The U.S. higher education system preserves students’ academic flexibility instead of forcing us to focus on a single area of study immediately. The freedom offered by this approach—despite its nauseating price tag—was the most important factor in tempting me to enter the fray and apply in the first place. The American college application process itself seems to aspire to be as wide-ranging as the education with which it is associated. We aren’t required to apply for a specific major, let alone demonstrate our aptitude for any one discipline by achieving final exam scores that satisfy conditional offers, as students applying to UK universities must do by taking A-levels. Instead, we are evaluated holistically, in as much three-dimensionality as is possible through a 2-D PDF—with test scores, teacher evaluations, essays, grades, extracurriculars each conveying some sliver of our potential, and, together, in theory, composing a patchwork whole. Having jumped through the fiery rings to apply this autumn, my admiration of the American educational model is mitigated by misgivings I harbor about the entry process. I have little time left to voice my criticism without my credibility being undermined by receiving rejections (that is, coming off as complaining merely because I didn’t get in), since most decisions are released at the end of March. So…I would like to give This Process a heady treatment with its own holistic medicine, by evaluating it in its entirety—but also paying varying amounts of special attention to three of its aspects: “extracurriculars,” the dreaded s/t words (“standardized testing”) and “transcripts.” 1) EXTRACURRICULARS Allowing students to discuss extracurriculars in an application is a thoughtful way of encouraging us to share and show ourselves through how we spend our time outside the classroom. It is effective as a means, a channel through which to demonstrate our personalities and interests—unless incentives are tainted so that we treat that means as an end, and alter our behavior to create a certain admissions profile. If you do extracurriculars because you think they will look good on your CV, although there is a chance you will try something on a whim and discover you genuinely enjoy it, you are learning to perfect your image without bothering with authenticity—to do what looks the best instead of what means the most, which is a disservice to yourself in the long term, even if you think you are playing the system. Ironically, in terms of twisted incentives, service-based extracurriculars seem the most problematic. Is genuine altruistic intent not corrupted by using someone else's needs to meet your own? Volunteering just to write “I volunteered?” Jet-setting service is a commonly criticized case—while students do have meaningful experiences combining travel with service, and do leave places better than when they arrived, more good might be done by mundane, regular volunteering in the local community. Moreover, if you pursue, say, a leadership position, telling yourself you want it for its own sake, while denying to yourself that you are interested in the title and not the grunt work, you are putting up a front—not just to others, but to yourself. As a result, you are likely in the future to have more difficulty differentiating between your own genuine interests and whatever pursuit is fashionable or expedient. Finally, since it is unlikely you will be willing to put in the hours and scrupulousness necessary to perform as well as somebody whose motivation and passion are genuine, at the high school level or beyond, the fruits of your efforts are likely to be mediocre at best. When colleges consider what students do with their free time, that time ceases to be completely free. What if there is incentive to join a sports team to broaden your college profile, instead of spending unprogrammed afternoons each week reading historical fiction? Is the former really worth more if your heart is not in the game or the team? Because the process is so hyper-competitive at the top, there is a culture of fitting in as many concrete pursuits as possible, and a sense of guilt associated with downtime. I have filled up my hours since middle school, not out of competitiveness but because I’ve never been comfortable being idle—so in this model, I would be a person obliviously exerting top-down pressure and stressing everyone else out. In fact, I’ve recently realized that I have trouble just sitting and thinking in an unstructured environment, without writing or talking to someone, because I am so used to doing something all the time (chance or karma? Who knows?). That ability to think things through without being distracted by anything else is not to be undervalued, and I feel it is being chipped away by the stigmatization of inactivity. Therefore despite their value, the overemphasis of extracurriculars can prevent students from slowing down enough to think, and can create temptation to spend time inauthentically. 2) STANDARDIZED TESTING N.B: I am much better informed about the SAT than the ACT, so I will focus on discussing the former. This category is a (perhaps unwelcome) reminder, on approximately the opposite end of the admissions spectrum from extracurriculars, that “holistic” is not synonymous with “qualitative.” Standardized test scores offer easily comparable data points on student ability, which are the enticing, vindicating products or illusions of objective standards—hence the weight attributed to SAT and ACT scores. To me, far more compelling than their semblance of clear-cut measurements of ability is the metaphor—or amusing coincidence—of the meaning (lack thereof) of both acronyms. “SAT” morphed from standing for “Scholastic Aptitude Test” (1926) to “Scholastic Assessment Test” (1990), to “SAT I: Reasoning Test” (1993), to “SAT Reasoning Test” (2004), to just SAT. The ACT was created in 1959 as the “American College Test,” but it too was stripped of its significance in 1996. That means that today, both "SAT” and “ACT” literally, officially standing for nothing but themselves—which does not speak volumes about the confidence of the two education companies in what it is the much-hyped tests are actually supposed to measure. Today, both "SAT” and “ACT” literally, officially standing for nothing but themselves—which does not speak volumes about the confidence of the two education companies in what it is the two tests are actually supposed to measure. The conceptual flaws of these tests run deeper. The SAT developed out of an intelligence test administered to recruits during World War I, in a time of increasing interest in IQ. As an “aptitude” test, it was not originally a test you studied for—but today, it is, which is where problems arise. Take my criticism here with an extra grain of salt; as a student, I was pretty arrogant about the insignificance of the SAT, so I prepared little and slept less leading up to the test in a hectic junior year spring, and let myself down in how I responded to timed conditions. In November, I took it one more time—since I come from a family that was able and willing to pay the 95 dollar international registration fee again, and to take me to a testing venue in another town. My case is a textbook example of where the well-intentioned measures to level the playing field (e.g. by