Adjusting to the virtual classroom has been complex and challenging for both students and professors: testing out the chat box, trying out breakout rooms and changing the syllabi are just a few of the attempts that have been made to recreate physical classrooms. However, policing the presence of students online creates an unhealthy anxiety-inducing environment, rather than fostering the productive classes that professors are attempting to achieve.

In a Foundations of Science class, a professor requests to unmute students and won’t stop until they speak. In a Literature requirement, a professor passively implies to a student that she should not be drinking coffee in class. A Legal Studies course runs over by 30 minutes almost every class, blatantly disrespecting students’ time.

The policing of students' behavior in class is not unique to this virtual semester and has been unacceptable before the pandemic too. But it has, without a doubt, become more pressing during this remote semester, providing us with an opportunity to start a much-needed conversation about compassionate pedagogy.

With students scattered across the globe, some in their childhood homes and others on NYU campuses, we — especially given the impact of the pandemic — cannot pretend that we all have the same socioeconomic or cultural backgrounds. Under normal conditions, being on campus was, however imperfect, an equalizer. While technological support from the university has aided in attempting to close this gap, no amount of money can substitute the unparalleled safety and comfort the campus offers.

Outside of her Zoom screen, one student shares a bedroom with two of her siblings. Another works all morning, herself and her family having lost their sources of liquidable income, and studies all night. Yet another never talks in class because his parents argue constantly, praying that when he’s unmuted, there’ll be a moment of silence.

I sit in class every day, barely able to focus because of a migraine from an intense amount of screen time. Beneath the surface, I am overwhelmed and constantly exhausted, balancing academic stress, financial instability and mental health struggles. I barely sleep at night and struggle to find an appetite during the day. The last thing I need is to be told is that I cannot eat or drink coffee during class, that I have to be seated in a sunlit room and that having my camera off means I’m disengaged.

The mandatory camera-on policy, in particular, has proven to do more harm than good for some students in the classroom. In several courses, having your camera on counts as part of the participation grade. In others, students need to announce when they leave and come back if their camera is turned off temporarily. Some professors go as far as requiring students to explain why they’ve left.

While having the camera on helps students engage and connect with one another, its role as a mandatory policy is insensitive to the struggles of many. Students' cameras being on does not necessarily mean that we are focused, and them being off does not remove our ability to connect with one another: to say that we need to see each other to connect and learn is ableist, excluding the visually impared.

One important aspect that has to be considered is the heightened anxiety on Zoom; video calls require more focus since people are acutely aware that they’re being watched when their camera is on. Further, external stressors are more difficult to distance yourself from due to the lack of physical change in setting.

I’m generally considered an outspoken and vocal person, but I speak only rarely in class now. I cannot sit still or focus for long periods of time more so than normal because of Zoom fatigue, and have even developed a stutter when speaking in class. Having my camera off lessens that anxiety and makes me feel more comfortable to engage.

The policing of Zoom leaves a lot at stake. Pushing students to the edge will backfire, leaving them overworked and exhausted, with no desire to contribute or care for the course, and thereby breaching the ability to build relationships with one another. How will this help professors teach? It definitely does not help students learn.

The patronizing assumption behind the policing of classrooms is that all students could be lying when they say that they are too sick, tired or troubled. It is fair to assume that the majority of the student body wouldn’t take advantage of compassion for personal benefit. The double standard is painfully present: maturity is expected of students in all other areas of life, but they are then treated as irresponsible when it comes to presence in the classroom.

The only way to get an exception to the camera-on policy is to contact professors directly. However, students don’t owe professors a sob story to deserve flexibility or empathy. Vulnerability should not be a prerequisite for compassion in the classroom.

Professors: assume good will. Students come to the classroom to learn; trust that there’s a reason when their cameras are off, when they miss class, or when they’re not fully focused. Teach with compassion. Ask students what works best for them, and listen carefully. Move beyond these makeshift borders of Zoom. Remove the mandatory camera-on policy, take into account Zoom fatigue when allocating assignments, and do not forcibly unmute students when they clearly do not want to talk.

Fostering this safe space in class, students will slowly become more comfortable, contribute and achieve more. And when we are able to gather again in a physical classroom, do not forget this empathy, but rather, let it stand at the forefront of your teaching.