You know the old cubicle adage: ten percent of the people do ninety percent of the work.
Low involvement certainly isn’t just a Houghton problem, although it’s tempting to think of it as one. Colleges and universities across the country are scrambling to crack the student engagement code. Translation: they can’t figure out why students struggle to care about the things they apparently claim to be passionate about. A survey released by the Indiana University Center for Postsecondary Research paints a grim picture of student engagement in the United States. Although the vast majority of incoming first-year students expect to be “highly engaged” inside and outside of the classroom, about 32% of them spend no time at all participating in extracurricular events. Only one fourth of all students had “frequently” or “very often” attended art exhibitions, musical performances, or film showings within the school year.
One might assume that a preoccupation with homework and other scholastic responsibilities dampens the desire to participate outside the classroom. Over and over again, however, these studies reveal a surprising theme: those who participate in dynamic classroom discussions and robust academic responsibilities are more likely, not less, to get involved in extracurriculars.
This all adds up. Everyone has, at one time, sat in a classroom that resonated with empty silences and awkward eye contact. I’ve participated in class discussions where a professor sat in the front of the room, desperate for anyone to offer even a faltering opinion on the book assigned. I’ve attended purely elective review sessions where students scroll through Instagram under the table, instinctively embarrassed although the only person they’re damaging is themselves. And I’ve read probably five hundred essays that start out “The impact of ____ on _____ simply cannot be denied.” Of course it can’t be denied, because your professor almost certainly drew that conclusion in class the week prior. How exhausting must it be to grade twenty or more papers that read like a bizarrely academic version of Mad Libs, simply because students can’t be bothered to give a damn about originality or creativity.
I don’t care if you abhor mathematics, got an F in 11th grade Western Civ, or don’t give a crap about the nuances of English literature. This kind of apathy should not be happening at a college that bills itself as a liberal arts institution. These environments suffocate their less ambitious students by never pushing them out of the shallows. Treading water ceaselessly, the high achievers have no space to breathe or grow.
During my time at Houghton I’ve held five different jobs, most simultaneously. I’ve sat on the board for several major events each year. I’ve edited both of the school’s print publications and written for them frequently, too. I’ve interviewed honors program prospects and written letters to donors and planned events and designed posters and given speeches and revised papers. Some nights I get back to my house just in time to stare vacantly at the wall before I collapse into my bed.
This isn’t meant to underline how tirelessly I personally work to support the college, but to draw attention to how unwilling many others are to take on their fair share of responsibilities. I took on many of those tasks not because I felt a need to prove myself or feel superior to others, but because I was assured that no one else was available or willing to fulfill them. This is the message that talented, engaged students receive over and over: “Don’t feel pressure to run this event or organize this club…just be prepared for no one else to step up to the plate if you don’t.” So be sure to give your next project to a person who’s already ripping their hair out! Be on the lookout for ragged nail beds and spotty eyebrows! Those are the people who will get the job done.
Everyone has different abilities, skills, and competencies. But carrying a few 200-level classes doesn’t make you too busy to attend a meeting, write an article, or volunteer your time. So stop making excuses about how busy you are or how much work you have to do. Just admit that you’d rather spend your time muching on French fries or hanging out with your friends. Just admit that you want your evenings free to mess around on Pinterest and binge Legend of Korra. (What do you think I did with my weekend?) Once we own up to that, we can start thinking about why we value our time and talent so little.
It’s the difference between corn chips and kale, between Netflix and libraries, between pornography and sex. If the bare minimum offers satisfaction, why put in the extra effort? If you can squeak by while skipping class and cramming all your studies into the hour before the exam, why try to broaden your experience or gain intellectual depth? In short: why bother at all? Sometimes I worry that if we don’t answer that question soon, we’ll stop asking it altogether.
Carina is a senior majoring in communication and writing. She is the outgoing STAR editor-in-chief.