It’s the last week of the semester, and once again I ended my course in American Political Thought with a discussion of different views on the purpose of university education. My students read essays by John Dewey, Clark Kerr, Alan Bloom, and my late friend and colleague Jeff Lustig. As in past semesters, we also discussed the 1964 Berkeley Free Speech Movement (FSM), this time in light of the fiftieth anniversary, which has been marked by various events and publications this fall.
This time around, our discussions of the FSM quickly turned to the recent widespread protests against the killing of Michael Brown, Eric Garner, and other unarmed black men by police. Hundreds of Berkeley students have joined protests during the past week.
Fifty years ago, student protesters were galvanized by the arrest of Jack Weinberg for violating a university ban on political advocacy on campus. Weinberg was put in a police car parked in the center of campus, but hundreds of students spontaneously surrounded the car and prevented it from leaving. For the next 32 hours, students gave speeches from the top of the police car, many removing their shoes to avoid damaging the car.
The police did little to get their car back, and they apparently tolerated the affront with relative patience. The film Berkeley in the Sixties shows police carefully stepping among throngs of students sitting on the pavement.
At one point, according to an account by David Lance Goines, when police attempted to prevent students from entering Sproul Hall, the main administration building, students used their bodies to hold open the doors, leading to a scuffle with the police. Goines writes,
One larger-than-ordinary policeman started walking through the dense group, avoiding toes and legs until his second trip, when he became careless. We said, “Hey, you’re stepping on us. Take off your shoes, at least, if you’re going to walk on us.” Officer Philip E. Mower (badge number 24), with a high and mighty look, glanced down at the crowd from his cloudy height and kept on walking. So we pushed him down and took off his shoes.
More police got involved and further scuffling ensued, but no serious violence.
It’s hard to imagine police today showing such restraint.
Police obviously have an extremely difficult job and most are well-intentioned, but since 9/11 local police have increasingly adopted military tactics and equipment. They now show up for peaceful protests with riot gear, armored vehicles, and an apparent willingness to err on the side of excessive force.
The police response to protests in Ferguson is just the most prominent recent example. The Occupy protests of 2011 also led to many cases of police using excessive force, including the infamous pepper-spraying at UC Davis. At UC Berkeley, police beat student and faculty protesters, including the US poet laureate Robert Haas. Members of the English department returned the next day with the memorable protest sign, “Beat Poets, not beat poets.”
Of course, police brutality is nothing new, especially for people of color. Among other things, the militarization of police has long been part of the “war on drugs” in minority communities.
The FSM included a wide range of student groups united around the principle of free speech, but many of the more radical students saw a close link between free speech and racial justice. Many were inspired by the civil rights movement, and Mario Savio and other Berkeley students had participated in the 1964 Freedom Summer campaign to register black voters in the South. Jack Weinberg was arrested while representing the Campus Congress of Racial Equality.
But Berkeley students in 1964 didn’t face the police dogs, billy clubs, and fire hoses that police turned on civil rights protesters in Birmingham, Selma, and elsewhere. To be sure, many of the students surrounding the police car feared an attack by police, and there was a potential for violence, but negotiations between students and administrators brought the incident to a peaceful conclusion.
Although many factors played a role, it’s certainly not irrelevant that the vast majority of the students were white. We might even say that the Berkeley students who seized a police car in 1964 were “criming while white.”
Last week the Twitter hashtag #crimingwhilewhite became a vehicle for tales of white privilege, with thousands of whites posting anecdotes of committing various crimes (drunk driving, shoplifting) and being let-off easy by police, when people of color most likely would not have been.
To say that the FSM began by “seizing a police car while white” does not diminish its achievement. But perhaps it highlights how much work remains to be done.
This Thursday, September 11, the Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois will meet and most likely discuss the case of Professor Steven Salaita.
For those who haven’t been following the case, here’s a quick summary: During the past academic year, Professor Salaita was offered and accepted a position as tenured professor in the American Indian Studies Program at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. He resigned his position at Virginia Tech, and then on August 1 he was informed that the Chancellor would not be forwarding his name to the Board of Trustees for final approval, a formality which apparently often occurs after new hires have started teaching their first classes.
Professor Salaita is an avid tweeter and combative critic of Israeli policy toward Palestine, and defenders of the Chancellor’s decision first argued that Salaita’s tweets about the recent Israeli bombing of Gaza were anti-Semitic. That charge seems to be overblown, and it was good to see Michael Bérubé and others criticize the Chancellor’s decision, despite their disagreement with Salaita’s views on Israel.
