A student exposed me on the campus Confession Wall, calling me a "total fraud" of a professor because I never took attendance. What the netizens didn't know was that my "Contemporary Literary Criticism" class was an elective. The syllabus clearly stated: 30% for participation and group projects, 70% for the final term paper. The big paper was the real deal. But the internet decided I was "ruining the youth" and "waiting for retirement." Fine. I’ll give the people what they want. I posted an announcement directly in the class GroupMe: "In response to student feedback regarding classroom discipline and academic standards, and acknowledging that previous attendance policies were too lenient, effective next week: This course will implement a strict, mandatory roll-call policy for every class. Attendance will now account for 10% of the final grade. Furthermore, the final exam format will change from an open-book term paper to a closed-book, in-class written exam." The group chat exploded. Students who usually lurked, borrowed homework, or begged for study guides suddenly came alive. "Professor, we were wrong! Your old way was perfect!" "Please, change the grading scale back!" A few students even blocked the door to my office, begging with sad faces for me to reverse the policy. 1 This semester, my "Contemporary Literary Criticism" class was packed. The lecture hall was full, mostly because of my reputation: "No attendance, no failing." A boy in the back row named Sean stood up, interrupting my lecture with a deliberately provocative tone. "Professor, isn't it boring just reading off the slides every day? This is a top-tier university, and you don't even take attendance. Isn't that a bit... water-downed? Where's the academic rigor?" The room went silent. The class rep, Sarah, quickly scolded him. "Sean, sit down! Professor Lee's class isn't about forcing people to sit here. You actually learn real skills." Another student chimed in, "Yeah, last year a senior used his final project from this class as a portfolio piece and got hired by a Fortune 500 company. Isn't learning practical skills better than just sitting here like a zombie for attendance points?" "Oh? Is that so?" Sean drawled sarcastically. "Taking attendance is an attitude problem. If you can't even maintain basic classroom discipline, how can you claim to have high teaching standards? Without structure, content is useless." Sarah and the other student looked annoyed but shut up. Many students around them started jeering, looking at Sean with admiration. Emboldened, Sean straightened his back, his words becoming even sharper. "Professor Lee, I think since we are an Ivy League-level school, teaching management should be more standardized. Like attendance. Even if it's an elective, it shouldn't be this casual. If we had strict sign-ins, or even GPS check-ins, it would reflect the school's rigor, right?" I looked at him, amused. I remembered this student, Sean. Last semester, he submitted a final paper with a 70% plagiarism rate on Turnitin. The logic was non-existent. I failed him immediately. He came to me later, begging and pleading for a pass, but I turned him down. He looked furious then, but didn't say a word. So today, he was here for revenge. Pathetic. "Sean, I hope to attract minds interested in knowledge, not bodies tethered by attendance. 70% of the grade is the final project. That's the real battleground. What's the point of tying people to their seats if their minds aren't here?" Sean's smile froze. "Professor, I didn't mean that. I meant combining discipline with freedom is the art of teaching management." I interrupted him. "I only know that giving students the power to choose and be responsible for themselves is the greatest respect. If you think it's worth it, listen. If not, leave. We're in college. Treating adults like children is pointless." He argued unconvinced, "I'm just making a suggestion." After sitting down, he muttered loudly, "Old stubborn fool. Can't reason with him. Just uses his title to suppress people. Feeding us chicken soup without asking if we want to drink it!" I didn't pay much attention to this episode, dismissing it as youthful arrogance. I've been teaching for over ten years. I stick to this method because I believe the core of university education is awakening internal drive, not indoctrination and control. I've seen too many "well-managed" students get lost the moment they leave campus. But after class, seeing the hostile looks some students gave me, I had a bad feeling. 2 When I got home and started prepping for tomorrow, a colleague sent me a link to a TikTok video. "Lee, you're trending on Campus Wall. What's going on? Better handle this with the poster privately before it blows up." My heart sank. I clicked the link with trembling fingers. The video was titled: [Gen Z Student Cleans Up 'Water Course': Professor Never Takes Attendance. Is This Irresponsible?] It already had over 100k likes. The poster's profile picture was Sean's face. Caption: "Mustered the courage to suggest the 'Water Professor' standardize teaching and manage attendance." The video cut to me saying: "You can come or not, my class is just like this." My patient explanation of the grading criteria and teaching philosophy had been edited and autotuned to make me sound like an arrogant, unreasonable dictator. It was followed by a shot of an empty classroom after class, captioned: "Besides me, the brave student who dared to speak up, no one wants to listen to this Water Professor's nonsense." "We don't need so-called freedom. We just need a responsible teacher, a class worthy of our tuition and youth. Is asking the teacher to take attendance and maintain order too much?" In the ten minutes I watched, the comments jumped from hundreds to tens of thousands. [There are still teachers this lazy? Never takes attendance?] [Good job, bro! Expose him! Which school? What class?] [This kind of tenure-track trash needs to be cleaned up. Support you!] [No wonder college grads can't find jobs. It's because of professors like this.] I was so angry I saw stars. I put 70% of the grade on a project that tests real ability, and