Teaching At-Risk Students in a Pandemic

On February 14, 2020, Adrian Morrow, a Washington U.S. Correspondent, published the article, “Trump Set to Declare Na-

Page 323

tional Emergency in Bid to Fund Border Wall” (The Globe and Mail). Nancy Pelosi, the Democratic Speaker of the House of Representatives, was considering a court challenge. “It’s not an emergency what’s happening at the border,” she told reporters on Capitol Hill. “It’s a humanitarian challenge.” The next day, Trump declared a bid to fund the border wall as a national emergency while the coronavirus was spreading throughout the U.S. and in our college classrooms. Four weeks later, my university closed its doors to on-campus teaching. All classes went online for the remainder of the semester. For many students and faculty around the globe, this abrupt change in teaching modality was challenging and stressful. It was also a humanitarian challenge. Teaching online during these extraordinary times encouraged me to revisit my understanding of what at-risk means.

The pre-fix “pan” means “all” in Greek. At the start of the “pan”demic, there was “pan”ic. Many faculty were transparent at being inept teaching in an online environment, expressing fears that this shift would compromise the quality of their teaching and, in turn, their students’ experiences in the classroom. In his article, “Teaching Through a Pandemic: A Mindset for This Moment,” Stephen Merrill eloquently articulated the mood among teachers: “This is so overwhelming” (March 19, 2020, Edutopia). However, it wasn’t too long before more experienced teachers in online instruction rushed to the aid of those who were thrust into space equipped with nothing but a spacesuit—and, for some, not even that. I was fortunate to count myself in the number of those who could rush to the aid of others.

Similarly, students were panicking. When I announced to my students in mid-March that all classes were going online, many were concerned that the transition would be difficult for them and their grades would be impacted. Some students commented on their need for structure and were worried that going online meant being thrust into space, alone, like many faculty, with little means of survival. Other students expressed concern that they previously took online classes and know they don’t learn as well as in the classroom—that they cannot be trusted to attend classes and complete activities and assignments on time in forced physical isolation. These were at-risk students.

Fortunately, at my university at least, leadership, advisors, counselors, skilled instructional designers, and technical support came to the rescue to ensure that faculty and students were offered

Page 324

the academic, psychological, and technological support they needed for student success in the classroom. The semester of spring 2020 was still tough but not catastrophic compared to navigating a pandemic and an unstable government. As reported by Shaina Ahluwalia and Sangameswaran S. on December 3, 2020, the coronavirus had claimed more than 1.5 million lives, and 10,000 people were dying every day (“Coronavirus claims 1.5 million lives globally with 10,000 dying each day,” Reuters). That number continues to rise every day.

In March 2020, many solutions targeted at instruction were about how best to effectively deliver online instruction and material to our students. It soon became apparent, however, that trying to study during a pandemic was negatively impacting students’ mental health itself.

I teach incoming freshman students. Going to college is an opportunity for these students to grow academically, personally, professionally, and socially. For many freshman students, entering college in the year of COVID-19 included transitioning to fully online classes—repacking their bags after just eight weeks on campus to return home with a looming lockdown ahead—which meant ensuring that they have adequate technological capabilities. Some of my students were embarrassed to share their videos because it would give peers a view into poverty. Along with many of my colleagues, I learned that the return home for some of my students meant going back to a dangerous environment. Others had to juggle studying with looking after siblings, doing housework, or taking on part-time jobs because a working family member had taken ill with COVID-19. Some of these students became at-risk.

In one of my classes, a student was interrupted by her father, who walked into her bedroom to deliver the news that her mother, a nurse, had just learned she’d contracted COVID-19. Following this devastating news, my student tried to maintain her composure, but it was difficult. I released her from class that day to be with her family during this difficult time. This student’s father learned shortly thereafter that he had contracted COVID-19. The risk that my student would contract it too was high. I worked with this student independently for the next two weeks. She confessed to feelings of depression and being unable to focus on her work. She admitted to becoming overwhelmed by the mounting assignments and was, for the first time in her life, receiving grades that did not reflect her academic capabilities. Overnight, she had be-

Page 325

come an at-risk student. She was not an anomaly.

This new type of at-risk student was fast becoming the norm. As an instructor, I worked harder on outreach to help keep my students afloat mentally and emotionally. I was tough at times, too, with statements like, “Buckle down and do what needs to be done to get through this course. You got this!” Sometimes my boot camp style worked as a last resort and students were able to pull through.

There were students who, no matter what I said or did, could not successfully navigate the new situation in which they had been placed. One student, who took a class I taught with a co-instructor in the fall (a semester that was as equally challenging as the spring semester), was so intelligent. I remember the first class: his enthusiasm and willingness to engage with us, his peers, and the material were evident. I teach writing and critical inquiry, a class that helps students navigate the challenges of writing. A core principle that drives the course is expressed in the following statement by Robert Yagelski in the textbook I use, The Essentials of Writing: 10 Core Concepts: “Writing grows out of a need to answer a question, make a decision, or solve a problem” (2016, 59). This student chose to write about COVID-19 because he felt guilty for being depressed when people in the world were dying of the coronavirus. Writing through the lens of students who felt isolated physically and emotionally, he wanted to know why many students, in his
research and own experience, believed they were not worthy of help. As the semester wore on, this student’s work ethic started to slip. He wasn’t handing in assignments on time or the quality of them was subpar. He had, he told me, turned into another victim, becoming overwhelmed with a workload that was increasingly hard to manage.

This student uploaded his final paper a week after the course he failed ended. He revealed that he had lost a college friend to suicide earlier that year after COVID-19 struck. The friend was struggling with depression but didn’t seek help because he didn’t want to be a burden.

What does being an at-risk student mean? I thought I knew what it meant. I would start the semester with the understanding that some of my students were known to be at-risk or would surface as being at-risk like it was a pre-existing condition. However, during this pandemic, I am reminded that being at risk can strike at any

Page 326

time and for reasons outside of a student’s control. I am reminded that being at-risk means reaching out my hand to a student who is in crisis because it is not just the right thing to do as an instructor. It is also the right thing to do as a human being.

Page 327