Shervin Malekzadeh Teaching Statement
The ability to tailor instruction to students’ individual needs is a learned skill, an aptitude developed during my several years of service as a bilingual elementary school teacher in immigrant communities in Washington, DC as well as in Northern California. I was fortunate to have strong mentors who patiently modeled best practices for me to use, to not be overawed by what was invariably a dizzying array of lived differences in an American classroom, from native languages to income inequalities. Above all, these veteran teachers trained me to always pay attention to the class as it exists, in its day-to-day moments, an insight that has proven to be remarkably useful as I’ve continued my career as an educator at the university level.
I begin my teaching with what is at hand, the local knowledge and practices presented before me in class. I start by asking my students some version of “What do you already know?” and “What do you wish to learn?” to discover what they found interesting or perhaps puzzling about that day’s topic and readings. This simple routine produces a benchmark against which to calibrate the day’s teaching. I return to this benchmark at the end of the session by reviewing what we have learned, and on this basis, begin preparation for our next class. Each session thus serves as the foundation for the next, constituting an iterative process of producing and sharing knowledge.
It is a deceptively simple technique, the practice of drawing upon personal knowledge and experiences, but one that affirms the dignity of students even as it provides a preamble to unsettling the room, to disturbing assumptions about familiar concepts that students feel they “know” but have never had to articulate or to directly explain.
The approach is not without risk. For undergraduates in particular the experience can be disorienting. Against a context that celebrates the benchmark and the standardized test, the decision to learn by “unlearning” can amount to an act of subversion. Nonetheless, I ask my students that they be curious, above all skeptical, about the material and the assumptions that undergird the various claims and propositions encountered in class.
I expect them to speak and write fearlessly. A great emphasis is placed on discussion, even in my introductory courses. To accommodate students for whom public speaking is difficult I assign regular blog entries, no more than 250 words of written response to a particular film, reading, or lecture from class. They must then respond to one of their classmates’ responses. In this way I encourage engagement through the written word, fostering reasoned debate in a manner that for some students may be more comfortable than the give and take of the regular classroom.
We write consistently and constantly, for improvement as well as for assessment. For my advanced courses this means an end-of-term session that recreates the experience of an academic conference in which they serve as both discussant and presenter. Two weeks prior to our final class session, students circulate a précis of their final paper to the entire class, a brief of no more than five pages. They then receive feedback in written form from their assigned discussant ahead of the conference, where students are expected to provide an oral presentation of their research followed by a question-and-answer session. In this way students learn to scaffold their research and writing, and to experience firsthand the wisdom that the best way to produce good words is to slog through the bad ones, to set down a writing routine that will generate inspiration.
In recent years, I’ve begun to include in my syllabi a statement directed at students’ well-being and emotional health, a note of reassurance and encouragement. I’ve been struck by the ratcheted level of competition and pressure that many of our students experience and while this is not the only remedy, my hope is that they will remember this note when it matters. The statement reads in part:
"Feeling emotionally depleted or wondering if you’ve 'got what it takes' to be successful is not a reflection of your abilities as a student, or your abilities to be successful in this class. Colgate admitted you because you deserve to be here. It is not my job as an instructor to evaluate your worthiness as a student, that has already been determined. It is my job to help you grow and be successful as you push forward with your education. Please feel free to reach out to me at any time if you find you are struggling, in this course or at this institution, even if those struggles are not academic in nature. The door is always open."
The ability to tailor instruction to students’ individual needs is a learned skill, an aptitude developed during my several years of service as a bilingual elementary school teacher in immigrant communities in Washington, DC as well as in Northern California. I was fortunate to have strong mentors who patiently modeled best practices for me to use, to not be overawed by what was invariably a dizzying array of lived differences in an American classroom, from native languages to income inequalities. Above all, these veteran teachers trained me to always pay attention to the class as it exists, in its day-to-day moments, an insight that has proven to be remarkably useful as I’ve continued my career as an educator at the university level.
I begin my teaching with what is at hand, the local knowledge and practices presented before me in class. I start by asking my students some version of “What do you already know?” and “What do you wish to learn?” to discover what they found interesting or perhaps puzzling about that day’s topic and readings. This simple routine produces a benchmark against which to calibrate the day’s teaching. I return to this benchmark at the end of the session by reviewing what we have learned, and on this basis, begin preparation for our next class. Each session thus serves as the foundation for the next, constituting an iterative process of producing and sharing knowledge.
It is a deceptively simple technique, the practice of drawing upon personal knowledge and experiences, but one that affirms the dignity of students even as it provides a preamble to unsettling the room, to disturbing assumptions about familiar concepts that students feel they “know” but have never had to articulate or to directly explain.
The approach is not without risk. For undergraduates in particular the experience can be disorienting. Against a context that celebrates the benchmark and the standardized test, the decision to learn by “unlearning” can amount to an act of subversion. Nonetheless, I ask my students that they be curious, above all skeptical, about the material and the assumptions that undergird the various claims and propositions encountered in class.
I expect them to speak and write fearlessly. A great emphasis is placed on discussion, even in my introductory courses. To accommodate students for whom public speaking is difficult I assign regular blog entries, no more than 250 words of written response to a particular film, reading, or lecture from class. They must then respond to one of their classmates’ responses. In this way I encourage engagement through the written word, fostering reasoned debate in a manner that for some students may be more comfortable than the give and take of the regular classroom.
We write consistently and constantly, for improvement as well as for assessment. For my advanced courses this means an end-of-term session that recreates the experience of an academic conference in which they serve as both discussant and presenter. Two weeks prior to our final class session, students circulate a précis of their final paper to the entire class, a brief of no more than five pages. They then receive feedback in written form from their assigned discussant ahead of the conference, where students are expected to provide an oral presentation of their research followed by a question-and-answer session. In this way students learn to scaffold their research and writing, and to experience firsthand the wisdom that the best way to produce good words is to slog through the bad ones, to set down a writing routine that will generate inspiration.
In recent years, I’ve begun to include in my syllabi a statement directed at students’ well-being and emotional health, a note of reassurance and encouragement. I’ve been struck by the ratcheted level of competition and pressure that many of our students experience and while this is not the only remedy, my hope is that they will remember this note when it matters. The statement reads in part:
"Feeling emotionally depleted or wondering if you’ve 'got what it takes' to be successful is not a reflection of your abilities as a student, or your abilities to be successful in this class. Colgate admitted you because you deserve to be here. It is not my job as an instructor to evaluate your worthiness as a student, that has already been determined. It is my job to help you grow and be successful as you push forward with your education. Please feel free to reach out to me at any time if you find you are struggling, in this course or at this institution, even if those struggles are not academic in nature. The door is always open."
