‘Still not scraping the bottom of the barrel’: ‘Rich points’,feedback,disadvantaged students,and solutions

Introduction

This article argues that educators can perform more expertly if they reframe perceived students’ deficits as ‘rich points’, i.e., as opportunities for greater understanding of student needs. An integral resource for identifying these ‘rich points’ is the evidence provided by students themselves – in the form of grades, feedback, engagement, and motivational literacy. While it may be an easy task to recognise positive evidence of student success, since this validates an educator’s self-image of job performance, it is far more difficult to reflect on negative grade outcomes and student complaints, since these challenge the educator’s self-image of job performance. Reflecting on negative feedback also obliges the educator to come up with proactive, tailored solutions to resolve student ‘problems’. Unsurprisingly, some educators might avoid such reflection because they prefer a more passive approach which puts the onus on student ability – especially in first-year courses. This has been characterised as a “prejudice among faculty members that [good] students will not need to be…pandered to, but will rise like cream to the top irrespective of what happens in their introductory courses” (Tobias, 1990: p. 27).

When a university enjoys a stable student enrolment or a cohort which is less ‘demanding’ – due to homogeneity or standard performance – there is little pressure for educators to take note of, or respond to, negative indicators. However, when a university student cohort is typified by high diversity, lower socio-economic background and weaker English-language literacy, the need for educator intervention responding to student need is far more urgent. Such a cohort, and the identification of their needs, along with appropriate solutions, from the evidence which students themselves provide – including confronting complaints or failures – is the focus of this article.

Defining ‘rich points’

This article builds on previous research which tracked course adaptations and student performance in a first year course at an Australian university over the period of 6 years (Hale, 2020). The title of that article referenced a regularly-heard complaint from teaching staff in the faculty - that their university was sourcing students from the weakest possible demographic: i.e., it was ‘scraping the bottom of the barrel’. This article references that comment – which is still heard - as an assertion that the student cohort continues to weaken academically. This article accepts the validity of the observation that students are less prepared than ever for the academic requirements of university, but rejects the comment because: it is offensive; it depersonalises and blames students for their own situation; it problematises and stigmatises perceived student deficits instead of seeking to understand them and to find solutions; it avoids educator obligations as professionals with a duty of care to their students; and it fails to see the deficits for what they really are – opportunities to improve on educator performance and to enable student success.

Indeed, when we reframe “First year students’ literacy deficits [as] not the problem” (Hale, 2020: 244), but as “rich points [i.e.,] surprising occurrences [or] problems in understanding” (Agar, 2000: 94), we should be intrigued by what these ‘deficits’ signify, and consequently, to see them as opportunities to resolve the gaps which are not really anyone’s fault. Or, to put it another way, if we can reconceptualise perceived student literacy deficits as being external to the student – since they are resolvable and are thus not intrinsic to the student – then it becomes a matter of collaborative problem-solving, willingly undertaken by both student and educator.

This reconceptualisation of the collaborative process of deficit resolution as a transformative experience empowers students to develop the necessary skills required for university. The earlier that this empowerment occurs in a student’s university experience, the more likely they are to develop self-confidence and a successful study trajectory - especially if the student comes to university from a disadvantaged background, since for this type of student a pre-existing literacy-capital deficit is compounded by a motivational deficit (Hale, 2020). For these students, the “set of motivation and literacy-capital deficits [is] inter-dependent” (Hale, 2020: 249), and this set of deficits negatively impacts on a student’s Academic Motivational Literacy (or AML), which is defined as “a student’s ability to self-motivate for, and to sustain, effective and independent study patterns” (Hale and Reading, 2016: 4).

However, while many educators may see this AML, or “self-efficacy” (Soederberg Miller, 2010: 190), as predominantly the student’s responsibility, there is more that we can do to meet students halfway. Indeed, since the educator’s job description entails successful teaching, perhaps the educator bears a significant responsibility for the enabling of student AML, and the educator will experience enhanced job satisfaction when a student overcomes literacy ‘deficits’. This supports the reconceptualisation of deficit as a ‘rich point’ from which both student and educator can benefit.

