Assessment Beyond Language

Assessment Beyond Language

The value-laden nature of assessment, moreover, goes far beyond the simple matter of how to measure language ability. There are also crucial educational considerations to take into account. A central moral dilemma for many teachers, for example, at least in this country, is the extent to which they should reward effort, or ability, or achievement. Up until this point, I have been assuming that evaluation is intended to measure the student’s ability in English. But in much ESL teaching in the United States and certain other countries, great emphasis is placed on a student’s engagement in, or commitment to, her work. It is thought important to reward effort—the time and energy devoted to an assignment, rather than merely the quality of the finished product, or the willingness to participate in classroom discussion rather than the grammatical correctness of the contributions or the value of their substance. In this there is very clearly an issue of moral judgment: In rewarding “good” behavior, we are standing in judgment over the learner; we are adjudicating “good” and “bad” ways to be as well as knowledge of the subject matter. There is a strong component of moral education in the old-fashioned sense, of instilling 67 Values in English Language Teaching and reinforcing desirable behaviors, habits, and attitudes in our students (Jackson, Boostrom & Hansen, 1993). At the same time, another aspect of the moral dimension of power emerges, as we punish those who do not behave in approved ways, for example, giving lower grades to students who do not willingly take part in classroom activities, fail to turn in journals or other written work on time, and so on. What function does this punishment serve? As a warning for the future? As a sign to others? In any case, surely its consequences are not restricted to the moment in which a bad grade is given and received. Let me share an example of the complex issues at play here. For her doctoral dissertation, Ewald (2001) interviewed university-level students and teachers of Spanish about their attitudes toward group work. One teacher she spoke to, Gonzalo, explained that he graded students on their contributions to small-group work. The students to whom Ewald spoke, however, felt that this was an unfair practice, pointing out that although they accept the usefulness of small-group work, for some students participation in such groups is rendered difficult for nonlinguistic reasons such as shyness. Ewald (2001, p. 166) reported that Gonzalo’s practice is grounded in a belief that evaluation of this aspect of their work in class will motivate students to participate more and help them to see the value of small-group work (and we know that in language classes, the more you speak, the more you learn). He might also have wished to be able to reward the students who contribute more willingly. Yet, as the students’ reaction shows, this practice brings with it several moral dilemmas. First, there is the question of the extent to which personality traits such as shyness should affect one’s grade. Second, Ewald pointed out that the students were already aware of the expectation of participation and did not need to be reminded of it. This becomes a matter of trust (p. 167): That is, the practice of evaluating contributions to group work carries with it the implication that without the pressure of the evaluation students cannot be trusted to participate of their own accord. I would also point out a third issue of measurement: the problem of how to assign scores fairly to something as complex as participation in a small group. The practice of rewarding hard work as well as “objectively” measured ability gives rise to its own moral dilemmas. What do we do with those students who work terribly hard and yet simply do not have the wherewithal to do A-grade work? Conversely, what do we do with the bright but disaffected students who are able to speak fluently and write expressively yet will not take part in classroom dialogue and do the minimum to scrape by in their written work? Once, many years ago (when I still gave exams), in an undergraduate class on second language acquisition I had a student who barely came to class at all yet turned up for the midterm exam and did tolerably well. What is one to do in such a situation? What was I to do? At one level, the student had done what she was supposed to: She had learned the material the course covered. At another level, she had flouted the (in this case unwritten) rules of engagement of the academy, which state that good students are expected to do the things that good students do: come to class, take part in discussions, show interest, and so on. A related issue is whether one aims to measure ability or achievement. Often I have had students who come to the class knowing very little about the matter at hand and who learn a lot during the class. Do these students deserve a better grade than those who knew a great deal more at the beginning yet at the end may still know more than their colleagues? The Morality of Testing and Assessment 68 Such questions raise the specter of our purpose in teaching in the first place. If indeed we aim merely to transmit information or knowledge, then we should reward the student who has, or has acquired, more information or knowledge. However, throughout this book I have been arguing that teaching cannot and should not be reduced to the transfer of information. It is primarily about the moral relation between teacher and student. This said, however, the teacher, as one-caring (Noddings, 1984), is in a different position than the student, the cared-for. What is the moral responsibility of the latter toward the former? Noddings (1984) suggested that while the teacher’s responsibility is greater, there is still a need for reciprocity (pp. 69–74). Yet to what extent is it our responsibility to judge the student on matters of character or innate ability? I argued in chapter 3 that there is an element of moral education in adult ESL settings. Yet what of other contexts? How far do our duties go beyond teaching the language and into the territory of character formation? An additional point is the moral dilemma that arises from the fact that students have different levels of ability. The questions I have just raised—whether students should be rewarded for effort or for achievement and whether progress is as important as final achievement—cannot really be answered without referring to differing levels of aptitude. Some students, for whatever reason, are simply good at languages; others, to use a Polish expression, are anti-talents when it comes to language learning. In a sense, this is a matter of “moral luck” (Statman, 1993): Some people are “born better” in one regard or another. At college, my friend Brett would regularly infuri-ate me by finishing his French essays in a scrawl as we were walking to class together; he invariably got an A. I think most of us have known other Bretts, whether as friends or students of ours. Should he and his kind be rewarded for simply being better and faster? It seems to me that try as we might to evaluate students on language alone, we cannot help but take other, morally charged circumstances into consideration; the question is, are we aware of this? If so, have we thought through the moral consequences of our decision?