The debate shifted somewhat with the Chancellor’s August 22 statement, which emphasized the seemingly more formal charge of incivility:
What we cannot and will not tolerate at the University of Illinois are personal and disrespectful words or actions that demean and abuse either viewpoints themselves or those who express them. . . . A Jewish student, a Palestinian student, or any student of any faith or background must feel confident that personal views can be expressed and that philosophical disagreements with a faculty member can be debated in a civil, thoughtful and mutually respectful manner. Most important, every student must know that every instructor recognizes and values that student as a human being.
The Office of the University President released a similar statement, saying that “we must constantly reinforce our expectation of a university community that values civility as much as scholarship” (a scary thought).
Civility is generally conducive to effective public discussion, and our talk shows could certainly use more of it. But civility is often invoked to silence critics of the powerful. Those who carry big sticks can afford to talk softly (but often shout anyway), while those who don’t may need more energetic means to make themselves heard.
In any case, as Brian Leiter explains in a wonderful television interview, no matter how intemperate Salaita’s tweets, the University of Illinois is on shaky constitutional ground. Leiter writes,
Contrary to the initial misrepresentations put into circulation by far right websites, none of the tweets were either anti-semitic or incitements to violence. Some were vulgar, some juvenile, some insulting, some banal. The First Amendment unequivocally protects Salaita’s right to express every one of those opinions on a matter of public concern, and to do so, if he wants, with vulgarity and insults.
Moreover, in many respects the charge of incivility is a red herring, and evidence suggests that the Chancellor’s decision was driven primarily by pressure from university fundraisers and wealthy donors.
So this case highlights important issues about the relation between polite and passionate speech, between public universities and private fundraising, and between public advocacy and classroom pedagogy. (By the way, Salaita is reported to be a respected and effective classroom teacher.)
But I think all of that is largely irrelevant to the immediate question of whether the University of Illinois should complete the process of hiring Salaita. That question is primarily about academic self-governance.
As Patchen Markell and others have pointed out, established principles of academic self-governance, as well as Illinois statue, require that any substantive evaluation of Salaita’s efforts as a commentator on public affairs, if appropriate at all, would have to be undertaken by the academic units involved in hiring him, not by the Trustees.
I said as much in the email I sent last week to members of the Board of Trustees. I have also signed a boycott statement by political scientists, which is one of many that together include thousands of people. If you’d also like to sign a statement and/or write the trustees before their Thursday meeting, you can find all the information here.
I recently returned from two workshops in France and the Netherlands where, among other things, I learned more about the challenges faced by public universities in Europe. Like in the United States, they increasingly rely on temporary faculty contracts, quantitative productivity rankings, and dubious efficiency measures.
Such issues were part of the agenda at a November 2013 conference in Amsterdam, “Science in Transition,” where I gave a talk on science communication. Ever since that event, a Dutch friend told me, the conference organizers have given dozens of lectures and interviews on fraud and corruption in the peer review system, commercial influences on science, and the politicization of expertise. Government officials have referred publicly to “Science in Transition,” and there seem to be at least a few possibilities for serious reforms.
Also last fall my long-time colleagues Hans Radder and Willem Halffman published a manifesto, “Het academisch manifest. Van een bezette naar een publieke universiteit,” calling for faculty engagement to defend public universities against corporate management techniques. They also helped establish an online Platform for the Reform of Dutch Universities (H.NU) with articles, news items, and useful links. The English-language statement of goals emphasizes the psychological effects of creeping managerialism:
Over the last decades, a process of individualisation has occurred at universities, with a corresponding decrease of solidarity. Some of the common consequences are: survival behaviour, servility, loss of motivation and also fear. Qualified staff burn out under the workload and bad perspectives. This is especially the case for young staff members, who can ill defend themselves because of their precarious job contracts. Many of the older staff members are numb after years of top-down measures. The high publication pressure and sharp competition not only lead to excesses such as fraud and plagiarism, but also to various forms of sloppy science. Recent figures also show an increase of depression and drop-out among students.
Fortunately, this discontent has recently resulted in a growing number of initiatives that aim to change this situation. The Platform aims to stimulate and connect local and international debates and initiatives aimed at a better future university.
The site includes a tongue-in-cheek competition for the university instructor with the longest record of temporary employment at a Dutch university. Candidates are expected to excel in flexibility, mobility, and passion. In the event of a tie, victory goes to the candidate with the most legally problematic contracts. The current leader has 303 months (over 25 years) of temporary contracts, which is impressive, but if my father were Dutch he would win. Submissions are due by August 15 of this year.
Also worth checking out are the slides of a presentation by Willem Halffman, “No Merit in Precariat,” which includes a graph showing that in the Netherlands the percentage of faculty who have PhDs but only temporary contracts nearly doubled since 1995, now reaching about 40 percent. Halffman also notes the vicious dynamics of a system that rewards professors for bringing in grants that relieve them from teaching, thus generating temporary positions for contingent faculty. “And we all continue to collaborate.”
