Is Classroom Discussion a Dying Art?

One of Kevin Gannon’s favorite class discussion activities doesn’t involve much talking. Inspired by complete-the-story games in which players each write a line of a tale that builds off a previous person’s idea, Gannon, director of the Center for the Advancement of Faculty Excellence at Queens University of Charlotte, North Carolina, uses a similar concept to facilitate “silent discussions.”

He splits his class into groups of two or three and gives each a piece of paper with a question prompt. In the past, his prompts have asked students about specific readings they’ve done or the cause and effect of certain events. The questions need to be open-ended enough to spark conversation between multiple groups, says Gannon, who also teaches history.

Each group has about five minutes to write an answer to the prompt on their paper and pass it to the next group. The papers keep rotating until they’re back with their original group. Gannon then encourages the class to talk about what they were surprised by, how the conversation changed and what they took away from the activity.

After class, he scans the question sheets so students can use them as study guides. They become “living documents,” he says.

The silent discussion activity is one of many ways Gannon helps his students feel comfortable participating in class. Students’ mental bandwidth is narrower than ever before, Gannon says. They’re anxious and stressed, which makes it more difficult to engage in typical class discussions.

“It's really hard right now to be someone of traditional college age; it's really hard for students to see the value of college in the ways that they've been told it's valuable,” Gannon says. “Student motivation, students’ desire to take what [they see as] a risk in participating in class — I don't think students are in the same place in terms of their willingness to engage.”

Research and news coverage in recent years suggest that students don’t participate in class conversations for fear of being canceled or outed for their political beliefs. Studies indicate that this is especially true among conservative students, who believe their liberal classmates and professors will punish them for holding different views.

But Gannon and other teaching experts say this narrative is over-emphasized. To them, the issue lies more with students’ anxieties and fear of being vulnerable in class. Students worry that they’ll be excluded from their friend groups if they say something wrong. They don’t want to engage in conversations that are personal or emotionally charged. They’re coming to class less prepared to engage in meaningful discussion.

While students should be concerned about their mental health and allowed to take a step back when a conversation is too much, some instructors say they’re also missing out on valuable lessons. College is where students learn the most about other peoples’ perspectives. Students also gain important skills that will help them navigate tough situations after they graduate.

Following a year of campus turmoil over the Israel-Hamas war and looming questions about the second administration of President Donald Trump, instructors are finding ways to make classrooms safe spaces for students to discuss difficult topics. They’re ditching traditional discussion activities and looking to connect with their classes on a deeper level so students will feel comfortable speaking up.

“It's not enough to just sort of ask a question or put an issue out there and say, ‘well, what do y’all think,’” Gannon says. “There has to be a lot more preparation. There's a lot more work that goes into creating an environment in which discussions can occur. We need to build relationships of trust with students. We can’t just automatically assume that students trust us.”

Vulnerability is Scary

Most students are experiencing some form of trauma as a result of the pandemic and its aftermath, says Liz Norell, associate director of instructional support at the University of Mississippi. That usually makes students reluctant to participate, she adds.

At the beginning of the year, Norell usually receives awkward silences and blank stares during discussion time. As the year goes on, students get more comfortable, but tell her that they want to talk only in small groups.

Norell predicts that many students fear being excluded. Students worry if they have an opinion that’s different from the rest of the group, they won’t be able to make friends, she says. Especially at the University of Mississippi, where Greek life is popular, students think that what they say in the classroom could affect their social life outside of it, she adds.

Students remember feeling isolated and separated from their peers during the pandemic, Norell says, and are anxious the same could happen in college.

“There's this fear, and I'm not even sure that it's conscious, that if they say something that other people don't agree with, it will undermine their attempts to fit in socially,” Norell says. “That could be a really dangerous proposition.”

Students may also worry about harming their peers, especially during discussions about emotional or controversial topics, says Graham Bullock, an associate professor of political science at Davidson College in North Carolina.

Bullock, who also directs Davidson’s Deliberative Citizenship Initiative, has talked to many students who worry that certain perspectives, especially about a person’s identity, are too harmful to bring up in class.

While Bullock understands these concerns, and sees them as “heartfelt and genuine,” neglecting difficult conversations can be the most harmful, he says. Students don’t learn to engage effectively when they disagree on a topic that’s important to them, he says.

“These conversations are happening outside of academia; they’re not limited to college campuses,” Bullock says. “So, how can students develop the capacity and the resilience to engage with them and share their viewpoints so that people understand where they’re coming from?”

