It only feels like a punishment

I did it. No more laptops in Evidence starting Monday. There are only four more classes left, so only a tiny handful of students panicked. One told me afterward—with no appreciation whatsoever of the irony—how he and all his friends were instant messaging each other about why I was angry at them and just could not figure it out. I just gave him the Exasperated Eye-roll® and walked off. They think they’re being punished for something.

What we have is a fundamental philosophical disconnect. I believe that a law school class should operate on the same principles as meetings in law firm conference rooms: Everyone shows up having read tons of stuff, brings a pen and a legal pad and some ideas, and then tries to make the other associates laugh out loud by making silly faces while the partner is holding forth on legal issues he doesn’t quite grasp. But some law students operate on High School Rules of Order, where the teacher is viewed primarily as a disciplinarian-cum-nanny and classtime is an ordeal to be endured as the price of a degree. That’s why—even though we charge frightening amounts of money for these classes—students feel elation and even gratitude when one has to be canceled. (If their personal trainer or tennis instructor or piano teacher canceled a session {and didn’t offer a refund}, on the other hand, just imagine the outrage.)

To be sure, many professors reinforce the philosophical divide by assuming the role of disciplinarian rather than discussion-moderator or -provocateur. They have lots of detailed rules and accompanying penalties. Their syllabi read like Federal Sentencing Guidelines sections. One colleague used to go bananas if students walked in late through one door rather than another. Then there’s the whole excused-versus-unexcused-absences thing. Who has time for that? I tell them, If you’re not here, I assume there is a fantastic reason. If it happens five times, I may drop you from the class or fail you. What is there to discuss? If you’re not there, then you missed it, that’s all. If you miss a meeting at work, do you saunter into your boss’ office and ask her to recap it for you? Do you write to Jon Stewart to explain why you missed his show last Tuesday? Notwithstanding this, students can’t stop themselves from saying, “I know you said you don’t care, but,” and then describing in uncomfortably intimate detail their diseases and symptoms and tragedies of every stripe, and I can’t recoil quickly enough while repeating, “Really, it’s fine; I don’t care. Please stop. I beg you to stop.”