Overview:
Ethical grading requires distinguishing between students who “can’t” do the work and those who “won’t,” advocating for grading practices that reflect effort and circumstance rather than rigid standards that may unfairly penalize struggling learners.
I wanted to take a break from my usual cynical storytelling — don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of that — and address a very serious concern: an ethical, and yes, existential question (despite how overused that word has become) about student grading.
I work as a special education teacher in an urban public high school in the Northeastern United States. I won’t say exactly where, because even speaking in good faith can sometimes land you in the principal’s office with a union rep breathing down your neck.
My experience and perspective might be very different from yours, so think of this as a collaborative discussion, or at least an attempt at one.
A little background: I was born in 1986, graduated high school in 2004, and have been in education pretty much my whole adult life. That “traditional” sense of grading I grew up with — the transactional model — stuck with me for years: the teacher is the boss, the student is the worker, and the boss evaluates the work, assigns a grade, and locks your fate in a cumulative number.
Then I actually started teaching. Reality quickly hit. My first-year mentor warned me that my cynicism and lack of respect for the profession would hurt me long-term. “Reconsider teaching P–12,” she said. She was right to warn me.
Now, teaching in an urban setting, I live with three conditions every day that shape my view on grading:
Condition #1: Urban Realities
The environment brings elements no teacher can prevent: crime, unstable employment, poverty that ranges from mild to extreme.
Condition #2: Students Far Below Grade Level
Many students arrive years below grade level. A tenth-grade class in my school doesn’t read A Tale of Two Cities or Antigone. They read YA novels or graphic novels, usually geared for younger readers. This is reality, not preference.
Condition #3: Engagement and Motivation Issues
Engagement is low. Many students would rather calculate the street value of C10H15N than budget for a job or read a novel. (Exaggeration, yes, but it illustrates the gap between curriculum and life.)
So, how do we grade students fairly under these conditions? Are special education students placed in general education settings?
What This Essay Is — and Isn’t
This is a thought experiment. I leave out many details of law, policy, teacher intention, and nuance. Straw men may appear. The goal is discussion, not finger-pointing.
I’m not patronizing or accusatory. We’re all working under conditions we cannot control.
Students Who Should Fail
Let’s start simple. A student with no disability who completes no work, engages in no class, and never shows up should fail. Full stop. This is a “no call/no show” approach — in the real world, termination. Summer school, night school, fine. But they fail.
Complications begin with students who try but struggle. Students who attend, engage, and make an effort but cannot master the material. How do we grade them fairly? Let’s leave special education aside for a moment and look at general education students.
The Problem: Students Below Grade Level
Some students in general education are operating at a fifth-grade level while doing tenth-grade work. Expecting them to perform at standard is not just unfair; it’s unrealistic.
Example: Chemistry and Moles
Can you ethically fail a student who struggles with two-step algebra but is expected to calculate moles in a chemical reaction? Or define a mole (and not the kind that comes out of the ground)? Failing these students feels wrong, because the system’s expectations do not match their capabilities.
Special education students face the same issue, amplified. Some are functioning at second or third-grade levels while sitting in general education classes. They deal with cognitive, social, and emotional challenges simultaneously.
“Can’t Do” vs. “Won’t Do”
My first principal taught me this distinction. “Can’t Dos” cannot do the work — these students need leeway. “Won’t Dos” refuse the work — these students deserve failure.
Using the chemistry example: a student who genuinely cannot perform a calculation should not automatically get a zero. Instead, I assign a floor — the lowest possible grade is a 50 if they attempt the work. A “Won’t Do” earns zero. This keeps students in play without lying about their achievement.
Clarified Point: No, This Isn’t Grade Inflation
A 50 is still an F. It isn’t a cupcake, a sticker, or a hug. It prevents students from being mathematically dead two weeks into the quarter. If a student refuses to do the work, they earn a zero. If a student tries, engages, and shows progress, they earn a salvageable F.
The 0–100 scale is misleading. Grades below 50 are all failure, but a 50 signals effort. A student building the scaffolding of a problem but missing the last step is not the same as a kid who puts their head down and scrolls TikTok. Treating them identically is cruel and counterproductive.
Concrete Example:
Solve x + 2 = 5? Great.
Solve x − 3 + 2 = 5 and stall? If they isolate variables, combine terms, and show honest effort, that’s a 50. Accurate about failure, humane about recovery.
Quick Rubric for “Trying”
Showed steps, stayed on task, attempted all sections, made one correction after feedback → eligible for 50 floor.
Blank, copied, name-only, head down, phone out → 0.
Addressing Counterarguments
“Carney, this is grade inflation. Accuracy matters!”
Yes. We are not handing out A’s for wrong answers. We are separating refusal from effort. A transcript full of 50s still communicates reality, and students aren’t buried mid-semester for trying.
“Won’t kids game the system?”
Some will. Teenagers are masters of minimum effort. That’s why we keep 0 for “Won’t Do” and maintain transparency in the rubric: show your work, or it doesn’t count.
“Does a 50 mask bigger problems?”
Only if adults stop paying attention. Repeated 50s are a flag: skills inventory, decoding support, language screening, SPED consult. The floor keeps students in the game while adults intervene.
Conclusion
Grading is more than a number. It’s ethical, practical, and human. A grade should reflect effort and ability, not crush students for circumstances beyond their control. Distinguishing between “Can’t Do” and “Won’t Do” allows us to communicate truth without cruelty.
Until we define what a grade measures — accuracy, effort, growth, or some combination — we risk pretending that a number is objective when it is anything but.
The question remains: How can we fairly, ethically grade students in a system that often sets them up to fail? There isn’t a perfect answer, but we can do better than pretend a failing grade tells the whole story.