making “test prep” accessible for free to everyone, online, with Khan Academy) fall short; like most systems, this one struggles to purge itself of socioeconomic disparity. The colleges themselves are aware of this—indeed, it is part of the rationale for the holistic approach, which is supposed to take note of economic inequality among other things. Anyway. I regret my attitude, but I do not regret how little I "studied"—because when you prepare for these tests, as with extracurriculars, the means becomes the end, in what I view as amounting to a spectacular waste of time: drilling for these particular types of assessment teaches you next to nothing beyond being a test monkey. There is a flaw in a system that incentivizes you to choose test prep over studying material for your classes, where the actual learning should be occurring. The SAT consists of reading, math, writing and an optional essay (while the ACT includes a science component), with all (except 13 out of 58 math) questions being multiple choice. I’ve found some of the reading passages interesting, but the analysis requested is still formulaic. The math is lackluster, as are the grammar exercises (although given the tendency not to teach English grammar, you could argue that doing these questions is actually educational). The essay—well, you can almost always learn from writing, but what college seriously needs a writing score when they almost always ask for a sample of your writing anyway, in the form of an application writing supplement? If the idea is that the SAT essay is a control on whether somebody has written your essay for you, aren’t the same people whose essays are bought likely to be able to afford extensive test prep? It's no wonder the SAT can no longer be called a "Reasoning Test"--its essence seems to veer discouragingly close to undermining and contradicting reason. The argument for a standardized test of some form that measures all applicants against one benchmark is understandable. Just as democracy is a terrible form of government, except for all the other ones, exams are a pretty poor way of judging learning—and are also the best we’ve got. All this to say: I take issue not with testing itself, but with the form the test takes. Why not use “meaningful” standardized tests from more in-depth, subject-specific nationalized exams, similar in format to the Advanced Placement (maybe college-preparatory level courses could have end-of-course exams too?), so that you don’t have to choose between studying for your classes and studying for a bland college entrance exam? This would resemble the European approach, with end-of-secondary-school exams that determine college admissions (A-Levels in the UK; “maturità” in Italy; “baccalauréat”—bac—in France…). Just as democracy is a terrible form of government, except for all the other ones, exams are a pretty poor way of judging learning—and are also the best we’ve got. 3) TRANSCRIPT—HIGH SCHOOL GRADES (How irritating and fitting: there’s hardly space to discuss class after spending all those words on standardized testing…) In the US system, standardized test scores are considered in conjunction with high school grades. Taking into account grades from classwork—labs, essays, projects and regular tests—precludes the high-pressure horror of having a final exam be the sole measure of your understanding (as with the previously referenced UK system), and creates an expectation of consistency and hard work throughout any school course. However, when everything counts a little, instead of one thing counting a lot, the classroom becomes a place where, for the best results, you should avoid errors—and if there is less room for error, there are fewer chances to learn from mistakes. When you become more concerned with doing well on the test than understanding the material—memorizing a template or technique without understanding it—true education takes a backseat. This is the risk of assessment without respite. * On the Whole…Holism: A Double-Edged Sword The requirement of personal essays in addition to these three categories—not to mention teacher evaluations, family details and so forth (…maybe next year they could add pets, just be that much more thorough)— completes applications such that we students can indeed be “holistically” evaluated. The system is impressive—with so many components, the shortcomings of some parts of the application are compensated by their counterparts. Yet the holistic approach itself bears blame for pressuring students to lose perspective; to devote inordinate amounts of time and energy to fretting over where they go to college, and to take rejection personally. It is not just your test scores that are rejected—it is you. The person described by your teachers. The voice behind the essays. The personal selectivity of the most elite schools also creates a hierarchy, and a desire to climb, to prove your worth to yourself and others. The sheer number of qualified applicants means that acceptance to a “top school” seems like an acknowledgement that you are part of an in-club for geniuses; that you have some quality, some talent, some special, desirable characteristic that sets you apart. Winning the lottery with acceptance quells trademark adolescent self-doubt, and is a mark of status that can be fitted into the idealized image of ourselves we want to project, on social media as well as in person. Yet the holistic approach itself bears blame for pressuring students to lose perspective. But college applications should not be driven by preoccupation with image, or with becoming part of an “in-crowd.” Fundamentally, any college application process should prompt students to think about the big picture, whether we have already done so of our own accord or not. We should be encouraged not only to consider which areas of study interest us, but to look far enough beyond our immediate circles of friends and family, activities and studies, to become conscious of some of the needs of the world. Awareness of these can ground us while informing frank introspection, as we reflect on our own experiences to ask ourselves: What motivates us? What we can give of ourselves? What are our values? We don’t have to find definitive answers to these questions—but we must ask them. Application essay prompts come the closest to incorporating this big-picture objective into the American process. However, even these must be completed in moderation; I only applied to five colleges, which is very few compared to most people I know, yet by the end of my essay-writing, I felt vacuous, like my introspection was souring into self-promotion. The American college application process is well-intentioned, but pockmarked with issues of image and incentive. As all-encompassing as the holistic approach is, it inadvertently shifts our focus away from the questions that matter the most, prodding us to obsess over “which college” and neglect the issues of what we want to do and who we want to be. It’s up to us to reject that prodding.
1 Comment
Savannah
3/16/2017 10:38:41 am
Fascinating novel! Loved it and recommend to all :)
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Born in Boston, USA, spent six years in Florence, Italy, and now living in Oxford, UK. Archives
July 2017
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