The first year students at Western Sydney University

Students enrolling in the first year course at Western Sydney University (WSU) ¹ are overwhelmingly drawn from the western suburbs of Australia’s largest city, Sydney. Very few international students, or even students from other parts of the city, enrol at WSU, so the student demographics are highly representative of the ‘catchment area’ of the university (Western Sydney University, 2021a). Sydney, a city of over five million people, can be regarded as a city of two halves: the Eastern Suburbs, a region characterised by “ethnic-cultural homogeneity and socio-economic advantage… higher educational qualifications…and four large publicly funded, well-established universities” (Hale, 2020: 245–246); and Greater Western Sydney (GWS), which is a region of high linguistic-ethnic-religious diversity, socio-economic disadvantage and weaker educational attainments (ABSa, 2013; Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2017; NSW Trade and Investment, 2013; University of Western Sydney Pocket Profile, 2009; WSROC, 2013). Additionally, GWS residents did not have geographical proximity to any university until fairly recently: i.e., 1986/9 (Western Sydney University Archives, 2014).

This historical isolation from university options has contributed to a deep-seated poor academic self-image, or “cultural cringe” in GWS communities (Phillips, 2006: 3). Some of GWS’ brightest students historically won scholarships and made the difficult journey (geographically, financially and socially) to the universities in the eastern half of the city, but this was unusual (Hutchinson, 2013). Even today, university study is an option for only a very small minority of GWS residents. This is explainable and compounded by a set of distinguishing features of the various communities in GWS: no historical, inter-generational tradition of university achievement; weaker levels of education in general; poorer access to quality schools and infrastructure; a different set of life-skill priorities, associated with lower-paying occupations or welfare dependency, disability and family and carer responsibilities, the trauma and dislocation linked to recent migration experiences, especially for those with refugee and/or non-English speaking backgrounds; and various religious-cultural-familial obstacles and impediments to education in general (Hale, 2016; Hale and Reading, 2016; Diaz, 2004).

Accordingly, WSU has ‘marketed’ itself as a university of ‘opportunity’, a ‘A University of the People’, or as ‘The Uni That Cares More’ (Hutchinson, 2013; WSU 2021b). This self-labelling recognises that, in an increasingly competitive tertiary market for a numerically static pool of students in Sydney overall, WSU’s rivals entice many high-achieving secondary school graduates away from GWS with scholarships and other inducements, diluting the academic level of its potential student pool even further (Morphet, 2017). WSU also often applies lower scholastic entry criteria in many courses simply to maintain its enrolment targets, because the reality is that the university is “the last choice for many potential students” in Sydney (Hale, 2020: 246). Consequently, the cohort it does attract are characterised by several features: students are highly representative of diverse ethnic backgrounds; they are more likely to be a migrant/refugee or the child of migrants/refugees; they are more likely to come from a home where English is not spoken; they are less likely to have completed high school; they typically are the first in family to have attempted university; they have less familial-community-economic support for studying; they have weaker literacy skills in English; and they are more likely to have family-carer-disability responsibilities which impact on their studies (Hale, 2015, 2016, 2020; Hale and Reading, 2016; Hutchinson, 2013; Diaz, 2004; University of Western Sydney Pocket Profile, 2009; Western Sydney University News Centre, 2012; Western Sydney University, 2021a).

Large-scale research into the first-year experience in Australian universities tends to overlook these distinguishing characteristics of WSU students, because such disadvantage and diversity – which are the norm at WSU – are representative of a minority at the national level. Thus, when research finds that Australian first-year students are overwhelmingly optimistic and successful in their engagement and grade outcomes, being well prepared for university by their high school experience, this is a finding derived – by definition – as an averaged result from multiple universities representative of the overall sector (Baik et al., 2015, 2019). Indeed, the minority of students across the Australian university sector who are “at risk” because of weaker academic ability or “such factors as their motivations, level of preparedness, personal resources, and social networks” (Baik et al., 2019: p. 527), is, inferentially a description of the majority of WSU students. This fact is not examined in any detail in the wider literature into the first-year experience of Australian university students, and suggests an unfortunate neglect, nationally, of minority realities. Therefore, this article asserts that a localised case study confined to WSU can clarify the experience for first-year students in an increasingly globalised university environment (Denny, 2021).

