All is Fair in Group Work and War

I am a pacifist.  I believe that violence begets violence, and that people who resort to physical altercations when angry are giving in to unhelpful barbaric urges, which will ultimately benefit no one.  No one who knows me will ever tell you that I’m a doormat, but I feel with all of my being that violence is neither an acceptable nor a permanent solution to any problem.

These convictions were how I knew I was being irrational when I considered killing my group-mates for my final project in my online class.

The class covered WWII, so, I reasoned angrily, there were bound to be some causalities.  However, the annoying “What Would Ghandi And/Or Jesus Do” mantra that stays resolutely in my mind gave me pause.  I simply could not physically harm my group-mates.  Ghandi and Jesus would both be very sad.  Anyway, this was an online class, and a few of my teammates lived off campus, so acting out on my anger would require far more research than I was really interested in undertaking. 

The assignment was to take part in a War Game, where each group took a different stance on several questions, and the professor picked which team answered the questions most efficiently.  There were war terms and whatever to make it all seem more war-like, but that’s basically the gist of it.  Our professor named generals to each team, and as The Hand of Academic Fate would have it, I was general of our rag-tag team.  This, I strongly suspected, was because I was one of three people who answered our weekly assignments in the forums using complete sentences, and whose responses were consistently text-speak free.  My natural leadership abilities most likely did not come into play, but that does not mean I did not take my position seriously.

Allow me to confess that, when it comes to group work, or, basically in any area of my life, I tend to be a little controlling.  If someone else is named “group leader” or “general” or “emperor” or whatever ruling entity the professor seems fit to dub the poor sap in charge of the group, I give this person about two minutes of my sincere loyalty.  I feel this person out to make sure he or she will not tarnish my GPA with a lack of paranoia.  Usually, this person is found wanting, and I take over.  Not officially or anything.  I don’t tell this person, “I’m sorry, you seem nice, but I really don’t trust you with this very important assignment.  I’ll be usurping your position.”  That would be rude.  I simply assert my authority by offering to aid the group leader with certain tasks, like, for example, the entire assignment.  We pretend the other person is still in charge, but we all know I have truly taken over.

Before you judge me, I wasn’t born this way.  I’ve been hurt before.  The harsh world of collaborative academia has jaded me, because, frankly, some people just do not care as much as I do, and I have gone through many a sleepless night redoing work for people who are OK with receiving a C on an assignment.  But, in the land of the Less Than Completely Sane, we say why settle for a C when it is possible to receive an A?  And, anyway, I had eventually learned that there are two options to group work: You can maintain an air of pleasantness and do all of the work yourself, or you can unleash and force equality on everyone.  I had never taken the second route before, and was anxious to see what awaited me beyond this new bend in the road.

Many of you have, I’m sure, suffered as I have.  But if you have not tried to complete a group assignment in an online class, (and here I must ask your forgiveness for the always-irritating move of placing my suffering in a higher category than another’s) you know nothing of pain.  People let you down in class?  The next day, come in and faux-pleasantly remind them that they need to get their shit together.  Someone flakes on an assignment?  You at least have the opportunity for the cathartic release that glaring can provide, or, if you’re less dignified, you can toss spitballs at them after your presentation.  In an online class, none of this can happen.  You’re stuck emailing people to remind them that they still have not completed their share of the work.  And a lot of grievance can get lost in cyberspace. 

But, oh, I was not above emails. 

As I said, I’m jaded, and as you’ve probably gathered, I’m sort of, perhaps an eensy bit too serious about school work.  However, after the first week passed and I had received no emails from my team, I sent a long, didactic group email to my fellow warriors.  The subject line was not THIS IS SPARTAAAA! but the spirit was there nonetheless.

The email was, as I already mentioned, long, so I will just recount its gist: I informed my team that, while I had finished the assignment on my own this time, it would not happen again, and, as their general (yup, I pulled the group leader card.  And also sort of acted like my position as a ranking officer was legitimate), I was not above telling the professor who was not participating.  Also, I hoped they had a nice day and were enjoying the end of the semester.

I proudly told my sister about this email, and she regarded me warily. 

“What?” I said, seeing her look.  “That was a very professional email...Except for the part when I essentially threatened to tell on them if they didn’t do what I said,” I added as an afterthought. 

My sister considered her words carefully.  She knew how I was about my war games.  “Do you think any of them will be asking to hang out after class is over?”

I rolled my eyes.  “I’m not here to make friends.”  I briefly wondered when my life turned into an episode of Survivor or America’s Next Top Model. 

“Well, then, that’s a great email to send.”

And with that I decided my sister just did not understand.  This was war, and I had to win.  (Along with my other captivating qualities, I’m sort of competitive.)  I eventually rallied the troops, although after exchanging a few vaguely and then not-so-vaguely threatening emails with a group member I never heard from (Deserting, I informed him in one of my many unanswered messages, was not an option in this army), I began to sincerely fear mutiny. 

“I really hope none of them, like, see my student profile picture and then recognize me on campus,” I told my sister one day, as I checked to make sure everyone had posted their parts of the assignment.  “Frankly, I’m not sure what they would do.”  Something told me that thanking me for their passing grade would be the least likely possibility. 

She was about to answer when I saw an email from my professor, declaring my group the winner of the war game. 

“YES!” I held my laptop over my head in victory.  “We’ve defeated the Axis Powers!!”  I leapt from my chair and attempted a victory lap around our dorm room, but, as the room was small and cluttered, what resulted was more of a victory shuffle. 

My sister rolled her eyes.  “Congratulations,” she said dryly. “Are you going to email your group and see if they want to get together and celebrate?”

“Those deadweights?  Please.  I am going to email them and say congratulations, because that, my dear, is what good generals do: We rise above turmoil, and then pretend others are just as deserving of credit as we are.”

I sent the aforementioned email, but, to my great surprise, received no replies or friend requests on Facebook from my fellow soldiers.  However, I’m sure it’s just a matter of time.