Voices from Academe-Labor of Love

Recently, there's been a slew of articles about the dire prospects for graduate students, especially in the humanities, on the job market. The New York Times last weekend ran an article about the job prospects (or lack thereof) in the humanities. In the Chronicle of Higher Education, a columnist that goes by the pen-name Thomas H. Benton has been warning prospective grad students of the danger of attending graduate school in English. "Just don't go," he says, unless you're independently wealthy, are supported by a spouse, or are independently wealthy.

Today, the most recent Chronicle has a part two to his original essay about avoiding graduate school. Apparently, he received quite a bit of mail that accused him of undermining the importance of the academy, the importance of intellectual life. And, in response, he brought up what I think is a truly important point-- that the rhetoric of doing this (i.e., academia) because we love it is at best naive, and worst, dangerous.

And he's right. For what other profession do people use the rhetoric of "love" to excuse the fact that there are no jobs out there. He makes an important point, that the discipline has lost its ability to take care of its own.

I see this happening in my own department. Surely enough, this spring will bring a wealth of new graduate students to visit campus. Next fall 20-30 new bodies will fill the seats in orientation. And, I can almost guarantee that no one will mention the fact that, in all likelihood, most of them will never become tenure-track professors. They may be told that we have "very good job placement" (I was). They may be told that we're an extremely strong program with a strong faculty (we are). But no one--I'd be willing to bet money on this--will tell them that they should be open to other options besides being a professor. (Other than adjuncting indefinitely, that is.) That would be tantamount to blasphemy in the hallowed halls of the ivory tower.

Trust me- I know this from experience. When I told my otherwise helpful and supportive dissertation director that I would go do something else if I didn't get a tenure track job, she gave me a look that indicated that I might, possibly, have lost it.

The problem, really, is that this isn't about my own piddly job market performance. It's really about a system that perpetuates cycles of exploitation--and not even on purpose. Our professors really do care about how we do--that much I know. But even they don't know how to help us do anything else but become research-oriented professors. And so, this rhetoric of the love of the profession becomes our reason for being, our entire identity.

I was struck by one specific thing in Benton's latest article-- that some of the letters he received from graduate students talked about depression, some about thinking of suicide. And that floored me.

But it also made me realize how very lucky I am to see this as both a vocation and a job. If I thought of studying literature as only a vocation--something so intrinsic to my identity that I could not do without it--my utter job market failure might well have been devastating.

It wasn't, surprisingly enough. I had a fine time in California at Disneyland while I should have been interviewing with people. And I think that is partially because I see this as a job.

I've never been one to think that work comes before family, friends, or other obligations. Especially not family. And I have an amazing family--both extended and nuclear. Every time my little guy comes up with some new idea or game, every time I tuck his small, freshly-washed body into bed at night, my career problems recede. Every time my husband holds my hand as we watch him play, or we laugh ourselves silly about something stupid, those problems recede.

I'm sure it's a bit Pollyanna-ish of me, and I by no means think that kids or partners are the answer to everyone's life problems. But for me they work, I guess. It makes me glad that I didn't make grad school or research my life, because they certainly haven't done a lot for me. It makes me glad that I didn't put anything on hold for the big dream of tenure, because that may never happen for me.

And having them makes that little problem, somehow, ok.

When Words are Personal

Sometimes I forget that what I do can impact people in a very real way. I teach literature, after all. And, while I know that there have been books that changed my life, made me more of who I am today, I don't necessarily believe that it works that way for everyone. I don't believe in any inherent quality in books or stories that has that kind of power.

But then today, one of my students came up to me after class. We're reading The English Patient, this beautifully lush novel about identity and love and words and war, and my student is worried. Because in just over a month, her boyfriend will ship off to Iraq. In just over a month, the horrors that the novel depicts in poetically horrific language might become her horrors.

But she doesn't want to be rude, so she asks if it would be ok if she needs to step outside of class sometimes to get her bearings.

