Forget FERPA

For the past five years, for different reasons, I have had FERPA (the Family and Education Rights and Privacy Act) drilled into my head. “And what do you say,” I can still hear the Dean of Students from Pacific University saying, “when a parent calls saying that she desperately needs to get in contact with her son?” And I can hear myself as part of a chorus, repeating: “I can neither confirm nor deny that your son is even a student at this institution.” In other words, you need to get in contact with your son? Call him. Don’t call the school. We are not the middle man.

This is what I practiced for years – from being a House Tutor/Academic Resident Assistant at Pacific to being a writing instructor at Oregon State. I learned these rules well. You don’t share information about your students with other faculty members. You don’t tell outsiders about your students’ progress. And you certainly don’t let other people’s parents know how well other parents’ children are doing in class. That’s just wrong.

Not so in France. At the beginning of December, I attended what is called a “conseil de classe,” or “class council meeting.” You see, French high school classrooms are constructed much like American elementary classes, where each year students have the same classmates for every class. They do not change individually from class to class like American high schools, but rather the class as a whole moves from subject to subject. As a result, the “conseil de classe” can evaluate the entire class on its behavior and academic progress.

Yesterday’s meeting discussed a class of Terminale STG – in other words, these are high school seniors who have not chosen to specialize in the sciences, humanities, or business, but rather more hands-on subjects (sometimes the STG are stereotyped as the kids who take shop class instead of AP European History). I work with these students once every week, so I was allowed to sit in on the meeting. Here are some of my notes:

In attendance: 2 student delegates, 1 parent delegate, about 10 teachers (all the teachers who work with this particular class), the Vice Principal, and me.

Without the delegates: The vice principal has projected a screen with an Excel document of every student’s individual file, as well as statistics for the class as a whole. From a FERPA perspective, this is dangerous information. There is everything on every student, from personal information to their class rank to their individual grades and comments. Wow.

I was shocked by the opening remarks: “Let’s start with so-and-so. His father is handicapped and lives in Paris.” Inserts “ohs” and “now, I get its” here. (?!) Another girl’s record of absences was discussed. It was suspect, was the general opinion. “She’s, ummm…particular, that one,” one teacher said. Particular.

Enter the delegates, 2 students from the class and a mother of another student.

One teacher gives a long interlude on his opinions on the class as a whole. Their work is too mediocre, he announces. Not sufficient to sustain them through the BAC exam. “Oh, and have we mentioned that they had a total of 251 absences in one trimester?” Insert more disturbed “ohs” and “now, I get its” here.

The vice principal continues the speech, turning to the student delegates and warning them about the dangers of failing the BAC. “You must work hard this year,” he tells them. “This is serious. If you don’t pass the BAC, there isn’t any guarantee that you will have a place in the class next year.”

The vice principal allows the parent to speak. She first begins with benign comments: “oh yes, I agree with what you have said. I have heard similar comments from other parents…” etc. Then she got a little defensive: “My son was really lost at times this trimester. He didn’t know what to do to prepare for the BAC.” Was she pointing fingers at the teachers present? Or simply reiterating what she had perceived?

The vice principal allowed the students to speak. One said that he agreed with the comments, but had no idea that there were so many absences. Were the numbers correct? Really, he said. I had no idea there were that many.

The rest of the session focused on individual critiques. What the teachers did was evaluate each student, looking at his or her grades and teachers’ comments, and write global comments and suggestions on their report cards. For one student, all the teachers agreed that she was fragile. She needed encouragement. So, on her global commentary, the vice principal wrote, “Keep going! Keep pressing on.” And to the teachers, he instructed that they encourage her more, both in her studies and in regards to her behavior in class.

Other commentaries were not so nice. “Student A has an attitude,” one teacher explained. “I mean, wow…look at her grades. Insufficient.”

And another: “Student B was held back (“She’s getting better!” someone yells out). If she’s a 5th year senior, she needs to work a little harder. And seriously, she’s getting a 9 [out of 20; approximately a C] in gym class? What is she doing there?”

But even the best student in the class could not escape criticism. His grades were unspeakably good – all high As, except for in philosophy (might I add that the highest grade the philosophy teacher gave was a 10/20 – in other words, a C?). The vice principal and teachers were ready to write, “Way to go! Congratulations!” when the philosophy teacher raised his hand and said, “I don’t think his work is good enough for a “Congratulations!”. Can’t you tone it down to a simple “good work”? The vice principal looked disappointed, but relented to the request. “Good work,” he wrote.

It’s a pretty bleak world when the best student in the class is reduced to a simple “good work” instead of a “congratulations!” But that is the strict nature of the French education system. Everything is noticed. No one gets out unscathed.

And everyone knows about it.