Hans Radder recently retired after many years of distinguished work as a professor in the philosophy department at the Free University of Amsterdam. He might not be especially sad to go, it seems, since last year faculty in his department were moved into
shared offices open offices, ostensibly to save money and space, and professors were told they would each have 3.8 meters of shelf space for books. On Professor Radder’s university webpage under “Office hours” it says, “We don’t have offices anymore. For an appointment, please send an email.”
This call to action made me think of Thoreau’s essay “Civil Disobedience,” where he writes, “A man has not everything to do, but something; and because he cannot do everything, it is not necessary that he should do something wrong.”
In theory we might have general ideas about how to do everything, and academics are especially prone to that affliction, but in practice we can only do some particular things. It’s easy to appeal to general ideals of public education and research, more difficult to actively promote them, and perhaps most difficult to avoid violating them on a regular basis as we go about our everyday academic work.
It’s not often that my work overlaps with that of the U.S. Congress.
In January the House Committee on Education and the Workforce released a report on the working conditions of contingent faculty, “The Just-In-Time Professor.” As one story on the report noted, this is the first time that Congress has formally addressed the issue.
Not to be outdone, and certainly not by the U.S. Congress, the Faculty Council of the College of Social Sciences and Interdisciplinary Studies (SSIS) at Sacramento State, which I currently chair, recently sent out a brief report on the working conditions of contingent faculty in our college.
When we first started working on the issue about 18 months ago, we had a brief discussion on what term to use for non-tenure-track faculty. We eventually settled on “contingent faculty,” which has long been used by the AAUP and other groups to highlight the uncertain working conditions of non-tenure-track faculty. It’s also the term used by the House Committee report. The more familiar terms “part-time faculty” and “adjunct faculty” have become somewhat misleading, since non-tenure-track faculty now comprise between 50 and 80 percent of university faculty, and many teach full-time. The California Faculty Association (CFA) and our university employment guidelines use the term “Lecturer,” while the CSU Collective Bargaining Agreement refers to “temporary faculty unit employees.”
The CFA officially represents contingent faculty and has secured significant contract improvements over the years. The CFA also has an excellent “Lecturers’ Handbook.”
At Sacramento State, about half of the faculty are on contingent appointments, with substantial variations among departments. In the fall of 2012, the SSIS Faculty Council sent a survey on contingent faculty to the College’s department chairs, and a year later we sent an online anonymous survey to all 109 contingent faculty then teaching in the College. The total number of respondents was 56, which makes for a response rate of 51 percent.
Most respondents expressed satisfaction with questions of collegiality and autonomy in course design, among other things. But there were many areas of considerable dissatisfaction, which won’t surprise anyone familiar with the issue:
Unpaid work (44 responses). On their own initiative and without additional pay:
- 29 advise/mentor undergraduates, and 18 advise/mentor graduate students
- 21 attend conferences or colloquia, and 24 attend professional development functions
- 12 develop new courses
- 18 publish research papers
Receipt of contract for appointment or reappointment:
- 10 have, at least once, received their contract after the semester started (46 responses)
- 33 usually receive their contract less than 15 days before the semester started (47 responses)
- 5 said their college has a mechanism for recognizing outstanding contributions from faculty with their appointment title, 13 said it did not, and 30 said they don’t know (48 responses)
- 48 said they had never applied for a performance award from their college (48 responses)
- 14 said their department provides them with professional development opportunities, 34 said either it did not or they were not sure (48 responses)
- 25 said their college or university provides them with professional development opportunities, 23 said either it did not or they were not sure (48 responses)
- 33 are not aware of opportunities to participate in governance in their department (46 responses)
- 35 are not aware of opportunities to participate in governance in their college (46 responses)
- 28 are regularly invited to department meetings, 19 are not (47 responses)
- 9 have a vote on some issues at department meetings, 15 do not, and 16 are not sure (40 responses)
- 13 would like to play a larger role in department meetings and/or department committees, even without additional compensation, 12 if they were compensated financially, and 20 if they were compensated in some way (52 responses)
Our report also included a brief set of recommendations for consideration by all members of the College:
- Consider formally inviting contingent faculty to attend department meetings, and trying to schedule meetings at times when the maximum number of contingent faculty can attend. Contingent faculty cannot be contractually required to attend meetings, because service is not part of their contracts, but departments can consider inviting contingent faculty to provide input on decisions that affect them. Department meetings also provide an opportunity to share information and ideas, and including contingent faculty may help strengthen department collegiality and morale.
