Resolving Student-Faculty Tension

A few days ago, I found myself asking an underclassman the following question: what is your least favorite part about Stuyvesant? I was expecting the standard response—complaints about the workload, jokes about the perpetually broken escalators, or perhaps the occasional jab at cafeteria sanitation. But I was surprised and confused at her mention of the tension between students and faculty. The underclassman hesitantly explained that she felt as though certain policies were contributing to frustration, poor teacher reputations, and misunderstandings between the student body and Stuyvesant administration.

Though the underclassman refrained from giving specific examples, a reflection on my three years at Stuyvesant has highlighted the most glaring examples of the ineffective and damaging policies she was referring to—the first of which is our infamous cell phone policy. According to the Stuyvesant website, cell phone usage is forbidden in the school building between the hours of 8:00 a.m. and 3:50 p.m., with the exception of the cafeteria, the library, designated areas on the first and second floor, and when granted permission from individual teachers. A violation of these rules will result in the confiscation of a student’s device, and after the second confiscation, a parent will be obligated to retrieve the device. It is understandable that the administration would like to prevent distractions and academic dishonesty among students by regulating phone usage in school. However, the rationale behind the possession of a cell phone until a parent retrieves it is not as clear. While some may argue that having a phone confiscated three times suggests a pattern of ignoring rules and purposeful misbehavior, the reality is hardly as cynical. As teenagers, the vast majority of high school students use their phones for entertainment during a free period or for communication purposes in between classes. Why, then, should the effect of a punishment for an act as harmless as texting extend beyond the walls of Stuyvesant High School? Is uprooting an entire family schedule—even if just for a day—to retrieve a student’s phone a necessary punishment for communication between classes? And will holding someone’s phone for an unspecified period of time really prevent them from sending a text during the eight hours they spend in school? In short, the cell phone ban is ineffective at preventing phone usage, and it only worsens the relationship between students and administrators.

According to NYC Department of Education Chancellor Richard Carranza, each school has the right to establish its own policy regarding cell phone usage inside “shared spaces, which include gymnasiums, auditoriums, hallways, and cafeterias.” Therefore, it is entirely up to the school administration to decide how strict they would like to make their respective cell phone confiscation procedures. While the policy remains unchanged, individual teachers have taken different approaches to enforcing this policy. Some coolly ask for a phone as soon as they see it, while others simply remind students to put them away. Teachers who give a stern look at a phone rather than confiscating it are spoken fondly of and frequently compared to their stricter counterparts. The former gains the reputation of being “chill” and is thus more enjoyable to have as a teacher, while the latter are avoided. Teachers who adhere closely to the strict cell phone policy are often described as “ambushers” and “phone snatchers.” If one manages to avoid getting one’s phone confiscated, one is likened to a soldier who has “survived” an attack from an administrator. But beneath these humorous undertones is a recurring theme of violence that emerges through students’ particular word choice. Said violence suggests that Stuyvesant students are not only frustrated by the way their legitimate excuses are being ignored but also believe that the punishment they receive for using their devices is simply too severe. In fact, just a few weeks before COVID-19 brought our school to a close, I was present when a teacher asked for a student’s phone in a room of 150 people. The student started crying and desperately tried to explain that she was only texting her parents, only to be met by further anger on the part of the teacher.

Fortunately, it doesn’t have to be this way. The administration is at liberty to change their stance on phone confiscation, removing the looming threat of having one’s device taken from them for as long as a single school year. In the case that students have their phones confiscated three times, they will no longer deflect frustration and anger toward the teacher who took their device upon being given a burdensome punishment. Instead, they will face the short-term consequences of their actions, reflect on them, and be able to retrieve the device at the end of the day. In turn, the policy may become more effective, improve teacher reputations, and most importantly, ease the tension and lack of trust between faculty and students. There is simply no need to instill tear-inducing fear in students just to enforce a policy.

The current cell phone policy and the discrepancies in its enforcement follow a trend similar to that of locker room changing opportunities. At the start of every semester, physical education (PE) teachers remind students that timeliness is a priority, as students have around five minutes to change and arrive to their PE classes on time. As the start bell rings, PE locker rooms are locked and students who arrive late are often not given the opportunity to change in them. Some shamefully walk to their classes unprepared, while others merely change in the nearest bathroom and borrow a uniform from a friend, bypassing their punishment for being late altogether. The ease with which students can avoid these repercussions not only decreases the effectiveness of the policy but also strains the relationships between students and PE teachers. Teachers who leave the locker room doors unlocked for an extra 15 seconds or avoid raising their voices at late students are spoken favorably of. In my experience, these teachers are also the ones with traditionally oversubscribed PE classes, as students view them as more understanding and enjoyable to be in a class with.

In light of the effects that the PE locker room policy can have, it is evident that the desire to enforce punctuality is misinterpreted by students and creates recognizable tension. While a complete reversal of the policy is unnecessary, making slight modifications to standardize it will drastically improve students' perception of notoriously strict teachers. For one, there should be an established degree of flexibility surrounding locker room timeliness. In academic classes, students who arrive one to two minutes late are allowed entry in the class and are usually not marked as late. Congested stairwells, broken escalators, and unforeseeable train delays are respectable reasons for why this may occur. The opportunity to change in locker rooms and be prepared for class should be reflective of that. What’s more, students who do arrive late should not be excessively verbally punished or reprimanded, as they already feel the shame of coming to class late. When teachers raise their voices or make generalizations about their competency as students—“how can you pass calculus but not get to class on time?”—it is perceived as taunting and general overkill by students.

With the phone and locker room policies in mind, there seems to be a general trend amongst Stuyvesant rules: exaggerated punishments are met with student protest, and after a few years, a compromise is established. Take the “coffee policy” that was modified just last year through the advocacy of the SLT: a firm ban on non spill-proof drinks has become much more relaxed as students found ingenious ways to bypass the policy. In short, the current regulation of locker room entry and phone usage bear resemblance to flawed policies that have since been modified. By making these necessary changes, a flaw in Stuyvesant’s culture will be resolved—one that some confidently call their least favorite part about Stuyvesant.