We all love Zoom, don’t we?! Yay! What’s that I hear you say? “No, we really don’t like it at all, it’s like almost-university life with a constant reminder of a pandemic, as if we needed such a thing!”. Oh, OK. Sorry about that, then. I am afraid that Zoom (or Teams, other brands are available) is the best we have for now, until that terrifying moment in the future when a hologram of a lecturer pops up in your bedroom, screaming at you for being late.

Zoom is, at best, weird. I mean, it is weird for all of us, not just the students. My better half has pointed out how I will introduce the PowerPoint presentation on Zoom. “OK, I will just share the presentation with you now. Now, where did I save it? Oh, yes, in that folder. Just let me open that. Doo doo doo dee doo… OK, can you see it on your screens? Anybody? Please acknowledge me… Or give a thumbs-up reaction, or maybe even, y’know… speak?”.

Some classes and students are better than others, and I would imagine that some lecturers are more naturally suited to the medium than others. So, Zoom classes are different in that everybody in the virtual room is weirded out. With normal offline classes, most lecturers (hopefully) will take charge of the room and create something of an atmosphere. Most lessons start with a form of exercise to familiarize the material to the students. Gone (hopefully) are the bad old days of the lecturer saying, “open your books at page 364 and read the entire chapter of 42 pages”. Unfortunately, on Zoom, when we want to get a discussion going, everyone falls into ‘Indonesian-polite-mode’, and there is an aching silence in the room. It is understandable as Zoom does not facilitate proper ‘two or three people at once’ discussions. Everyone has to diplomatically agree who gets to speak next and the result is that few people actually bother trying to talk. I have often deliberately hidden my own camera view while in a Zoom class, because it is a weird feedback loop to watch myself getting frustrated. Seeing yourself losing patience is a great way of speeding that process along.

And so it is that we come to the great ‘camera on or not’ debate. As I said, I don’t like watching myself while I am teaching, and I think that is because I come from the pre-selfie era. I am of the same feeling as the native Americans that cameras steal your soul. No, not really, but I wonder if that were true, how many souls have been captured during the Zoom pandemic of 2020-21? We have probably all heard the phrase ‘Zoom fatigue’ by now, and many of my colleagues have reported being more exhausted by a Zoom session than a regular class. The constant feeling of being ON, and the persistent fear that in a regular class, a student might point out something that we have forgotten to properly explain, which goes completely missing in a Zoom class is real. In short, we lack student feedback and the old, regular silly questions. So, a first step to Zoom super-stardom in your class is to be the student who imagines that they are in a regular class and keeps their camera on as much as possible. We love those students!

Next, how might you gain the favorable attention of your lecturer? Zoom has the ‘hand-up’ reaction and this is good for small classes, but sometimes, the lecturer might not even see the hand up if they are sharing a PowerPoint, as the classroom view becomes compacted to three or four students. Similarly with the chat function, lecturers may not see the chat while they are sharing their screens.

So you really have to speak and speak regularly. Getting the answers wrong is all part of university life, but if you don’t speak because you fear you will make a mistake, the joke is on you, because you are making a mistake by remaining silent.

The trick is to get the lecturer to be able to remember you. Obviously, this does not mean going crazy and taking over the class but aim to ask two or three decent questions per class. Asking about the penalties for exceeding the word count is a nice flex of ‘I work really hard, but I am conscientious enough to worry’ (although if this gets copied enough, your lecturer will rumble this tactic). It is also worth joining in discussions at the start of class when the lecturer has the most energy and is most likely to remember names and faces (keep your camera ON!).

If the lecturer has provided you with a means of communication, use it to submit draft versions of your essays, reports, or designs (I can’t think what else you might create). They may not answer immediately, but you will get a better insight into what they want if they tell you your first draft is completely off the target.

It is worth it to gage your lecturer’s boundaries. Are they open to WA messages at 8 p.m.? Are they strictly email people? Normally, lecturers will make it clear in the first session how (and when) they want to be contacted. If you miss the first session, I suggest you do a ninja research job on what you missed.

Zoom is at best a second-class alternative to IRL classes, but I am sure when the pandemic recedes, and we all go back to meeting in real-life places, some of you will long for the make-up-free, sleep-in-until-the-last-minute online classes.

You and I couldn’t be more different! I look forward to having fun in real life and helping people become a better version of themselves while sitting beside them. Until then, I will see you online with my tufty, unkempt pandemic hair and terrible lighting!

All the best,

Your pandemic lecturer.