As higher education grapples with the disruptive rise of artificial intelligence, a fierce debate is unfolding over the fundamental methods by which students learn, think, and demonstrate their understanding. This pedagogical friction has only intensified in the wake of institutional shifts, such as Harvard University\u2019s decision to close its Writing Center, signaling a broader vulnerability for academic support systems dedicated to the written word. <\/p>\n
Against this backdrop, a recent opinion piece published in The New York Times<\/em> by a Williams College faculty member has ignited sharp criticism from writing professionals. The colleague argued that writing is no longer the premier vehicle for critical thinking; instead, he contends that talking serves as a superior medium. To adapt to the age of generative AI, the professor permits his students to use AI tools on their papers, provided they can successfully defend their arguments during live oral examinations. <\/p>\n In the op-ed, the professor claimed that at least half of his class demonstrated greater agility, reflection, and clarity during oral exams than they did within the pages of their written submissions. For educators in the trenches of academic support, that bold claim immediately sparked a pressing question: Which half?<\/em><\/p>\n As the director of the Williams College Writing Center, Julia Morgan McKenzie believes her colleague\u2019s perspective on talking as thinking is deeply dangerous. The threat extends far beyond a simple professional disagreement over the relative value of prose; rather, McKenzie warns that an oral-first, AI-tolerant model is dangerous because of the students it inevitably leaves behind. <\/p>\n Writing accomplishes much more than merely granting students a structured opportunity to sort through their ideas and think carefully on the page. It provides each individual student with a reliable voice\u2014including those who cannot easily find that voice in the high-stakes, spontaneous environment of a physical classroom or during a high-pressure oral examination.<\/p>\n Reflecting on the arguments made in the Times<\/em>, McKenzie considered the diverse realities of modern student bodies. She thought of a student raised in a cultural background where women are traditionally not permitted to speak directly to men outside of their immediate family, let alone challenge the perspectives of a male figure in a position of institutional power. It raises a stark question of how such a student would navigate being engaged through messy, searching conversations as a professor attempts to gauge mutual understanding on the spot.<\/p>\n Similarly, McKenzie considered another student who suffered a concussion during the previous semester. Evaluating such a student requires wondering how they might manage being asked to recall a complex thread from two class meetings ago on demand, all to prove sustained attention and independent thought. These scenarios prompt a critical look at the other half of the professor\u2019s class\u2014specifically, whether their confidence in their own thinking was genuinely growing under such conditions, or if the format merely rewarded existing advantages.<\/p>\n Such concerns are deeply rooted in personal academic history. In the fall of 1993, following a year spent waitressing and saving money to afford higher education, McKenzie found herself seated at a seminar table, wrestling with two distinct anxieties: whether her hands would stop shaking, and what on earth could possibly be discussed in a collegiate seminar about the colorful clay she had grown up pressing into spaghetti strings. Having initially misheard her professor mention Play-Doh, she later realized upon receiving the syllabus that the subject was actually Plato. <\/p>\n Fortunately, that initial misunderstanding remained unvoiced because a classmate sitting across the table, who had apparently attended a more resourced high school, had already read The Republic<\/em>. That student spoke about the complex philosophical text with complete confidence, while the professor nodded along in clear satisfaction. <\/p>\n Of course, McKenzie returned to her dorm room and read and reread Plato. As she began to unpack the intricate ideas within the text, she took care to pretend she had never confused the ancient philosopher’s name with a children’s toy. Yet, even as her intellectual understanding of the text expanded, her personal confidence in speaking aloud did not; she never once spoke out in that seminar. The sole avenue through which that professor learned what she thought about Plato\u2014or any other subject\u2014was through her written papers. Evidently, the work resonated; years later, that same professor authored a recommendation letter for her graduate school applications.<\/p>\n Even as her intellectual engagement with Plato evolved, it was never lost on McKenzie that the individuals dominating class discussions were predominantly young men, leading her to wonder whether her own admission to the institution had been a mere administrative mistake. That same historical observation resonates in her daily work today, as she interacts with students who view writing as a significantly safer form of thinking\u2014one capable of alleviating the heavy psychological toll of impostor syndrome.<\/p>\n Labeling such college experiences as mere impostor syndrome, or attributing a classmate’s outspoken confidence purely to male privilege, oversimplifies complex social realities. Many women speak up in academic settings without hesitation, just as many men experience impostor syndrome so acutely that completing a standard assignment can trigger severe anxiety. The core issue transcends simple gender binaries; it centers on the intricate, often invisible power dynamics that animate classrooms and oral examinations, regardless of how earnestly faculty members attempt to mitigate them.<\/p>\n In practical experience, students who have not inherited the specific confidence bred from positions of systemic power and privilege\u2014including women, international students, students of color, and gender-nonconforming students\u2014often feel deeply uncomfortable playing out unformed, tentative ideas in front of an immediate audience. Talking can only genuinely function as a valid form of thinking when a student already feels secure, commands an established stage, and possesses the psychological safety of knowing they will not be interrupted or penalized for hesitation.<\/p>\n When institutions discard writing\u2014whether driven by anxieties surrounding the proliferation of AI or by a philosophical conclusion that speaking is inherently superior\u2014they fail the exact cohort of students who most urgently need to find their voice, process complex ideas, and communicate effectively with their instructors. Without writing, education risks failing in its core mission of teaching every single student in the classroom.<\/p>\n Years ago, McKenzie wrote about the deepening bifurcation that the arrival of the artificial intelligence age would introduce within the student population. Adopting a pedagogical approach that invites students to talk in order to think threatens to institutionalize an entirely different level of division\u2014one that mirrors broader societal inequities by primarily benefiting and privileging white, cisgender men. <\/p>\n While her colleague acknowledged in his Times<\/em> essay that abandoning the safe recursion of revision and narrative refinement will demand considerable courage from students, it remains vital to ask a fundamental question about contemporary society: exactly who is granted the social permission and security to practice that kind of courage in the first place?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" As higher education grapples with the disruptive rise of artificial intelligence, a fierce debate is unfolding over the fundamental methods by which students learn, think, and demonstrate their understanding. This pedagogical friction has only intensified in the wake of institutional shifts, such as Harvard University\u2019s decision to close its Writing Center, signaling a broader vulnerability […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3930,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[72],"tags":[6137,780,80,79,277,81,1875,4412,1102,2539,6112,2037],"class_list":["post-3931","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-education-and-career","tag-assessments","tag-behind","tag-career","tag-education","tag-first","tag-jobs","tag-leave","tag-oral","tag-students","tag-threat","tag-vulnerable","tag-writing"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/xesi.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3931","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/xesi.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/xesi.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xesi.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xesi.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3931"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/xesi.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3931\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xesi.net\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/3930"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/xesi.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3931"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xesi.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3931"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/xesi.net\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3931"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}