In her recent op-ed, Opinion Columnist Julia Poggi describes the frustration of looking around a room and seeing “a wall of silent, disengaged students.” It is a striking image — one that resonates with many who have experienced a classroom where participation feels more like an obligation than a dynamic exchange of ideas. Poggi argues that this reluctance stems from exhaustion, performance anxiety and an unspoken fear of being perceived as a “try-hard.” In her view, participation has become either performative or absent altogether, with discussions dominated by a handful of voices while others disengage behind laptop screens.
Poggi identifies real challenges, and the fact that many students share her experience must be taken seriously. However, I would like to offer a perspective from the other side of the classroom — one that might help students better understand how participation looks from a professor’s point of view. Silence does not always mean disengagement and I have not encountered the quiet classrooms she describes. This semester, for example, I teach The Past and Future of Holocaust Survivor Testimonies, a hands-on course that explores evolving forms of Holocaust survivor testimony, combining historical analysis with AI methods. Students work collaboratively on these largely untouched archives, examining how testimony and memory have been recorded, interpreted and reshaped across different historical and cultural contexts. Last week, I struggled to keep up with all the hands raised as we analyzed relationships and encounters between 1939 and 1945. I have thus found participation to be a dynamic process rather than a simple function of student motivation, social anxiety or digital distractions. Participation flourishes when students are given open-ended inquiry, collaborative interpretation and structured opportunities to connect. That process, however, does not happen automatically. Below are two ideas that can help foster meaningful engagement in the classroom.
First and foremost, one of the most effective ways to encourage participation — at least in the humanities — is to ask open-ended questions that do not seek a single “right” answer. A rigid, instructor-led model can discourage engagement, whereas a dynamic, adaptive approach draws students in. Discussions thrive when students feel their contributions actively shape the conversation rather than merely affirm what is already known. Last week, for example, we examined human behaviors in video testimonies. Instead of asking students to categorize responses as simply “hostile” or “sympathetic,” we explored how tone, pauses and omissions shaped our understanding of others’ behavior. This reframing led to a rich, layered discussion in a class attended by students from disciplines as varied as information science, economics, psychology, government, history and sociology. Because the questions had no predetermined answer, students recognized that their interpretations mattered — not only within their own field but in dialogue with others. The result was an energetic exchange that transcended disciplinary silos.
This same approach works in traditionally rigid settings as well. When I was a guest lecturer for Antisemitism in the Courts and in Jurisprudence at the Law School earlier this semester, students — once encouraged — did not hesitate to debate complex legal and historical questions. The notion that some disciplines are inherently more silent than others often overlooks the role of classroom structure in shaping discussion. Rather than accepting silence as inevitable, instructors can thus create low-stakes opportunities for engagement — such as short reflective writing exercises, peer discussions before full-class debates, or inviting students to submit questions anonymously. In my experience, these small adjustments make participation feel less intimidating.
Therefore, equally important is fostering a collaborative atmosphere where participation feels like a shared effort rather than a performance — something Poggi rightly emphasizes. However, in my experience, Cornell is better positioned than other Ivy League institutions in this regard. At Harvard University, where I taught until last year, I saw this hesitation in full force. One day, I brought a cake to class, and nobody touched it — until a student confessed a week later that they didn’t want to be the first. This reluctance exemplifies the dynamic of classroom participation: Often, students hesitate not because they lack thoughts to share, but because they are waiting for someone else to break the silence. At Cornell, I have observed a greater ease in classroom exchanges, where students are more willing to take that first step.
To students, I would emphasize that this reluctance is completely normal. In my courses, it typically takes two to three weeks for discussion to flow naturally. One major reason is that, at our large university where isolation is common, students often do not know their classmates when a course begins. Speaking up in a room full of strangers can feel daunting. Similarly, the fear of speaking up often stems from a growing culture of competition. When students view participation as a performance — where their contributions ought to be flawless or impressive — many will opt for silence rather than risk being judged. To counter this, I have made structured group discussions a staple of my courses, allowing students to first build confidence in smaller settings before transitioning to full-class discussions. This fosters a sense of community, making participation feel less like a competition and more like a shared intellectual process.
Ultimately, participation is not just about getting students to speak more; it is about creating an environment where they feel encouraged and equipped to contribute. I teach students from across the university, including engineering, business and the agricultural college. In my courses, I make a point to emphasize that there are no stupid questions, only stupid answers — because engagement often begins in unexpected ways, opening up new avenues of discussion and revealing gaps in our assumptions. By reinforcing that all contributions have value, I encourage students to see participation not as a test of knowledge, but as a mutual process of exploration and discovery. To be sure, taking classes outside one’s comfort zone is both brave and exciting. We should take silence as an opportunity — to open up the questions, to get to know each other and to ensure that everyone, when ready, has the space to speak. The next time you hesitate to raise your hand, remember that participation is not about performing — it is about making the classroom a space where your voice, and those of your peers, truly matter.
Jan Burzlaff is a postdoctoral associate in the Program for Jewish Studies. He can be reached at jb2825@cornell.edu.
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