Back
in graduate school I took a class in philosophical skepticism. It met on Wednesday afternoons in a
windowless room in the basement of the business building, and every week we
would spend three hours discussing topics like “How do I know that the chair
I’m sitting in exists?” (Does It really matter as long as I can sit in it?)
This was long before Donald Rumsfeld talked about “known knowns,” “known
unknowns,” and “unknown unknowns,” but the class would have been right up his
alley. I lived in perpetual fear that
someone would walk into the class by accident, hear our discussion, and then
padlock us in.
Early
in my college-counseling career I was introduced to a college counselor whom I
found both impressive and intimidating at the same time. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of colleges
that I couldn’t hope to match. Name any
college or university, and he could provide multiple factoids about its
programs and campus culture. He could
wax eloquently about the differences between the education programs at Murray
State and Morehead State despite the fact that he had never lived or worked in
or anywhere close to Kentucky. I couldn’t decide if he was full of (rhymes
with) it or simply a bigger admissions geek than I was (and am).
Over
the past couple of weeks both of those came to mind as two events made me think
about the distinction between what we know and what we think we know. One was an interesting discussion thread on
the NACAC Exchange, and the other was the process of finishing up lists of
college suggestions for my juniors.
A
counselor posted on the Exchange asking for suggestions of colleges that will
be accepting and have support for a transgender student. The ability to get help generating a list of
options for a student with special needs or circumstances has always been one
of the best features of the Exchange and its ancestor, the E-list, and this
particular question seemed much more appropriate than those who ask for
northeastern colleges with an English major.
The
conversation that ensued was vibrant and worthwhile. Several people suggested liberal-arts
colleges with culturally liberal reputations, and one regular poster recommended
that the student look at “activist” schools.
Those generated responses asking why one would assume that a transgender
student is either liberal or activist, or would gravitate to those kinds of
places.
The
more interesting part of the discussions came after another counselor posted
that he was “nervous” about throwing names around and “branding” institutions,
especially when the recommendations as good fits for the student weren’t coming
from representatives of the institutions themselves. Some of the nervousness
clearly was related to the fact that the query had to do with a transgender
student, but some also related to how easily the common wisdom becomes
stereotype. A number of years ago I met
Ted Fiske, editor of the Fiske Guide to
Colleges. “How do you find the time
to visit all these colleges?” he was asked.
“I never visit colleges,” he responded.
“I send out questionnaires, and if I get two back, I can tell you
exactly what a place is like.” At some
level he’s probably right, but that answer bothers me nonetheless, and it
reveals the limitations of guidebooks and other mass-market sources of
information. They are based on a limited
spectrum of opinions, and you are unlikely to find a take on any college that’s
contrary to what the public already believes.
It
turned out that several of those recommending colleges had previously worked at
those places. Another counselor observed
that she would be skeptical of suggestions posted on College Confidential, but
trusted the professional expertise and judgment of the Exchange. And voices such as Jon Boeckenstedt, Jon
Reider, and Scott White (at least several of whom are regular readers of this
blog) weighed in with thoughtful comments about the dangers of treating any
information, even that from knowledgeable colleagues, as gospel truth.
I
found the discussion poignant with because I was working on college lists. It is easy for many families to see “The
List” as a report card on their child (and perhaps on their parenting) and to
take umbrage at the inclusion or exclusion of some name among the recommended
colleges. I have always seen a college list as suggestions designed to expand
horizons rather than a definitive judgment of where I think a student can or
should go to college. Putting together a
college list is more art than science, and impressionist art at that. After many years and many campus visits, I
“know” a lot of colleges, but so much of that knowledge is based on
impressions. I don’t have the expertise
to know with certainty that one institution is better for a student than another,
and if one of the tenets of “fit” is that college selection is personal, then
what I think is best may not be what the student thinks is best.
That
raises a broader question (regular readers of this blog know that we always
love the broader question). What is the
essence of good college counseling? Is it about being an expert, a provider of
answers, or about being a trail guide and coach, an asker of questions and
provider of context and background? Is
the currency of college counseling knowledge or wisdom?
To
some degree that debate mirrors the debate taking place in education about
whether good teaching is about being a sage or a coach. But it is especially timely for those of us
in the college counseling trenches.
There is a perfect storm on the horizon.
At the same time that colleges are coming up with a myriad of
application options and deadlines—Early Decision, Early Action, Priority Deadlines,
Snap Apps—we have a generational change in both students and parents, and it
puts new demands on college counseling professionals. We may increasingly be asked to be managers
and strategists rather than counselors, and that will carry it with
expectations that, like the colleague who intimidated me with his command of
college minutiae, we have specialized knowledge about programs, scholarships,
and the games that admissions offices are playing to maximize revenue and
selectivity/prestige.
I
hope that day won’t arrive soon (or at least after I’ve retired). But it’s a call for our profession to think
about what we know and what we can’t know and be clear about the difference
with students and parents.
We
need to follow our own advice. Just as
we would advise a student not to trust the opinion about a college from a
classmate with different tastes, we should treat any source of information as
one source and not definitive, and we should always understand the difference
between what we know and what we assume.