These are disadvantaged students who are typically less prepared for the demands of university than students at other Australian universities, being less able to cope with the adjustment stresses that accompany a university student’s first year. Indeed, the attrition (fail/drop-out rate) for WSU first-year students is up to twice that of other Australian universities. Nationally, the attrition/fail rate is typically less than 20% of all commencements (Gilmore, 2014; Moodie, 2013; Singhal, 2017; Baik et al., 2019), while WSU first-year students fail or drop out at a rate of between 30-40% (Hale, 2020: 245). Many students enrol at WSU without adequate social/study/literacy preparation, and they rarely have the facility to develop the requisite AML, given the disadvantages they experience. Perhaps unsurprisingly, then, some educators at WSU ‘despair’, referring to their university’s recruitment policies (and the students themselves) as ‘scraping the bottom of the barrel’. Nevertheless, this must be rejected as a deeply offensive slur against these students – and, by association, for WSU educators who identify with, or share the same demographic-background as their students.

The effects of this labelling cannot be understated; it creates a barrier between the ‘problem’ and potential solutions. It is already difficult enough for students from disadvantaged backgrounds to negotiate the literacy and study demands of university (Gilmore, 2014; Moodie, 2013; Singhal, 2017). This is compounded by external pressures which further disadvantage already disadvantaged students: “Survey after survey [cite reasons for dropping out which] are beyond institutional control. These are reasons that are personal – like financial pressures or juggling family responsibilities” (Singhal, 2017). Removing the negative discourse which informs such labelling enables the generation of an attitude which prioritises student need. This includes the notion that a more responsive and adaptable delivery of a course can provide these students with the necessary ‘bridge’ to eventual AML – especially if it occurs in the first semester. There is, indeed, some consensus that intervention and support in the first semester for vulnerable students provides them with the maximum opportunity for later success (Alder, 2018; Atherton, 2006; Green, 2006; Smith, 2004). This is the “critical time” when empowering support can mean the difference between eventual academic success or early failure (Alder, 2018: 185); especially if students are supported while they experience the factors which are beyond their control, such as “financial pressures or…family responsibilities” (Singhal, 2017). Effectively, this type of reconceptualisation and practical course reconfiguration is not just academic/scholarly bridging, but also the genuinely affective ennobling of existing student capital; it can be therefore described as ‘meeting students more than halfway’.

Problems in nomenclature and conceptualisation

A major obstacle to finding pedagogical solutions is using language to refer to the ‘problem’ of student literacy deficits. While there is consensus that “first-year students experience difficulty in transitioning to the generic demands of tertiary study” (Hale, 2020: 247; see also Dobozy and Gross, 2010; Goldingay et al., 2014; Hockings et al., 2007; Horstmanshof and Brownie, 2013), the negative labelling of student deficits constitutes a problematising of the issue. However, we know that the issue exists, and we need to discuss the issue of student literacy deficit if we are to resolve it. Some scholars have criticised the negative social-affective connotations of the term ‘deficit’ (Bamber and Tett, 2001; Billingham, 2009; Devlin, 2011; Devlin and McKay, 2014), suggesting a more ‘neutral’ definition of deficit as: “the disjunct between the respective cultural capitals of the student and institution” (Hale and Reading, 2016: 3). Another term has been proposed, which is “socio-cultural incongruity” (Devlin and McKay, 2014: 104), but this is ambiguous at best, and perhaps even obfuscatory. This article proposes the term “knowledge gap” (Neuman, 2006) as an equivalent term for literacy deficit, for several reasons: because it is generic enough to be applied to any aspect of learning required; it is more connotatively neutral; and it refers to an item of knowledge that is sought by the student, and which the educator seeks to facilitate. It is also external to the student and not anyone’s ‘fault’ - merely an achievable, identifiable gap in existing knowledge.

‘Knowledge gap’ may also be more accessible as a concept for students, since ‘deficit’ suggests a complete lack of knowledge, whereas ‘gap’ signifies that there is a measurable, finite difference between the pre-existing capital possessed by a student and the capital level required. Indeed, students in this course seem to intuitively use the concept of ‘knowledge gap’ when they describe their aspirations for success in feedback surveys - students themselves seem to have no problem in identifying their knowledge gaps - as evidenced by the fact that they enrol in the course. It takes courage to take this initial step, for a student who is the first in family to have even attempted university, while having work, family and/or carer responsibilities and for a person with weak educational attainments. Therefore, enrolment is clear evidence of a person willing to undertake a major challenge in pursuit of knowledge requisite for socio-economic change.

Evolution of the course: from ARW to FAE//

In 2009, internal research in the School/Faculty of Humanities and Communication Arts at WSU indicated just a need for a course to furnish first year students with the requisite skills for the requirements of university study (Mowbray, 2013). The skills identified were essay writing, research, referencing/citation, formal grammar knowledge and competence in Academic English. The course (Analytical Reading and Writing, or ARW) was introduced in 2010, but it was not well received by students. A review found that the course had been ‘rushed’, it did not meet its main objectives, and it was not being delivered by educators with suitable qualifications, interest or experience in the field of Academic English.

