Sitting in the office of the Department of Drama and Dance, I couldn't help but smile as I stuffed course evaluation form after course evaluation form into old, crumbling manila envelopes. This Thanksgiving season, I couldn't be more grateful that our university continues to stand up for the time−honored tradition of hard−copy course evaluations. After all, I enjoy stuffing envelopes. And what better use of department time and resources than coordinating the complex process of organizing, distributing and collecting thousands of pieces of scribbled−upon paper. If there is one Tufts tradition our new president should strive to protect from the modern age of technology, it is paper course evaluations.
Yes, I know: Administrators and office workers spend many hours and suffer many paper cuts counting, stuffing and scanning these precious documents. Every year, around this time, faculty and students begin to whisper their heretical thoughts about changing the status quo. But the horrifying notion that our process could be moved online is simply taking things too far.
Can you imagine Jumbos sitting in the comfort of the dorms, filling out evaluations on SIS or Trunk, with about as much effort as it takes them to check their email? Typed answers would be instantly legible; there would be no fun in deciphering them. Computer−recorded responses would instantly calculate scores and averages; Scantron would go out of business. Hundreds of hours of paid labor would be suddenly unnecessary; what would student employees like me do all day at work?
Most importantly, think of the trees. With thousands of undergraduate and graduate students filling out evaluations for each course they take, do you know how much the logging industry benefits from our paper evaluations? For the class of 2015 alone, we're talking about 1,345 students, perhaps four courses per student on average. That's 5,380 pieces of paper per semester, over 43 thousand pages dedicated to their class alone over the course of their time at the university. If we dropped the paper, what would we do with all of our inventory? How would this affect the paper−products industry? The job market? There are serious consequences to consider.
Besides, there are technical concerns. Yes, it's true that we already have successful systems in place for gathering anonymous survey data. Yes, it's true that those systems have previously included the ability to determine which students had or had not completed the requirement (e.g. the My Student Body alcohol program, Senate eBallot elections, raffles for completing the Dining Services survey). But suppose we implemented a similar system for course evaluations. All of a sudden, the administration would have the ability to tell which students had not filled out their evaluations! They would be able to send reminder emails, offer prizes or even make completion mandatory. No longer would students be able to sit quietly before a blank sheet of paper, failing to fill in the circles or write essays. No longer could students drop their incomplete evaluations into an envelope and hurry off to do something more enjoyable. Life as we know it would be forever changed.
The best day of class, the one during which professors must take 15 minutes out of lecture to make room for in−class course evaluations, would be no more. We would not be able to look forward to this welcome break from academics, nor walk into classes late, complaining that the last professor held us over to complete evaluations. Our very freedom as individuals would be threatened.
Technology is frightening. Its potential to make our precious paper obsolete, calculate more quickly and easily than any human being or increase participation levels in evaluations simply represents too much change, too quickly. This university is not ready to take that kind of risk. It doesn't matter how many other schools do their evaluations online, or how much time and money it could save. Now is not the time to try something new; our system of course evaluations does not merit reevaluation.
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Brian Pilchik is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major.
