Blue books to the rescue

There was something different about this year’s college graduates. Not only were they the first to start college post-COVID, they were the last to be freshmen without the help of artificial intelligence. By the time Open AI launched ChatGPT in 2022, U.S. college students were well into their sophomore year. They quickly adopted the tool for daily tasks like opening their phones, curating their social media, and spell-checking their messages. But a high number also found it helpful for cheating their way to a better grade. Three years into this experiment with large language learning models, college professors are starting to push back. This should be of no little interest to incoming freshmen.

In “The Old School Way to Beat ChatGPT,” Wall Street Journal reporter Ben Cohen writes about the resurgence of an analog technology that can thwart cheating with AI. That technology: the paper blue book.

You may remember it—several pages of college ruled paper stapled between two light blue covers. The only thing necessary on the day of “blue books” was a pencil or, if you really knew the material well, a pen. In response to open-ended questions, students were expected to write a logical answer in paragraph form, “just as if they were writing an essay outside of class.” That’s ironic, given that many professors have stopped assigning essays outside of class because so many are written with AI. Blue book sales waned in 2020 when schools were testing remotely, but they’re rising now, says Cohen, “because of AI cheating.”

But even professors who are frustrated by so much cheating aren’t sure about the paper and pencil solution. They’re “deeply conflicted about it,” Cohen says. “Many of them believe students should be using AI to get smarter. It would be stupid not to.” Would it?

Because they’re going to be using AI tools the rest of their lives, the reasoning goes, learning how to use them now in college “will be an important advantage in their future workplaces.” But AI doesn’t make students smarter, it makes them more dependent on AI. And it’s easy to learn. Students don't need college classes to learn how to use AI, they need character development so they won't use AI wrongly.

I had a professor in graduate school who joked that his multiple-choice tests were easy “because all of the answers are right there in front of you.” True enough. All I had to do to recognize them on test day was study. He used the Socratic method in lectures, too, selecting one student randomly at the start of each class for rigorous questioning about the material he had assigned. Not knowing whom he’d choose motivated all of us to do the reading. Pity the student who had failed to prepare on the day he or she was called.

He wanted us not only to do the assignments but learn the material. He was the hardest, and best, professor because he loved learning and wanted us to love it, too. He wasn’t just trying to pass us along but prepare us for action. I wonder what he would have thought about the everyday technology that’s threatening to shortcut the learning process for college students.

Bravo to the professors who willingly endure grading handwritten blue books for the benefits of revealing what students have internalized, or haven’t. It’s no easy task deciphering the “chicken scratch” writing of digital natives who, despite their technological prowess, haven’t mastered handwriting.

For any complaints about dreaded blue books, they’re worth the benefits. Preparing for essay exams can cultivate the learning that AI can't. And professors who use them are reclaiming a moral framework that believes cheating is wrong. Blue books won’t end cheating; that’s as old as Genesis. But removing AI from exam taking may cause college students to study and learn how to navigate technology with wisdom.

Our homeschool co-op calls year end blue books “a celebration of what you’ve learned.” For our high school-age sons, preparing for exams is more chore than celebration. But because they have to answer essay questions in writing, there’s no room to fake what they know—they have to learn it. Whatever grade you're in, that’s worth celebrating.