With the NFL’s big game just behind us, many on campus are turning to their next big battle, challenge, or opportunity (depending on the context): the annual evaluation, or as I like to imagine it, the yearly Big Game for supervisors. For academic and administrative faculty, due dates for our yearly Rite of Winter are rapidly approaching. While you can find accurate guides to the nuts and bolts of the procedure on the pages linked in the previous sentence, I would like to share a few thoughts on the often-inevitable tensions that accompany the evaluation process.

For me, the self-evaluation that precedes the supervisor’s evaluation usually provokes a strain of melancholy. There is something disquieting about reducing the latest trip around the sun to a few paragraphs or, worse yet, bullet points. It feels like boxing up your possessions in advance of a move. Sure, it’s exciting to think about your new house or apartment, but there’s something emptying about seeing your stuff, your surroundings, organized and palletized. The things you thought made you unique are just things. It’s kind of like reading your own obituary, two-thirds down the page.

No matter how much we’ve achieved, its hard not to feel a little off-balanced by the act of quartering your previous year into neat little categories (your essential functions; your goals and objectives; your professional development). Aren’t we more than the sum of all that? But isn’t there at least a tiny thread of doubt that maybe we are a little less than it? Or less than we should be by now?

And any murmurs of angst over the self-evaluation are the prelude to the big show, the aforementioned supervisors’ Superbowl, the annual evaluation itself.

Make no bones about it: the annual evaluation is necessary and potentially helpful. And I don’t just mean necessary in the developmental or even spiritual sense: it is legally required, per the Nevada System of Higher Education. Section 5.12.1 of Title 2 of the Board of Regents Handbooks specifies that, “Faculty shall be evaluated in writing at least once annually by department chairs, supervisors or heads of administrative units,” wording that raises, to me, an intriguing question: are there non-written forms of evaluation that might have otherwise developed? An impressionist portrait? A moody organ trio improvisation? An interpretive dance? The possibilities are endless but, ultimately, not what we should be focusing on right now.

Yes, the important thing is that faculty are going to be evaluated and, if the past is any guide, not all of them are going to be happy about the results. That is understandable—few people actually like being judged by others, and fewer keep their smile if they are found wanting. By the same token, I don’t know many supervisors who relish the emotional gristmill of the evaluation process. More, in my experience, dread it.

Part of the problem is the contradictory nature of the evaluation: on one hand, it documents positive achievements (including, for pre-tenure faculty, progress towards that milestone), while on the other, it notes continuing performance issues. While the ultimate goal is future growth, it may be necessary to point out past shortcomings, which, merited or not, often sparks fear, anger, and defensiveness—three things that are decidedly not conducive to healthy growth.

I haven’t found an easy solution to the conundrum of the annual evaluation, nor have a seen a single “best practice” that can make it easy to give honest but critical feedback in a seamlessly positive way. In general, I think the evaluation best unfolds as a dialogue between the supervisor and supervisee—both have perspectives that may illuminate the other’s blind spots. After all, we can all do better, and the evaluation process offers a chance for some creative thinking on how to make better a reality.

I am inspired here by an article I recently read by conflict resolution specialist Tammy Lenski. Lenski’s headline, “Generate more creative solutions with this question,” caught my eye. Being of the business of helping others generate creative solutions, I had no choice but to click through (I encourage you to as well—I will share the gist here, but this is only a glimmer of the value in the original article).

Lenski writes that we often start by asking what we should do; for our purposes today, the question might be, “what should you do next year.” While, Lenski says, “should” reminds of “moral imperatives” that may be important for the solution, it can limit our thinking. Before asking “should,” she thinks, there is great value in asking “could.” And she cites research to back up that proposition.

In other words, it can help to explore the possible before turning, duty-bound, to the necessary. In my platonic ideal of a supervisor/supervisee conversation, I imagine the supervisor, instead of asking, “what do you think you should do to improve next year?” asks, “What could you do differently?” and see where that road leads.

Generating options free from the specter of immediate reality testing has long been a hallmark of mediation and creative problem solving. Perhaps it has a role in the annual evaluation. I’d like to imagine that, whatever ultimately ends up on paper, a wide-ranging conversation about “coulds” along the way can help both parties appreciate the reasons for why the evaluation reads the way it does. Maybe there would be greater understanding, more honest feedback that is better received, and fewer hard feelings.

And, when next year rolls around, maybe we’d feel a little less apprehensive about the whole process.

However it is done, the annual evaluation process can spur questions and conflict. And I’d like briefly say that if you have either on your plate, a visit to the Ombuds Office may help. Whether you are a student, faculty member, or other UNLV employee, the Ombuds Office has many resources available to help you through any conflict you might be facing. If you are having an issue and are uncertain where to go, it is an excellent zero-barrier first stop. 

In this case, for both supervisors and supervisees feeling uncertainty about the process, the Ombuds Office can offer a neutral, impartial, third-party perspective, put the process into context, and help you generate options.

If you would like to talk privately and confidentially about any work- or campus-related concern, please make an appointment with the Ombuds.

David G. Schwartz

UNLV Ombuds