Just two days ago, we read a story from The Things They Carried. It's a story about the awful weight of war, the pointlessness of death, the end of moralizing stories. It's a story about a boy (because they were almost all boys over in 'Nam) who got his head blown off taking a piss. "Zapped while zipping," the story tells us. It's a story I've always loved for its ability to strip any of the romantic trappings away from war and heroism, combat and death. It has always seemed to me strangely innocent in its rawness. But it's a story that my student had to read knowing that her own reality would be intersecting with that fiction in very real ways very soon.

I forget sometimes that words matter. It's funny, really, considering that what I do is deal in words because I do think they matter.

I forget sometimes that I cannot control context, and so I selected a couple of war stories, because I happened to "like" them, for my class to read while we are in the midst of two wars. I'm conscious of the wars. I've had students who were about to leave, who had just come back from the hell that was Fallujah (where his base camp had a banner that said "will today be the day"). And yet, I so easily forgot to include that in my thinking, in my planning.

I know that The English Patient is about more than WWII, just as The Things They Carried is about more than Vietnam, but that isn't really going to help the young woman who sits in the front left side of my classroom. For her, those stories are going to be about her war, her boyfriend's war.

And every time she steps out of the classroom, I'll know it was just a little too much.

Stuck in the Middle

I haven't written much here, because for once I've been writing elsewhere. (You know, that dissertation-thingy I'm supposed to be about done with.) I've also been dealing with a lot--a whole lot--of cr@p dealing with the whole knife incident.

The last few days have made me realize just how ridiculous the position of a graduate student is. On one hand, we're supposed to be instructors and give our students the same as we would if we were faculty. On the other hand, we're not faculty, so we don't really count--either as employees or as students.

Because so many of you told me I should report the knife incident, I did. To the police, and I told them I wanted to remain anonymous when they talked to the student. I also emailed our associate department head to let her know that the incident had occurred and that I was contacting the police about it.

I didn't want the student to know it was me who reported the incident for a number of reasons. Class has been going well, and I wanted him to remain comfortable seeing me as an ally rather than an enemy. I didn't want him to think that my reporting the incident was a judgment upon him as a person. But I had other reasons: I didn't want to create an opportunity for him to say that my grading was prejudiced because of the event and, to be honest, the event scared me enough that I just didn't feel 100% safe having him know who reported him.

He wasn't happy about the police visiting, and I did not confirm that it was, indeed, I who had caused his discomfort. But his reaction also bothered me. He didn't seem to understand that it was wrong to have such a dangerous weapon on campus. He didn't agree with the police's visit and didn't feel that he "deserved it." And he didn't seem to understand that other people had a right to feel uncomfortable in the presence of such a large knife. We corresponded via email, briefly, over the course of the week, and he presented to me his belief that everyone should be armed. That September 11th couldn't have happened if everyone on that plane had weapons training and carried knives. I held back and didn't respond by saying that no one would have gotten killed on May 4th had guns not been present--even in the hands of highly trained people. Instead I remained neutral.

Then, on Wednesday (this is now almost an entire week after the original incident), I find out that the associate department head is no longer even at our University and that my email has been forward to the person who is standing in for the summer. That professor must have skimmed my original email, because he responded (again, 5 days after the fact) that I could go to the police if I wanted (too late), but then emailed a few hours later saying that the Dean said maybe I should wait (once again...too late). They wanted the student's name and information, and I complied, with the request that if anyone else were to contact the student that they let me know first so I could be prepared to deal with his response.

So yesterday, I received an email from the student saying that the campus disciplinary committee had contacted him. Great. This is exactly what I did not want to happen. I contacted the acting department chair--he didn't know what was going on. I contacted the dean directly--she was a complete idiot.

Somehow in the course of our conversation, she made it very clear to me that this problem and my fear of the student was all of my own doing. Had I been forthright about telling him that I contacted the police, he would not be upset now. Apparently, I am also naive (her actual words). At one point, she said that what needed to happen was for me, some dean of students, and the student to sit down in a room and mediate this. For me to work out my problem with him and for him to work out his anger at being reported.

Here's the thing--I know that there is only this itty-bitty nonexistent chance that said student is emotionally unstable or psychotic. I know that he may be the sweetest, gentlest man on earth. But he brought, into my classroom, the kind of knife that (as another of my students said) you use to cut someone into fish bait. I don't care how lovely he may be, I am not willing to risk my family's safety if said student might want revenge for what he perceives to be an attack.

