From Do Better Next Time to Sustainable Feedback: My Serbian Lens on Honest, Constructive Critique

I grew up with feedback that did not arrive wrapped in soft paper.

In Serbia, at least in the settings I knew, feedback often came from above. A teacher, parent, coach, or older relative looked at your work, pointed to what was wrong, and ended the conversation with some version of: “Do better next time.” There was no sandwich feedback. No careful praise before and after the correction. No long discussion about how the comment made you feel.

The message was clear: the person in authority had seen the gap, and your job was to close it.

Part of me still respects that directness. It can be honest. It can be efficient. It can also carry a deep belief that you are capable of more. But when I moved into different learning and teaching environments, I had to face an uncomfortable truth. Directness, on its own, does not always help people learn. Sometimes it shuts them down. Sometimes it makes them defend themselves. Sometimes it leaves them with shame instead of direction.

That tension sits at the centre of this reflection: how do I keep the honesty I value from my Serbian roots, while learning to give feedback in a way that students can actually use?

Feedback often begins with the memory of how we first learned to be corrected.

The feedback I knew was honest, but it was not always useful

The feedback culture I grew up with had a strong moral tone. If something was not good enough, someone told you. If you made a mistake, the mistake became the focus. The assumption was that identifying the problem was enough.

Sometimes it worked. A blunt comment can jolt you into paying attention. It can teach resilience. It can build a thick skin, especially in environments where performance matters and excuses are not welcome.

But there is a cost.

When feedback is mostly about what went wrong, the learner has to do a lot of invisible work. They must interpret the criticism, protect their confidence, guess what improvement looks like, and decide what to do next. Some learners can do that. Many cannot, especially if they are still developing the language, confidence, or subject knowledge to diagnose their own next step.

The old model treats feedback almost like a control tool. The teacher adjusts the learner from the outside, like turning a knob. The learner receives, obeys, and improves. That view makes sense only if learning is mechanical.

But learning is not mechanical. Learners are not machines waiting to be corrected. They build meaning. They compare ideas. They test what they think they know. They carry emotion, identity, culture, and prior experience into every task.

This is where my thinking started to change.

Sustainable feedback changed the question for me

The idea of sustainable feedback helped me understand what was missing from the “do better next time” model.

In educational research, Boud’s work on sustainable assessment and Hounsell’s writing on sustainable feedback moved the conversation beyond comments that only fix one assignment. The bigger question became: what kind of feedback helps learners keep learning after the teacher is no longer there?

That shift matters.

If feedback only tells a student what was wrong in one piece of work, it may improve that piece of work. If feedback helps the student recognise quality, judge their own progress, ask better questions, and plan their next attempt, it has a longer life.

That is the difference between short-term correction and feedback that travels with the learner.

For me, this was not a rejection of directness. It was a reframing of it. I began to see that honesty is not measured by how blunt I sound. Honesty is measured by whether I name the issue clearly enough for the learner to act on it.

A vague “not good enough” may feel honest, but it is incomplete. A clear explanation of what is missing, why it matters, and what to try next is more honest because it respects the learner’s role in the process.

The hard part is adapting without feeling fake

When I first entered environments where direct criticism was frowned upon, I sometimes felt I was being asked to perform politeness instead of telling the truth.

I worried that softer feedback would become dishonest. I did not want to say “great effort” when the work was weak. I did not want to hide serious problems under encouraging language. I had seen too much empty praise, and it made me uncomfortable.

But over time I realised the issue was not honesty versus kindness. The issue was authority versus agency.

In the model I grew up with, the authority figure owns the judgement. The learner receives it. In a more constructive model, the teacher still has expertise, but the learner is invited into the judgement. The student is not treated as a passive target of correction. They become a participant in understanding what quality means.

That does not mean every comment becomes a negotiation. It means feedback should help the learner answer three practical questions, often linked to Hattie and Timperley’s widely used model:

• Where am I going?

• How am I going?

• What should I do next?

  
  

Those questions sound simple, but they change the tone. Feedback becomes less like a verdict and more like guidance.

Specific comments help learners see what to change and why it matters.

Bad feedback is often unclear, not just harsh

Some feedback sounds strong, but it leaves the learner stranded. This is where my older instincts can get me into trouble. If I only name the failure, I may feel efficient, but I have not necessarily supported learning.

Here are examples of wording that keeps honesty but changes the effect.

Less helpful wording	More useful wording
“This is wrong.”	“This section does not yet match the evidence. Recheck the source and explain how it supports your claim.”
“You need to work harder.”	“The main issue is not effort, it is focus. Choose one argument and develop it with two specific examples.”
“This makes no sense.”	“I cannot follow the link between these two ideas yet. Add one sentence that explains the connection.”
“Poor structure.”	“Your ideas are relevant, but the order makes them hard to follow. Try moving the definition before the example.”
“Do better next time.”	“For the next draft, focus on one improvement: make each paragraph start with a clear point.”
“You should already know this.”	“This concept is still developing. Go back to the model we used in class and apply the first two steps here.”
“Not academic enough.”	“The tone is too conversational for this task. Replace personal claims with evidence-based statements.”
“Good job.”	“Your strongest part is the comparison in paragraph three because it shows clear criteria. Use that same approach in paragraph five.”

