of it; a controversial bit of Con Law; or the latest psycho-babble emanating from the administration, nothing seems to keep a class engaged like telling it like it is. Professors who skirt controversial topics and constantly seek backdoors away from the glaring truth get ignored and their message(s) dismissed. Every time Professor X bolts from Roe v Wade or Dean Y (oh why oh why oh why) filibusters her way out of even the most simplistic logistical questions, the rest of the class is spent whispering about why we never seem to get a straight answer and who they think they’re kidding. On the other hand, professors and administrators who tackle the good, the bad, and the ugly head-on win not only the respect, but more significantly the attention of those they seek to teach. Some do it with wit and sarcasm; some with good humor; and some with poise and professionalism. And each of them, regardless of the method, wins the respect and attention of their classes. It may not seem like much, but from where I sit, even the most brilliant professor will fail to impact a class who’s ignoring him.

2. Keeping It Real: The Problem Method

Although the problem method is subjectively my favorite method, its effectiveness can be seen objectively as well. In most lectures, about ½ the class spends at least ½ their time browsing the net. But in a class taught exclusively through problems, 99% of the eyes face forward. Even those claiming to dislike the problem method can’t deny it comes in handy. Come finals time, there are 250+ hypos and their answers waiting to be studied. If you’re lucky, the author of the hypos and of the exam will be the same person, giving you a double-advantage. And you’ve probably paid attention in most of the classes (well, at least more attention than you paid in most of your other classes) because you didn’t want to chance missing an answer on one of the problems. This real-time, real application of theory to fact-pattern is, to me, the most effective manner in which to learn and, at least from my bird’s eye view, it holds the class’s attention better than any other method.

3. Assign What You Teach and Teach What You Assign

Not much gets the Facebook pages up and running faster than informing your class you’re about to waste an hour (or two or three) of its time teaching what they didn’t read and/or skipping everything they did read. Assign what you plan to teach. Teach what you’ve already assigned. Really, it seems pretty simple. Unless your course goal actually is for me to vastly improve my online Scrabble skills, in which case please, carry on. (Did you know “biotites” is a word??)

WHAT DOESN’T WORK

1. What A Coincidence: I Can Read, Too!

Tonight I’ll spend 4 hours reading the manner in which the Supreme Court interprets words written by men long since dead and convolutes them into fitting the predominant political spin. Tomorrow morning I’ll arrive in class with a book that looks like a flamingo bled all over its pages and a meticulously kept outline now spanning 60+ typed pages. And what will happen? My professor will read back to me precisely what I just read. No application. No problems. No debate. Just tell the story back to me the way the supplement told it to her. And I think to myself, “Gee, what a coincidence, I can read, too!” In frustration, my brain clicks off. A quick scan of the room confirms I am not alone and all at once, Facebook tells me 3 people just invited me to another game of Scrabble. And it begs the question: is knowing that “Qi” is a word worth the $30k I pay for a legal education? “Objection, Your Honor: qi.” Sustained.

2. War & Peace is a Novel, Not a Power Point Slide

This one really speaks for itself, but just to drive the point home… If the font for any given slide has to be smaller then 14-point, the class will do one of three things: (A) ignore everything you say while trying to read the slide; (B) ignore the slide while trying to listen to what you’re saying; or (C) boggle the minds of competitors by not only knowing that “qi” is a word, but that it can also be PLURAL! Q-I-S. Enough said.

3. Discuss This: Why 30-Second “Group” Discussions Are Pointless

The professor says: “Turn to your neighbors and discuss the essential components of contract formation for the next 30 seconds.”

The students hear: “Turn around and tell your neighbor that “ngwee” is also a word and if they don’t like it, they can take it up with The Official Scrabble Players Dictionary people.”

The students turn to each other and say:

“I wonder how many ngwee (the monetary unit of Zambia) this course is costing me.”

“Dunno, dude, but it’s a royal pain in my qi (the life force inherent in all things).”

THE END.