When Data Speaks

Let me say from the outset that I am fictionalizing details that are to come--but there is truth to the larger idea, if not truth in the details.

Yesterday I had a long conversation about institutional effectiveness, about looking at our data with an open mind, about letting the data speak.

It's always lovely to have a theoretical conversation about institutional effectiveness, about collectible data, about numbers, and the importance of measurable outcomes that we can link to specific initiatives.  I am not as much of a believer that the data will speak as many are.

I have looked at data that spoke in a clear, cold tone--for example, when I see that 20 of the 24 students in a program that left the school took a class and failed it, and 15 of them took that class over again and failed it.

But usually the data doesn't speak to me in that way.  Here's what I usually see:

There are 24 students in a specific program who leave the school.  Six of them we can't find, so we don't know why they left.  Ten of them have had trouble passing classes, but they have all failed a different set of classes.  One of them had a mother who died, and three mention childcare issues.  Four of them listed money troubles when they filled out the paperwork.  One of them took a leave of absence to deal with a medical condition, and the condition worsened, so they didn't come back.  One student had psychotic issues, and we're all relieved that the problem solved itself when the student stopped attending, so we didn't try to contact that student.

Some of these categories intersect with each other, and some don't.  If the data is speaking to me, I can't hear it.

I once made a joke that wasn't really a joke.  I said that I could solve the problems with retention.  It's easy really.  But it isn't cheap.  I'd take over the empty places in our building, and I'd create a cafe in one of them and put a day care center in the other.  I'd hire a mechanic to be on duty in the back parking lot for students who needed car repairs.  Our retention rate would go up to 93%.

I said it in a jovial tone, but I suspect that if I could do those things, our retention rate would zoom right up into the 90's.  This morning on my walk, I fleshed out my ideas a bit.

The cafe would offer cheap, nutritious meals, plus to-go options for people who had to get to class.  Students who couldn't afford the food could either work in the cafe or apply for a waiver.  We would have a student success area in the cafe, where tutors would be on duty.  Students could eat and get tutoring at the same time.

We would offer child care during any time we had class, plus for an hour before and after.  We would have facilities for both well children and sniffly children, so that our students with sick children can still come to class.

The mechanic is self-explanatory.  Maybe we should have a clinic too.  And maybe we could convert the back parking lot, the one that is rarely used and often full of graffiti on the back wall, into low cost housing for students, since we have so little affordable housing in Broward county, where the school is located.

I realize I'm describing something similar to the college where I did my undergraduate work--although we didn't have childcare.  This morning I thought about my fellow students.  Most of us graduated or transferred to places where we graduated.  Many of  us went on to get graduate degrees and/or additional training.  And it's not because we were all wealthy or came from backgrounds that prepared us for college.  Once we were there, the school gave us all sorts of support.  And so, most of us made it to graduation.

Of course, that approach takes money.  Most of us in academia are told to do more with less, more with less, more with less.  Most of us are doing as much as we can, and we are given even less resources.  It's discouraging.

It even makes me think about a different data set, and what I might hear, if I had ears to listen.