Contributing Writer | Ryan Ziwa
I can’t help checking my phone every five seconds, which feels like fifteen minutes, anticipating the end of some classes. It’s not the subject. It’s not the professor. It’s not me. It’s the thermostat that is determined to make my afternoon class, Antarctica. Between checking my phone and paying attention to the lecture, I observe another type of cold, a metaphorical one, wrapping around myself and my peers: disconnection.
I attend all my classes twice a week (conveniently on the same days), and yet I couldn’t describe the faces of most of the people I sit next to, even if extra credit was offered.
This disconnection weaves through most, if not all, of my classes. There appears to be a mostly unanimous arrangement in my classes: no interaction unless a relationship was established outside of the current class, another student requires help, or the professor has asked, pardon me, repeatedly asked, that we collaborate.
While it doesn’t threaten anyone’s GPA, it neglects an opportunity for social connection at a time when it is needed. Loneliness and social isolation were declared an epidemic due to their prevalence and impacts on mental and physical health. This is a public health crisis requiring concentrated efforts and dedicated resources. And, there is an action everyone can, and should, take: conversation.
But how can we when disconnection is apparent in a space we have to share for the next 14 weeks?
I mistakenly attributed the existence of disconnection to students, but then I observed that some people are trying. Before the classes began, acknowledgements could be shared. Before such interactions could grow into something to be picked up on later, the lectures started. Some students continued talking, regardless, in murmurs that were just a decibel away from sounding like walking through Graham Center on a weekday afternoon. Others waited until after class. But this window is usually much shorter, especially when the next class is trickling in, and you have back-to-back classes, or you’re tired of sitting in Antarctica.
So, I ruled out those students. The remaining was the course design: a predictor of the degree and value of various activities in a given classroom.
Course designs do not explicitly cause disconnection. Afterall, an effectively designed course broadly comprises promoting academic and personal growth. Rather, the course design is an overlooked avenue to nurture social connection.
Some courses attempt to encourage collaboration, which could foster connection. The limitation is in the commitment. Social connection is the last concern when students are working under a one-minute timer to solve a question no one had a clue about. Icebreakers are another attempt, except they don’t work for larger classes, and aren’t stimulating when activities that are identical to elementary school are relied on (this is a direct attack on fun facts).
A revision of the course design to address the loneliness and social isolation epidemic is required. This is not a preposterous request as courses have shown the ability to adapt to contemporary culture, be it with the embrace of technology, changes to teaching modalities during the COVID-19 pandemic, and, more recently, in response to ChatGPT. The loneliness and social isolation epidemic presents an opportunity to realign pedagogy in the interest of student well-being.
With spring classes ongoing, I doubt any revisions will take place so soon. In the meantime, we ought to continue putting our sweaters to the test and making the most of the few seconds before, during (only if you can whisper at the sound of a ticking clock while learning), and after. Who knows, we might discover a common dislike for winter indoors and devise a plan against it.
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