Subsequently, a major revision of the course was undertaken, including the introduction of an introductory-level Linguistics theoretical frame, an alignment between lecture-tutorial content and course objectives, a custom-written textbook, online resources, and a re-evaluation of assessments. Previous frames taken from Philosophy and English Literature were unpopular with students, who found them esoteric and impractical for the development of core literacies. Research into equivalent courses offered at other Australian universities found that they were either generic (i.e., no theoretical frame) or associated with English Literature or Education theory. It was decided that students would learn about actual language use, comparing and validating the various Englishes they were already familiar with, as a foundation for developing skills in Academic English.

This frame utilised Crystal’s (2003) streamlined approach to Linguistics, contextualising grammar as a practical skillset demarcated from traditional, often anachronistic grammars. For example, Academic English was conceptualised as being a powerful variety/register of the language with its own distinctive grammar – but still only one of many varieties/registers which are efficacious for the communicative needs of billions of people around the world. Accordingly, the course’s materials were reassessed. It was found that the prescribed texts, other available texts on the market, and existing course materials were expensive and not fit for purpose. Therefore, a customised textbook was developed which saved students significant expense, and customised grammar pods and in-course materials were generated and offered to students free of charge.

Assessments were more explicitly linked to course objectives in course materials for students, so that they could see how success in these activities related to key knowledge attainments. Scaffolding of assessments was explained, so that students saw incremental progress in each activity which directed them ultimately to the final essay – crucial since the essay is the mandatory/threshold assessment task in the course. Assessments were broken into much smaller items, many of which were only 5% of overall grade, gradually increasing to the final essay, which represented 30% of grade. Resubmissions were encouraged for students who failed the first writing task, in order to bolster student AML, retention and learning.

Additionally, course content was refined into modules, focusing on aspects of real language use – including community attitudes to varieties of English and grammar, and accent prejudice. This encouraged students to see Academic English as a socially constructed, but advantageous, linguistic norm. Studying English varieties was a deliberate strategy, validating these as being worthy of study. For instance, the study of Australian Aboriginal English (AAE) was especially pertinent. In the wider Australian community, AAE is a little-understood variety of English, but it is prominent in GWS where many Aboriginal Australians live (Behrendt et al., 2012; ABSb, 2016). With its distinctive grammar and non-Standard status, the study of AAE was popular with students because it was relatable, being representative of a community which has traditionally suffered from marginalisation economically, linguistically, educationally, and socially (Krieg, 2006; Eades, 2013).

Other topics chosen for linguistic study included sexism, homophobia, racism, and Standard English ideology. Students were expected to select a topic to research and analyse for language use. For example, students analysed how racist language achieved its effects, i.e., how words enacted a social reality and how they might further disempower an already marginalised person. Students understood that Academic English was a vehicle for making their voice persuasive and authoritative.

Nevertheless, despite many successes, the course was subject to factors outside the coordinators’ control. One of these occurred in second semester 2017, when the university pushed many courses online, to compete with other universities. Additionally, the university lowered its entrance requirements for students – thus, the academic preparation of the student cohort in the course was weakened even further. For the first time in the history of the course, the initial dropout rate rose from less than 10% to an average of 20% in the years following 2017. While regrettable, contextually it is still much lower than the dropout rate for other courses in the Arts program at WSU (30–40%), and it did not affect the overall success of the course for grade distributions and student satisfaction for the students who continued with their enrolment. Most students who dropped out did so in the first few weeks, without attempting the first assessment task or even attending classes. These students, for various reasons, including external pressures, self-selected for disengagement with the course.

The second disruptive event was the management-imposed restructure of the course in 2020: its name was changed to Foundations of Academic English (FAE), marking and teaching hours were halved, it was forced to drop formal instruction in research and referencing, and live lectures were discontinued. After some negotiation, referencing and research were quietly reintroduced, and the live lectures were replaced by recorded lectures and a live session (a type of Q&A) where students were able to meet informally with the course coordinator. This restructure coincided with the third major disruptive event, which was the COIVD pandemic in early 2020. The combined effect of the restructure and the pandemic was a forced, rapid and complete overhaul of all content and delivery, with a thorough rewriting of all lectures and resources for online delivery, and the switch to all classes being offered through Zoom sessions.