he calls it "irresponsible." I tried calling Sean, but his phone was off. I could only watch as the likes climbed from tens of thousands to millions. I arrived at school early the next day. Sean, leading a group of his "supporters" (the class committee), was waiting at my office door. The sports rep, Mike, a 6'3" giant, stood in front of 5'7" me like a wall, using his biceps to intimidate me. "Professor Lee, Sean is just looking out for the class. No malice intended. We just hope the course can be more standardized and cohesive. The public is watching. If you don't change the attendance policy, how can you keep up with the times?" Sean smugly showed me the post with two million likes. "Professor, this isn't just my request anymore. It's the universal call of the students." I said calmly, "The syllabus and grading criteria were announced at the start of the semester. They won't be changed easily based on one-sided words." Sean smirked. "Professor, rules make the world go round. The netizens' eyes are sharp." "The video has millions of views now. If you don't think of a solution, I can't guarantee it won't reach the Dean, or even bigger platforms." This was an open threat. Just then, my phone rang. It was the Department Chair. "Lee, what's going on? I've received several calls. People are seeing videos online saying your class is loose and 'watered down.' The impact is very bad. Be careful." "Also, the Academic Affairs Office called. They saw the online sentiment and want our department to investigate and provide a statement ASAP." Seeing my face change, Sean's smile widened. He even shook his phone screen at me, showing the rising share count. "Professor Lee, do you still think this is just me being unreasonable?" I clenched my fist and refreshed the post. Sure enough, the video had been uploaded to TikTok and YouTube, and our university's official account was tagged. What chilled me even more was that the thread of comments cursing me as a "Water Professor" had reached ten thousand. 3 [I'm Professor Lee's student. Besides reading off PPTs, he knows nothing.] [Using 'academic freedom' as a cover for laziness. Typical tenure abuse.] [I envy other professors who give study guides. We have to guess what's on the exam.] These accusations made me dizzy. The boy who said I "only read PPTs"—last semester his paper was a mess. I called him to my office and helped him revise it sentence by sentence for three nights. He got a B+ and cried, saying, "Professor, I would have failed without you." The girl envious of study guides—a month ago she posted on Instagram thanking me for a book recommendation that sparked her academic interest. The photo was of the out-of-print book I gifted her. But now, they could lie through their teeth and follow Sean to paint me as an unforgivable academic fraud. This fickleness was like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing all the passion I had poured into teaching over the years. Looking at the IDs eagerly piling on in the forum, I suddenly felt like a complete idiot. Staying up until 3 AM to prep lessons, spending my own money to buy hundreds of classic books for the classroom library, resisting the pressure of research KPIs to leave time for student questions. I gave everything, hoping to ignite even one or two minds thirsty for knowledge. And the result? They just want you to highlight the key points, leak the exam questions, and hand them an easy A. I actually thought I was doing something meaningful. Overnight, I went from "the most open-minded Professor Lee" to a morally bankrupt "Water Course Slacker." My DMs were filled with filthy curses. Someone even photoshopped my lecture screenshot into a funeral portrait with the caption "Misleading students, deserves to die." Early the next morning, the Department Chair found me, dark circles under his eyes, voice hoarse. "Lee, the students who started this must apologize publicly and delete the posts." "The school will also issue an official statement to defend your reputation." I pointed to a top comment: "Waiting for the school to whitewash their own. Academic trash get out." I smiled bitterly at the Chair. "Do you believe that once the statement is out, the label of 'school protecting its own' will be slapped on, and my teaching career will truly be over?" He froze, mouth opening and closing. "But what they said is false!" When a person is pushed onto the gallows of public judgment, does the truth matter? How many scholars have been ruined by public opinion? I tried to cheer myself up, forcing a laugh. "It's okay. There will always be sensible students who will stand up and speak the truth. Can white really be turned into black?" But when I refreshed the forum and saw a new post from thirty seconds ago, I was struck by lightning. [Insider Info: The book list Professor Lee recommends is full of unsellable books. He colludes with booksellers for kickbacks. He forces us to buy reference materials and takes a 50% cut.] The poster's avatar was one I knew well. Mike, the sports rep. The Mike whom I personally visited in the hospital when he was sick, and to whom I gave my own out-of-print book. This post was instantly pinned and exploded in popularity. My anger was replaced by exhaustion. The last shred of illusion about the teacher-student bond was shattered by these vicious attacks. I looked up sharply out the office window. The academic building was brightly lit. I could imagine how many students behind those screens were excitedly typing away, not studying, but participating in this collective crusade against their teacher. I didn't dare to imagine. Yesterday I was up late grading their thesis outlines. Today, these students who claimed to respect teachers were probably plotting my demise in group chats. The Chair suddenly handed me his phone, face grim. "Lee, Vice President Wang. He's in charge of discipline." I took the phone and spoke calmly. "VP Wang, please rest assured. I will give the school, and myself, an explanation." Standing aside, the corner of Sean's mouth curled into a triumphant arc. "Professor Lee, admit your mistakes early. Release the final exam questions and study guide, and we can say a few good words for you in the threads." "Otherwise, when the school issues a punishment, it won't look good for you." "By the way, I have an interview with the campus radio station at 10. Your time is running out." I stood up, walked to the Chair's desk, picked up the "Crisis PR Plan," and tore it in half. "Contact all media. 