Tar Heel Blues

Those of you who know me know that I am among the most loyal (and vocal) fans of my alma mater. My beloved Carolina. I adored my time there, met my husband and some of my closest friends (even to this day) there, was challenged with GREAT academic rigor there, sat under some of the most beautiful oak trees, and yes - yelled until I was hoarse for anyone in a Carolina blue uniform with an interlocking “NC” on their chest.

But I can’t help but feel shame and embarrassment over what’s going on in the latest academic scandal over the alleged posting of Julius Peppers’ transcript on a UNC portal. Because, see, I also work in higher education, and I’m an advocate for integrity in my profession. I spend my days working through lunch and spontaneous schedule changes for my academic institution - and more importantly for my students. I hold myself and my staff to high standards so that we might provide one piece in the integrity of the degrees we confer. But it’s more than that - my institution requires that I hold these high standards. The government requires that I use this same integrity in my work (as I wouldn’t be employed if it weren’t for state tax dollars), and - though I’m not a betting woman - I’d put $20 on the line to say that there are few part-timers (or work study students) who don’t know the basic rules about providing student information to anyone, much less on a website.

(Side note: I also have been editing and contributing to my department’s webpage since the days of Frontpage, and I can assure you, no document is ever posted online to a website “by accident.”)

Mike (my husband) and I were talking about the scandal last night as we were making dinner, and I told him of my clear memories of the poor academic advising I got as a student. (And remember, I LOVE this place). But fortunate for me, I had parents who had gone to college, and I had friends who suffered together with me. We compared notes and guidelines, and somehow it all worked out. And it’s not that I never went to see an academic advisor, but I was never formally encouraged to go. It almost felt like I was given a box with puzzle pieces and it was up to me to find the corners and straight edges. The rest just seemed to fall in place.

What I’ve learned since that time in my professional experience, is that an institution has to be an active player in a student’s success. Even if they graduated 2nd in their senior class. Or, even if they’re a #1 football recruit. The difference is that this kind of commitment to students - and to their success on the field and off - takes time, work, money, staff, constant evaluation, and trust that the students can be successful ON THEIR OWN, but with support of the institution. And it HAS to be done above board. 

Now, I’m not naive enough to think that athletes like Julius wouldn’t feel (as his agent and former academic “counselor” says) “overwhelmed by being in a classroom with high SAT scorers.” I did a pretty good job in high school and, yes, I felt overwhelmed. That’s what college is about. It’s supposed to challenge you to think in ways you’ve never felt before. It’s supposed to make you think you might not be able to cut it. It’s supposed to face you with a challenge that you work hard to overcome. I did that. Football players do that. Musicians do that. It’s part of the gig. 

But what the university should have been there to do is to create unique environments where all learners could succeed. Learning communities with athletes (from the football team and across sports), college preparation courses that could help support a student’s understanding of how they learn best, training for faculty about what life is like for a student athlete, especially an underprepared student athlete. The tactics are only limited by an institution’s willingness to commit to student success, and willingness to commit to unique ways of serving students. Unfortunately, I fear too much that the University of the People found it easier to look the other way and focus on the shinier pot of gold that a good football program brings. 

It’s too bad Carolina. I’m still in love with you, and I’ll still continue to be a fan. But I feel a little like your silver coating is tarnished. 

I challenge you to do better. I know you can, and I hope you will.