The educators in the course exerted themselves well beyond their paid hours to ensure delivery of the course during this disruption – despite clear instructions not to do any unpaid work - and the success of this dedication can be seen in Table 1 (below) which presents the stability of student outcomes in grade distributions, student satisfaction – and perhaps most surprisingly, an actual improvement in the retention rate during this period. This article makes the assertion that educator-student discursive alignment was a key factor in this success, as evidenced by tutor feedback, who, as they experienced a severe ‘learning curve’ in adapting to online-Zoom teaching, commented that they saw it as primarily an obligation to their students, with sentiments such as:

“I don’t mind doing extra prep [preparation] – who else will do this work for our students?”

“But, they’re my students…”

“They [the students] ask me for help. How can I say no?”

“I know I am not supposed to do this, but I need to be ready for my students”

“If I give them more feedback, they will learn more”

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Table 1.

FAE data for 10 years: Retention, grade distributions and student satisfaction rates.

Year	2011	2011	2012	2012	2013	2013	2014	2014	2015	2015	2016	2016	2017	2017	2018	2018	2019	2019	2020	2020	2021	2021
Semester	1st	2nd	1st	2nd	1st	2nd	1st	2nd	1st	2nd	1st	2nd	1st	2nd	1st	2nd	1st	2nd	1st	2nd	1st	2nd
Initial enrolment	1006	1003	1893	362	1890	353	1606	384	1265	354	1160	282	940	329	1106	353	1048	298	824	310	721	276
Final enrolment	940	954	1782	329	1766	332	1494	349	1153	320	1100	266	887	262	911	289	870	250	703	262	567	234
Drop-out rate % (rounded)	6.5	5	6	9	6.5	6.5	7	9.5	9	9.5	5	6	5.5	20	18	19	17	16.5	14.5	15	21	15
GradeDistribution % (rounded)
HD 85–100%	3	2	4	2	3	2	2	4	2	3	2	3	3	2	3	7	5	5	6	6	2	3
D 75–84%	9	7	9	10	8	15	8	12	16	15	16	18	15	12	15	14	18	14	19	14	12	14
C 65–74%	13	17	21	26	23	22	21	17	30	21	30	22	24	26	28	26	22	24	26	22	22	23
P 50–64%	42	43	39	37	37	35	38	34	32	34	28	26	32	29	30	27	29	27	25	30	40	31
F 0–49%	33	31	27	25	29	26	31	23	20	27	24	31	26	31	24	26	26	30	24	28	24	29
Student satisfaction	3.9	4.1	4.1	4.2	4.1	4.5	4.0	4.4	4.3	4.3	4.4	4.4	4.0	4.5	4.2	4.5	4.3	4.5	4.1	4.8	4.7	4.9
Student satisfaction average across university	3.9	4.0	4.0	4.1	4.1	4.1	4.1	4.0	4.0	4.0	4.1	4.0	3.9	4.0	4.0	4.0	4.0	4.1	3.9	3.9	4.0	4.0

This type of feedback indicates a discursive receptivity for the collaborative process involved in this course – educators are clearly meeting students more than halfway, having identified a knowledge gap, which they feel they are particularly suited to address. This discursive alignment is enhanced by the fact that teaching staff who have remained with the course are increasingly ‘demographically synchronised’ with their students; they are typically migrants, or the children of migrants, they are usually bilingual (at least), they live in GWS, and they are ethnically/culturally diverse. This was not a ‘designed’ (or deliberate) outcome, but it certainly seems to explain the natural connection students have with the course, its content, and the people teaching them.

Indeed, the course tends to attract a specific type of loyal, dedicated academic/educator, while remaining isolated from the rest of the faculty. This occurs, even though the course is popular across many faculties for students – many of whom deliberately choose the course as an elective even when their degrees do not offer credit for it (in Law or Nursing, for instance). FAE requires an intense commitment to teaching, marking and genuine concern for vulnerable students with a knowledge gap – for most academics, a literacy course is simply too intense, ‘basic’ and remote from their discipline areas. This has created a situation where FAE is effectively ‘siloed’ from the rest of the faculty as a stand-alone course. This ‘siloing’ of the course continues, however, even though an open invitation exists for any staff member in the faculty to become involved.