The “bad” examples are not always cruel. Some are common. Some are even meant well. The problem is that they give judgement without enough information.

Research on formative assessment and self-regulated learning often points to similar principles. Effective feedback tends to be:

• Specific, so the learner knows what part of the work needs attention

• Task-focused, so the comment does not become a judgement of the person

• Forward-looking, so the learner knows what action to take

• Connected to criteria, so quality becomes visible

• Dialogic, so the learner can ask, test, revise, and reflect

  
  

That last point was the most difficult for me. Feedback as dialogue felt slow at first. I was used to feedback as announcement. But dialogue does not mean lowering standards. It means checking whether the learner has understood the standard well enough to move towards it.

Good intention must be visible, not assumed

In the Serbian style I knew, good intention was often assumed. If someone corrected you, that meant they cared enough to notice. The care sat behind the criticism, unspoken.

In some new surroundings, that assumption is weaker. Students may still want honesty, but they need to hear the purpose behind it. They may read bluntness as dismissal rather than investment.

So I have learned to make the intention visible without over-explaining myself.

For example, instead of saying:

“This is not at the required level.”

I might say:

“This is not at the required level yet, and I want to show you the two changes that would make the biggest difference.”

The word “yet” can be overused, but in the right place it signals growth. It tells the student the current work has not met the standard, while the learner remains capable of progress.

Instead of:

“Your argument is weak.”

I might say:

“The argument needs stronger support. At the moment, you make a claim, but the reader cannot see enough evidence for it.”

This keeps the critique direct. It also moves the problem from the student’s identity to the work on the page.

Instead of:

“You ignored the instructions.”

I might say:

“The response does not fully answer the task yet. The brief asks for comparison, but most of your paragraph describes only one side.”

Again, the standard remains. The comment is not softer in substance. It is clearer in direction.

A feedback conversation works best when it leaves room for response.

The sandwich method is not the only alternative to bluntness

Many people think the opposite of direct criticism is the feedback sandwich: praise, criticism, praise. I understand why it exists. It tries to protect confidence. But it can also feel formulaic. Students learn to wait for the “real” criticism in the middle, and the praise starts to sound decorative.

I prefer a structure that is honest from the start:

1. Name the learning goal.

2. Identify what is working.

3. Identify the gap.

4. Give the next step.

5. Ask the learner to respond or plan.

   
   

For example:

“The goal was to build a clear argument from evidence. Your topic is relevant, and your second source is useful. The main gap is that the evidence is listed rather than explained. In the next version, choose one quotation and write two sentences showing how it proves your point. Before you revise, tell me which quotation you think is strongest.”

This is not a sandwich. It is a map.

It tells the learner what quality looks like, where they are now, and what action comes next. It also asks them to think, not just comply.

That kind of feedback supports agency. The learner has work to do, but the work is visible.

I still value directness, but I use it differently now

I do not want to lose the part of my background that values truth. There is something powerful in being raised to hear correction without collapsing. There is strength in being told that standards matter.

But I no longer believe that directness gives me permission to be careless with impact.

Now, when I give feedback, I try to ask myself:

• Have I named the issue clearly?

• Have I separated the work from the worth of the learner?

• Have I shown what improvement looks like?

• Have I given one next step rather than ten problems?

• Have I invited the student to take an active role?

  
  

The last question matters most. Sustainable feedback should not make students dependent on my comments forever. It should help them develop their own judgement.

That means I sometimes ask:

• “Which part of this work are you most unsure about?”

• “What criteria did you use to check this?”

• “Where do you think the argument is strongest?”

• “What is one change you would make before I give my view?”

• “How will you apply this feedback to the next task?”

  
  

These questions do not replace expert feedback. They prepare the learner to use it.

Learning to use feedback means learning to make judgement visible.

The balance I am still learning

I am still Serbian in the way I hear feedback. Part of me still trusts the direct sentence. Part of me still wants to say, “This is wrong, fix it.” Sometimes that is exactly what a learner needs, especially when the error is serious or the standard is clear.

But I have learned that the best feedback does more than correct. It teaches the learner how to see.

That is the heart of the shift for me. Feedback is not only a message I deliver. It is a process the learner must be able to enter. My role is not to soften every hard truth. My role is to make the truth usable.

So I keep the honesty. I keep the standard. I keep the belief that people can do better next time.

Now I try to add what was often missing when I was growing up: the path towards better, the reason it matters, and the learner’s own voice in the process.

“Do better next time” may still carry love, discipline, and expectation. But sustainable feedback gives the next sentence too: “Here is how you can begin.”