Sunday, June 24, 2018

The Ethics of Expectations Revisited

In my July 2014 post “The Ethics of Expectations” I was writing about the rash of people complaining about, and ultimately suing over, for-profit programs in the culinary arts that ended up costing them tens of thousands of dollars to take, but would only qualify them for $8 to $10 per hour starting jobs. At the time I wasn’t really aware of for-profit schools offering law degrees; it’s not a part of the field to which I pay a lot of attention, and there are already a huge number of law programs available through traditional institutions anyway. Last week’s article about the fallout from the Charlotte School of Law fiasco (and my post on the subject) seem to have re-opened the issue, and I thought a follow-up might be in order…

There is a common perception in some of the States, particularly those with a particularly difficult Bar exam, that provided you can pass the Bar no one will care where you got your law degree. In California, for example, where fewer than half of the people who sit for the exam each year will pass it (and stories about people taking five or six tries to pass are common), it’s difficult to imagine that anyone who did pass would have trouble finding work. Maybe it won’t be the most glamourous (or high-paying) job, but surely there will be something you can do with your new credentials. Unfortunately, this wasn’t true even before the market became glutted with lawyers in the 1990s, and it is even less so now…

Despite the old joke about the person who graduates last in his or her class from medical school still being called “Doctor,” unless you plan to hang out a single and go into practice by yourself the school from which you received your degree will still matter. In a field where there will generally be more applicants than available jobs, such as in legal practice, you will very rapidly encounter situations where a managing partner has a choice between multiple candidates with identical credentials except for the quality of the school that conferred their degrees. At that point priority will probably go to the candidate from the best school, or at least from one that does not have a “horrible” reputation…

At that point, we have to question whether allowing anyone who wants to enter your law program, regardless of their odds of passing the Bar or getting a job afterwards, is any less fraudulent than promising people that they can become a celebrity chef with nothing more than a few months of school and a significant amount of debt. I’m not going to address the shenanigans the Charlotte School of Law (and others) have been pulling with fake scholarships and gaming the student loan system, because that absolutely is fraud, but the question of how bad a student can be before you have an ethical responsibility to tell them to do something else with their money and ambitions is still valid…

The problem becomes even murkier because there really are people who don’t do well on standardized exams like the LSAT, or even in regular classes, who really can excel when actually doing the job. When we include possibilities such as regulatory agencies and corporate positions that require law degrees but do not actually involve legal practice, things become even more convoluted, and when you consider that there are also people who have completed fully accredited law school programs and passed their state Bar who are still failures in practice, the question becomes hard to resolve even in the abstract. So I have to ask:

Do we, as business people or as teachers, have an ethical responsibility to exclude students from educational programs in which we sincerely believe they have no realistic chance of achieving any eventual success? Granted that as decent, caring human beings we don’t want to strand anyone with a huge debt that they can’t repay and no viable job opportunities, do we have any right to tell someone that their commitment and hard work will get them nowhere? Does our answer change if our own employment (and survival) depend on keeping students in school, or at least not driving away paying customers? I’m not suggesting that we have an obligation to keep anyone in a program that we know is beyond their abilities just so that our employers can continue to collect their tuition, but things are rarely that cut-and-dried in the classroom. How do we decide when it would be kinder to cut someone loose than string them along, and where do we draw the line?

It’s worth thinking about…

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