Students’ positive and negative feedback interpreted as valuable ‘‘rich points’’

As part of this collaborative process, educators must appraise student skills and knowledge in appropriate ways. Assessments are integral in this appraisal process, as they provide a clear opportunity for identifying the existing skills and knowledge of students in formal, systemic ways, and for offering feedback to students in structured, accessible language. Educator feedback can work in tandem with student feedback as a two-way communicative process (Billingham, 2009; Devlin, 2011; Devlin and McKay, 2014; Denny, 2021; Butcher and Clarke, 2021). This article reframes the two-way communicative process of student and educator feedback as responding to ‘rich points’, and we can seize on these moments of opportunity to correct a course’s direction, or to exploit a course direction which is working well. Thus, it is important to explore what we mean by student feedback.

Students offer feedback when they ask how they can improve, when they complain about, or ask for clarification of, feedback and assessment results, and when they formally provide feedback in the course surveys at the end of semester. These feedback items indicate self-reflection, aspiration, and sense of achievement – and sometimes, disappointment – all evidencing that they are aware of knowledge gaps. They also evidence how students are performing in the acquisition of AML. For instance, when a student offers positive feedback upon receiving a favourable grade in an assessment task, they are indicating an awareness of personal success, and this substantiates a developing AML. By contrast, when a student complains about a grade, articulates personal disappointment, or asks how they can improve, they are expressing negative feedback. The key is to interpret these acts of negative feedback appropriately. While they might be interpreted as a criticism of the ‘system’, or of the educator’s performance - both are possibly justified, and thus should be addressed through review and action – the reality is that the student is expressing an awareness that they are not coping, or that there is a perceived, or actual, disjunct between their current level of AML and the level that they thought they had already achieved, or which they realise they had not yet attained.

Therefore, student feedback, including complaints, is valuable in indicating students’ needs, because it offers important ‘rich points’, or moments of opportunity which can be learned from. Positive feedback is helpful in validating that assessments, content and delivery are effective, but negative feedback is essential in identifying the knowledge gaps which are not being achieved. One indicator of success in this course is that negative feedback has steadily decreased over the past 10 years, signifying that complaints - exposing weaknesses in curriculum, assessments and delivery - have been acted upon. This is corroborated in the improvement in student satisfaction from 2011–2021 (see Table 1).

Student feedback acted on: appropriate responses to ‘rich points’

To substantiate these claims of successful responding to student feedback, two example sets of how it was interpreted, and then acted upon, are presented. In each set, samples of student feedback ² are presented, with key items of student responses rendered in bold, indicating information related to knowledge gaps. A summary of actions undertaken in response to student feedback is then presented.

The first set, offering positive feedback, with comments relating to knowledge gaps being met, is presented below. These comments represent key themes, occurring in thousands of responses over the space of 10 years:

(Year)2019/(semester)2: …being able to ask questions when you don’t understand something is vital. We received so much information and…the help on each of the assessments were [sic] invaluable to passing and also learning how to write better and understand grammar.

Key elements are: grammar knowledge, comprehension of academic material, essay writing ability, English language competence, research understanding, and adjustment to university. In these comments, students are explicit in their identification of personal knowledge gaps, but they seem to be motivated by a feeling of achievement; they have identified, and reflected on, their prior weaknesses in the context of having overcome them. They also clearly attribute their success, not to their own efforts, but to the course content and educator feedback. One especially candid comment epitomises this link between self-reflection on knowledge gap and sense of accomplishment: ‘The best aspect was actually learning where I was failing…’. This reflection on knowledge gaps, tied to a sense of achievement, is integral to the acquisition of AML, because students are motivated by seeing their own measurable progress.

The utility of positive feedback is to bolster the aspects of the course which students see as useful. One initiative was asking tutors to be more positive in feedback on assessments and during tutorials, emphasising strengths of student writing/verbal responses, before offering criticism. This reinforcing approach enabled students to celebrate their existing knowledge/skills, and also to be offered ‘micro-steps’ of more realistic improvements.

By contrast, negative feedback presented more challenges. By definition, negative feedback was critical of educators and course aspects, and sometimes these criticisms – being anonymous and often motivated by student failure - were confronting and candid. However, once the feedback was ‘digested’ for meaningful ‘rich points’, steps were taken to address student concerns. The following sets of student comments are arranged in chronological order, with key concerns (‘rich points’ in bold) identified:

2012/2: Some aspects of the unit should be elaborated more. I’m learning more from tutorials than the lectures. The assignments and unit outline were poorly worded. Marking guidelines. Better, relevant lectures. All tutorial groups should do the same topics. More practicing of grammar, vocabulary, usage.