10 AM, Liberal Arts Building, Lecture Hall 101. I'm holding a press conference." "I have an important decision to announce." The Chair hesitated. "Lee, are you compromising? We can't bow to this kind of behavior." I interrupted him coldly. "Chair, don't worry. I will never surrender." With that, I turned and left the office. Behind me, I could hear the suppressed snickers of Sean and his cohorts. Laugh. The harder you laugh now, the harder you'll cry at 10 o'clock. 4 At 10 AM, Lecture Hall 101, which seats hundreds, was packed with reporters and rubbernecking students. All eyes were on me—a mix of excitement, curiosity, greed, and anticipation. They looked at me like a convict about to be executed. Sean and Mike were surrounded by a group of students in the center, looking like rebel leaders against authority. Sean even set up a tripod and started livestreaming. "Fam, the unethical professor is bowing to pressure and apologizing publicly. This is a victory for students. As long as we unite, we can get Water Professors fired forever." "Let's witness history together." I walked slowly onto the podium. Microphones and cameras were shoved in my face. I bowed deeply to the audience. "I'm sorry." The crowd erupted. Reporters fired sharp questions: "Professor Lee, is your apology for not taking attendance, for watering down the curriculum, or for taking kickbacks from booksellers?" "Do you admit to using recommended books for personal gain?" "Will you release the final exam questions and grading criteria today?" ... I straightened up, looking at those young faces written with calculation, and spoke firmly: "I have never mandated the purchase of any books. All recommended books are available in the library. I have no financial dealings with any booksellers. The so-called kickbacks are pure fabrication." I signaled my assistant to turn on the projector. My purchase records, emails with publishers, and screenshots of students posting about borrowing my recommended books from the library appeared one by one. The reporters' expressions grew serious. But Mike shouted from the floor, "Those can be faked! Who knows if they're real? If you have guts, fix the attendance! Give us the exam questions and study guide!" His words drew whistles and applause. Sean smugly pointed his livestream camera at me, as if recording my submission. I smiled and nodded. "Student Sean is right. I should indeed prioritize the students' core demands and respect everyone's desire for strict attendance management." Cheers erupted. Sean's stream was flooded with comments like "Professor kneels!" and "Gen Z fixes academia!" I waited for the cheers to subside, then changed my tone abruptly. "After emergency consultations with the college and university, I have decided to make the following major adjustments to the assessment and teaching methods of 'Contemporary Literary Criticism.'" Everyone held their breath, eyes filled with greedy anticipation. I looked at them and announced the decision clearly and calmly: "Effective immediately, the open-ended essay assessment method, which has been used for years, is completely abolished." Several students stood up in excitement. I ignored them and continued: "To satisfy everyone's desire for roll calls and exam study guides, this course will switch to a standardized assessment model consistent with compulsory public courses. That is, a clear scope of key points will be defined, and a closed-book examination format will be adopted. Attendance/Participation will count for 50%, and the Final Exam will count for 50%." Silence fell over the room, followed by an even louder uproar. From open-ended essays that valued process and encouraged thinking, to rote memorization and a standardized test that determined one's fate in a single shot. The massive gap froze many smiles. Sean sat down heavily on the floor. Recovering, he was the first to jump up, pointing at my nose and cursing, "Why?! We can research and discuss essays! Closed-book exams? Are you deliberately making it hard for us?" I looked at him coldly. "For the final assessment, you complained that the key points were vague and suspected leniency. Now, a closed-book exam, with unified standards, absolutely fair and just—isn't this exactly what you asked for?" I signaled my assistant to switch the slide. The screen showed a screenshot of a notice just released by the Academic Affairs Office. [Preliminary Investigation and Handling Explanation Regarding Recent Online Opinion Involving Teaching Accidents], as well as emails from several cooperative research institutions stating "Need to Re-evaluate Cooperation." I looked calmly at the students, whose expressions were shifting from dissatisfaction to shock and panic, and continued: "Due to the massive negative public opinion triggered by this false report, the academic reputation of the school and myself has been severely damaged, leading to the potential suspension of several important cooperative research projects. To enforce academic discipline, the university has decided to reduce the quota for outstanding student selection in the School of Liberal Arts by 30% this year. Quotas for various scholarships and graduate school recommendations will also be tightened." A reporter immediately asked, "Professor Lee, are you using academic resources to retaliate against students?" My gaze swept over the pale faces below, and I twitched my lips. "I am merely stating the direct consequences of this incident. I have no interest in retaliating against students. I am simply changing my original teaching intentions to satisfy the students' calls." Then, I bowed deeply to the room again. "Congratulations. You got what you wanted." Every young face was written with blindsided despair.
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