The dean didn't quite see it that way. She implied that any anger or anxiety the student feels now was my doing for keeping the report anonymous. As a teacher, I had a responsibility to step forward and tell him that I was obligated to report him.

By the end of the conversation I was sobbing into the phone. Her gut may have been telling her that this was all a big misunderstanding, but from the very beginning of this whole situation, my gut told me that he shouldn't know who reported him. And I trust that instinct, no matter how much I may be scared for no reason. She saw things very, very differently. This will not be the last time, she told me, that a student would make me feel uncomfortable.

No shit. I've had students make me uncomfortable. I've dealt with crap from guys who didn't think a woman should tell them what to do, from women who thought they could get away with anything because they were cute and bubbly, from racists and homophobic students who had no interest in reading something critically and were only interested in spouting more hate into the world. I have not, however, experienced a weapon in my classroom before, and to be frank, I hope to hell I never do again. This is not the same thing.

Luckily, the disciplinary officer was more understanding. He agreed to leave my name out of the conversation. But in the course of his discussion with me, he mirrored the dean's feelings that I had more responsibility to make myself known than another student.

I understand that, I do. As the instructor, I am responsible for the class and I should be able to use that responsibility to say that I am obligated to do certain things. But I'm not really in charge. I can't even bring a student up on plagiarism charges unless my supervisor says that I can. I do want to be a professor and I will accept that responsibility when I have it, but as I told the disciplinary committee officer, I am not a professor yet. I don't have the benefits or compensation that professor's have. I have only the most meager of health insurance, no retirement or insurance benefits, and am pain less than 1/3 of what professors are paid to teach more classes, in some cases, than they teach at my institution.

More importantly, I am not willing to put myself or my family at any greater risk than I have to if those who are my supervisors and who are in charge can't even keep me in the loop about what is going on. I shouldn't have had to make those calls. Someone should have kept me abreast of the situation. But no, instead of contacting me, they contact my supervisor--fine, then let him be the bad guy from the student's perspective, because this was never my intention from the beginning.

The whole situation really underlined just how precarious a situation graduate students are in. On one hand they want me to step up and take the same responsibility and risk that a professor is required to take. On the other hand they keep referring to me as the student's TA (it's my class) and treat my like I am not a colleague--or at least, a partner in this whole issue.

It's a problem, one that ruined my entire day yesterday. Not only do I have to worry if the student will be disruptive in class (he was Thursday), not only do I have to worry about more weapons showing up...now I have this huge wad of self-doubt about what I did wrong. Is the dean right? I don't think so, but that question eats at me. Not completely a student and not completely a member of the faculty, I'm stuck in the middle. And it sucks, majorly.

I have 4 more days left in class, and it's been a great class, but I just want it to be over. I'm just tired.

Um, right.

I hate getting my class evaluations back each semester. No matter how many wonderful or glowing comments there are, I inevitably focus on the few students who were unhappy with the course. It's especially hard if the class they are evaluating is one that you put extra effort into and/or is one that is your subject. I got my spring evaluations today, and while J says that they are quite good--enough for our schools list of super duper incomplete teachers--they still bummed me out. For instance, if you wanted to read a bunch of British canonical writers, you should have dropped the course after day one--the syllabus wasn't going to change. And if you don't want to read that much, you probably shouldn't be taking a lit class at all. The worst was one student who called the class "ill-conceived." It doesn't matter that I can tell who it was--and that she wasn't even in class half the time, or that there were 10 others that said that the class was great and one of their favorites. I take it too personally, I know. The most frustrating?? The ratings of less than excellent for the consideration and quality of grading. You'd think that a page of comments would be enough-- apparently not.

But I suppose J is right; they really aren't bad at all--far above the average ratings for a university course here at Prairie U. It's still frustrating to see the amount of comments that claim there's too much work, that there should be only 1 essay question on the exam, and that I should make them read less. right.