Jeffrey Bernstein, a political science professor and director of the Faculty Development Center at Eastern Michigan University, has noticed a similar trend in his classes, especially when he proposes “hypotheticals” to students.

For instance, Bernstein says, in the aftermath of the 2024 election, many political experts wondered whether Democrats leaned too heavily on some issues, like transgender rights. While this is a fascinating topic, it’s much more difficult for students to talk about because it may directly affect them or their peers, he says.

Bernstein has also found it tougher to discuss issues like abortion, especially since the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade.

“A lot of the issues that might be discussed in a hypothetical realm are really hitting awfully close to home,” Bernstein says. “People don't want to have hypothetical discussions about issues that are really so intensely personal.”

Some students are also coming to college unprepared to participate in complex discussions, says David Gooblar, an assistant professor of English at the University of Iowa. At Iowa, students are still experiencing the effects of spending a disproportionate amount of time learning online. They don’t know how to speak up in class, he says.

This has created what he calls a “preparation gap.” Students from higher-income households are more likely to have received extra support, such as in-person tutoring, before college. Meanwhile their less wealthy peers aren’t used to speaking up in class and don’t understand the value of class discussions, Gooblar says.

The lack of preparation can also make students feel more vulnerable, says Gannon at Queens University. They worry that they’ll embarrass themselves.

“[Participating] feels like a risk,” Gannon says. “Not necessarily because my peers are going to disagree with me, but what if I'm wrong or what if I don't say it the way I want to say it?” The students who may not be as fully confident in their academic selves tend to have a tough time, he adds.

Classrooms as Safe Spaces

It can be difficult for faculty to facilitate relationship-building for students, says Norell at the University of Mississippi. With cuts across higher education, many of today’s faculty members are overworked and feeling burned out; building student relationships can seem like additional emotional labor.

“It just feels like, ‘well, this isn't my job. I'm here because I know a lot about chemistry or philosophy or psychology — why do I have to now be a social connector, as well?’” Norell says. “We're all experiencing the weight of the world in different ways that make everything feel harder.”

Improving class discussions doesn’t have to mean completely overhauling a syllabus, though, Gannon says. Many instructors incorporate small changes into classes that help students feel more comfortable.

Norell sometimes uses an activity similar to musical chairs. Students wander around the room and when she tells them to stop, they must high-five someone near them and have a two-minute conversation. The room gets louder every round, she says.

Gooblar at University of Iowa sets up low-stakes conversations to put students at ease. He’ll begin a class by asking about their favorite places to get lunch off-campus, the best book they’ve read that year or a show they’re watching.

“Giving students, especially early on, opportunities to talk in class and to know that this is a place where you can bring your full self to class, that this isn't a place where you're being judged automatically on getting the right answer even by the professor is really important for establishing that environment,” Gooblar says.

For deeper conversations, Nick Longo, a director of the Dialogue, Inclusion and Democracy Lab at Rhode Island’s Providence College, suggests instructors create a community learning agreement that lays out the ground rules for class discussion, including a promise not to share what’s said outside the classroom.

Gooblar sets strict boundaries, especially for politically charged conversations. Before a class discussion last year about pro-Palestinian protests, he outlined what the conversation would be about and the topics it would cover. He directed students to avoid talking about their opinions and focus instead on free speech, student protests and the ways college administrators responded.

“It's not a class where we're going to settle the Middle East crisis,” he told them.

Overall, instructors need to be explicit early on about their expectations for participation so students can appreciate the value of class discussion, Gooblar says. At the beginning of the semester, he encourages students to think about their own educational experiences. Before each class, he explains what they should aim to achieve that day and how the lesson connects to the overall goals of the course.

Gannon at Queens University asks his students about how they learn, their experience with certain topics and what will make them feel comfortable participating in class. Sometimes he does this in small groups or he has students fill out a form anonymously.

“The more we can do things collaboratively and have students feel that they're invested in and indeed helping guide the process, the more likely they're going to be to trust the process,” Gannon says.

Some instructors build trust by pointing out times that they've struggled or by detailing their own work habits. Norell, for instance, tells students that she tends to complete work right before it's due. She isn't championing procrastinating; she explains her process in the context that there are different ways to get work done.

The approach isn’t for everyone, Norell adds. Younger faculty or faculty of color may not feel comfortable enough being that vulnerable in class.

“But to the extent that we can help students see us as humans and not people who are perfect, who expect them also to be perfect, and to create space for them to be less than perfect,” Norell says, “that goes a long way towards creating the safety and the conditions for students to put down their armor and relax a little bit.”