The Office of Student and Responsibilities (OS⬛R) says it champions student rights and claims to "promote responsibility and encourage honesty, integrity, and respect." Yet, the way it handles its conduct hearings is anything but.
A former student of mine was summoned to the OS⬛R to face false allegations, and I had the honor of serving as my student's Case Advisor. I stood with my student, combed through the so-called “evidence,” and prepared them to walk into a hearing knowing that the odds were not in our favor. Though I was permitted to be present during the hearing, I was not allowed to speak. My student had to fight alone and I was powerless to intervene. Across the table, the "conduct officer" (initials A.W.) played all roles: prosecutor, judge, and jury while wielding unchecked authority without oversight. This wasn’t justice. It was theater. And like every theater with absolute power behind the curtain, the outcome was already written.
"conduct officer" and her sidekick
Despite the stacked deck and an abrasive and unbecoming "conduct officer," my student showed courage and composure. They held their head high, spoke with conviction, and modeled a kind of integrity the OS⬛R sorely and shamefully lacked. It was a triumph of character. And I couldn’t be prouder of my student. The "conduct officer," who boastfully brags about her knowledge in “holistic student development,” and "developmental coach approach" has a lot to learn from my student.
But wait, it gets better. After putting my student through a mental and emotional waterboarding, this ever-compassionate “conduct officer” decided to demonstrate her deep, heartfelt concern. How? By filing a student-of-concern report. A touching gesture, really. Like handing someone a Band-Aid after pushing them down the stairs. If there is a textbook example of crocodile tears, this was it.
Predictably, we lost. But not because we were wrong, unprepared, or even naïve. We lost because we were never allowed to win. This was a rigged match masquerading as a fair hearing. OS⬛R delivered a verdict that read like it was rubber-stamped days in advance (ironically echoing the exact concern we raised, only to be shut down with a smug, scolding “don’t put words in my mouth.”)
The punishment? A spectacle. A grotesque overreaction dressed up as education, yet utterly devoid of genuine pedagogical value. It was performance over substance, optics over ethics. And the conduct officer? A self-righteous gatekeeper of morality who couldn’t be bothered with nuance or honesty. Her selective enforcement, condescending theatrics, and blatant disregard for fairness made one thing crystal clear: integrity wasn’t just absent, it was actively opposed. This wasn’t justice. It was theater. And we were forced to play along in a kangaroo court where the outcome was purely for boosting this "conduct officer's" ego.
So, I appealed. What greeted me was the same stonewall that we all know too well: policies used as shields, responses delivered without reflection, and an unshakable resistance to honest engagement. And let’s not pretend this was just one rogue "conduct officer." The OS⬛R didn’t just tolerate her antics, they gave her a promotion.
The whole experience was demoralizing, but not paralyzing. Because in the grand scheme of things, this so-called “conduct officer” is irrelevant, no matter how desperately she clings to the illusion of authority. And the OS⬛R? A hollow institution propped up by bureaucracy and bravado. But that’s exactly why we must speak. Because silence is what they count on. They hope the truth will be buried under red tape and forgotten in the shuffle. We won’t let that happen.
Why? Because the same injustice can happen to anyone. And if something similar has happened to you, you are not alone. And for everyone else, you don't want to cross paths with OS⬛R. They do not play fair. They do not adjudicate; they perform. Bias is not a bug; it’s a feature. And those policies? They are not there to protect you. They are there to shut you up.