But in the interest of finding the bright side- here are a few of my "favorites":

"I think the grading process is rather tough, but not impossible to obtain a good grade"

"Important notes for each work should be on slides. Taking notes by hand is out dated and too hard to get everything down"

"Love the outfits"

The Two Body Problem...Plus One

I guess that makes it the three body problem.

But really, folks. Only in Academe could it be considered a "problem" to be settled and committed to an equally intelligent and driven partner. I vote for new nomenclature- how about the "two-body bonus"? Two bright individuals who will contribute and provide stability to a worthy institution.

Ok, so the Ivory Tower is a bit behind the times. They're trying to catch up, I suppose. In the 1970s, there where nepotism clauses that prevented institutions from hiring spouses. At least now we have a shot. (whoop. eee.)

But seriously, the two body problem is an issue. It's a bigger issue, though, if you have a three body problem. Or a four or five body problem. Maybe not if you're a male; somehow, having a family and kids makes you more attractive and seem more stable. If your a woman, you find yourself carefully expunging your professional website of any trace of baby--just in case that keeps your foot out of the door. Hubby, however, puts Little Man front and center: "My favorite budding economist," the caption reads beneath the picture of my two favorite guys somewhere in the middle of Central Park.

It's the three body problem that is even more difficult, because you don't have the option of living in different states for a little while (i.e., until you grow so far apart you file for divorce), because even long commutes between places aren't feasibly with a child in daycare somewhere.

This is something the second wave didn't deal with and something that today's young women are blissfully oblivious of....for now. There's a reason Hillary's campaign doesn't resonate with young women voters--they/we don't understand how monumental it is. As a woman, every avenue is open to you. The sky's the limit. There aren't "boy" jobs and "girl" jobs, there are smart people jobs and not-so-smart people jobs.

Until you have a baby, and then suddenly working like a man doesn't work anymore. And suddenly a "bump"* can hurt you in an interview. And suddenly you're on the "mommy track," even if you're not. You. Are. A. Liability. Your employer doesn't even have to offer you maternity leave if you haven't worked for them for more than 12 months.

Why is it a problem to be stable? To be committed? To be passionate about being more than one little box for people to fit you into?

I love watching the little undergrad chick-a-dees walking around without a care in the world. All doors are open to them. Nothing stands in their way. I was them once, never suspecting that the glass ceiling is a lot lower when you're wearing a baby bjorn.


*Really, people, who came up with this??

Yet Another Reason....

why the big, bloated state university which I attend will never see a penny of my alumni dollars.

So we got paid today. Usually this is a good thing-- a very good thing. But when we looked at the amounts, they didn't seem right. Then, when I emailed our lovely departmental secretaries about it, I got the explanation. Turns out that getting a fellowship means getting a pay cut of about $200 per month.

Great.

So much for the fellowship's supposed goal to ease my stress and workload by giving me a release from teaching one class. Now, I'm making about $800 less this semester, so I have brand new things to stress about.

Some "award."

I know I should have read the fine print, should have tallied up the amounts before I accepted the award, and all, but I thought that a 33% appointment was a 33% appointment. That one would equal the other. They really should be more explicit about these things. Because when you live on a tight budget, with a child, and a mortgage, and bills, and car repairs... $800 is a whole lot of something.

uf.

And so it begins.....

I'll be honest--I really wasn't looking forward to the start of classes this fall. (I'm talking ren-away-to-clown-college-or-just-go-work-retail-not-looking-forward-to-it.) I feel like I've gotten too much writing done in the last two weeks to be bothered by teaching again.

J's excitement about the prospect of starting the semester has irritated me this last week. ok. irritated is a bit of an understatement, but I did manage to not throw a show at him.

But then I came to campus today and everything seems all a-buzz. I like watching the new people figure things out--like how not to get Schwinned in the bike lane and how to get out of the back doors of the bus. It makes me feel like an old pro, like I belong here.

Classes don't start until tomorrow, and today the campus has a festival-like atmosphere. Our main lawn area is filled with booths and bands and students all trying to angle for the newbies. "Come," they call. "Be one of us."

No thanks.

But it's kind of fun to watch.