These comments reflected the disorganised nature of the course’s early instantiation. Enrolments peaked during 2012 at over 2200 students annually, requiring the large-scale recruitment of 30 + tutors, and multiple lecturers, from diverse discipline backgrounds, and most without any experience in the field of Academic Literacy. Course learning objectives/outcomes were not explained for students or consistently applied. The experiment of allowing tutors freedom in topics and learning activities failed because it lacked cohesion in implementation and delivery.

From the ‘rich points’ identified, the following actions were taken:

• A Linguistics-background coordinator was appointed, and the course was overhauled.

By 2016, negative feedback had decreased to around 10% of all feedback. Refinements were constantly being made, but it appeared that students still had some legitimate complaints about aspects of the course.

From the ‘rich points’ identified, the following actions were taken:

• In partnership with the university’s preparatory-affiliated College, funding was obtained for literacy workshops and for support sessions. Students were given extra support in grammar, essay writing, and online consultations via ‘e-tutors’ who provide confidential feedback through email on student drafts.

From the ‘rich points’ identified, the following actions were taken:

• Digital excerpts of the textbook are provided for students, with salient content covered in the lecture notes and in other resources.

A measurement of success

This article asserts that identifying ‘rich points’ from positive and negative student feedback has resulted in strategies and innovations integral to the overall success of the course. This is evidenced by more objective data: grade distributions, student feedback/satisfaction with course and teaching, and retention rates. These data are presented below, in a table covering 10 years of the course.

Several features of the data are now discussed in more detail.

Conclusion, limitations and implications for future research

This article argues that student success in a core course in an Australian university located in a culturally-linguistically-ethnically diverse and disadvantaged region has been achieved through innovations. This includes reconceptualising negative student feedback and results as ‘rich points’, i.e., a resource providing insights into how to help students. Alternatively, seeing students as ‘the problem’, signifies that some educators view disadvantaged and under-performing students as an obstacle to their own educator role. Such an attitude is blatantly unjustified – the reality is that students from these backgrounds are demonstrating courage and determination to succeed, just by enrolling at university. Once enrolled, there is effectively an implicit contract between student and educator where the educator provides the skills and knowledges that are sought by the student. This contract continues until the student develops AML, meaning that the student is an autonomous learner, equipped with the literacy/knowledge that they came to university to achieve.

Further, when students are reconceptualised as active partners in this relationship, the learning process becomes a collaborative experience. Substantiated outcomes in this course evidence that such aims are feasible and worth pursuing. It is therefore evident that the educators in this course are highly motivated to meet their students ‘more than halfway’ – something which happens when educators discursively and pedagogically locate their teaching at the knowledge gap which students occupy, before scaffolding the students into learning objectives. This requires constant reflection, review and adaptation of existing course structure, resources, content, delivery, assessments, and methods for student engagement. It also requires some discursive/affective connection - and it is no ‘pure accident’ that the most effective and motivated educators in this course are now, fortuitously, predominantly drawn from the same backgrounds as their students. Such an outcome is not to be underestimated in the context of WSU, where so many challenges exist for both educators and students. Indeed, when a student succeeds in this course, both educator and student sense that something remarkable has been achieved, given that “achieving AML is scholarly behaviour typically beyond a student who is disadvantaged by having no model of academic success at the personal, familial or social level” (Hale and Reading, 2016: 4). This discursive alignment and collaborative motivation, hopefully, will ensure that current and future challenges will be met, and overcome.

Nevertheless, there are some important concerns associated with this study. Firstly, there is the matter of limitations. Secondly, there is the scope for further research. This article does not claim to describe or analyse any context beyond one case study of one course at one university in Western Sydney, Australia. It has, however, demonstrated that the original study’s claims (Hale, 2020) are supported by a 10-years, longitudinal, in-depth analysis of the relevant data. The logical next step is to research similar – if they exist - and dissimilar university settings in Australia and elsewhere, comparing and contrasting approaches, to establish commonalities and differences. This has wider implications across the university sector, because in an increasingly globalised education context, many educators share common concerns about student retention and success. In short, there is always something we can learn from each other as educators.

Specific research questions might include the following:

• How much of a role does discursive alignment between educator and student play in the engagement of students, and is effectiveness as an educator more important?