- Consider allowing contingent faculty to vote on departmental decisions that do not involve ARTP for tenured and tenure-track faculty, such as department chair, curriculum, and other matters pertaining to faculty working conditions. Departments might consider establishing a minimum service threshold for voting rights (e.g., two semesters).
- Consider ways of more fully including contingent faculty in departmental social events.
- Consider inviting qualified contingent faculty to teach the full range of courses taught by tenure-line faculty (lecture, seminar, lower-division, upper-division, graduate, etc.). Relatedly, consider establishing explicit criteria for course allocation.
- Consider providing contingent faculty with department-level funding for professional development, preferably on an equal basis with other faculty.
- Consider using a wide range of factors to evaluate contingent faculty. The recent memo from the Dean’s office indicates various possibilities.
- For department chairs, in cooperation with the Dean’s office, consider ways of providing contingent faculty more advance notice and confirmation of employment. Whenever possible, confirm appointments on an individual basis, rather than waiting until all appointments can be confirmed at once. Contingent faculty need the earliest possible notice of their teaching assignments for adequate course preparation and other matters, and they require a confirmation of contract to make decisions about other work opportunities.
Some departments were already doing some of these things before we starting working on the report, and we’ve gotten positive feedback from some faculty. But it will take some time to see to what extent individual departments undertake significant changes.
One exciting change already is that our college dean proposed to solicit nominations for a lecturer representative to join the Council this fall, and the Faculty Council approved. The person will be elected by the College’s contingent faculty, and given that lecturers are not paid for university service, he or she will be eligible for one unit of assigned time. I’m told that two people have already nominated themselves.
Of course, there’s only so much we can do at the college level, but as they say, “you gotta start somewhere,” and we might make some relatively easy but significant improvements.
Back in January, I met with Melinda Welsh of the Sacramento News & Review to talk about MOOCs, and this week’s issue includes a few quotes from our discussion in a feature story: “MOOCs: High-tech hype, or the future of education?“
Among other things, the article quotes me on the way public fascination with MOOCs easily distracts us from more fundamental challenges to higher education. What are we not talking about when we’re talking about MOOCs? We’re not talking about the working conditions of contingent faculty, or rising tuition and student debt, or the need to restore public funding to higher education.
Welsh and I also talked about the way boosters have often presented MOOCs as a techno-fix for the ills of higher education. But now the MOOC messaging has shifted from technology-as-savior to technology-as-sublime-mystery.
According to the gurus of innovation, the MOOC phenomena is simply being misunderstood. As Mark Zuckerberg’s character said in The Social Network: “We don’t even know what it is yet.”
Unfortunately, this new packaging is not much less deterministic and anti-democratic than the first. Whether MOOCs are essentially good or essentially unpredictable, the implicit message is that we don’t have political choices about how to respond — but of course we do, as Welsh makes clear in her discussion of faculty response to proposed California Senate Bill 520, which would have required public universities and colleges to give credit for privately run online courses.
The article rightly points out that MOOCs do have various benefits, and they may actually work best when not associated with universities at all: “some even suggest MOOCs will create a vast new ‘leisure learning’ market.”
But MOOCs also raise other important concerns, frequently and forcefully presented by Jonathan Rees:
Epistemic obsolescence. Why invest all that time and money — Welsh reports that a computing class produced by Udacity cost about $250,000 — when the content will be outdated in a couple years? Maybe it doesn’t matter so much for certain introductory topics, but most faculty continually update their courses to reflect new developments, both in their discipline and in society at large.
Faculty de-skilling and self-obsolescence. If students can watch lectures by the best super-professors in the world, do they really need highly trained but somewhat-less-super professors any more at all? If faculty record all their best lectures so that anyone can watch them by clicking a button, why would a university pay those faculty to give more lectures? Students can watch the lectures alone at home, and if someone still wants a little classroom interaction, a low-paid temp teaching assistant can lead discussion. Welcome to Wal-Mart U!
Time constraints. Watching an online lecture at home can be an excellent complement to assigned reading and other course materials, but there are only so many hours in a day. If forced to choose, should students watch a video or read a book? Maybe some of each, depending on the student, topic, and goals of the course. But when time is short, a 15-minute video easily seems more attractive than a 50-page reading assignment. The risk is that students no longer acquire the analytical and interpretive skills that come from careful reading of difficult texts.
These issues came together in a recent class of mine, when I played a few minutes of one of Michael Sandel’s lectures from his famous course on justice. Sandel is an engaging lecturer, in part because he often directly engages at least a few members of his huge audience in back-and-forth discussion. Nearly everyone remains silent, of course, so it’s nothing like a good seminar, but the verbal exchange is symbolically important, and even those who aren’t lucky enough to enjoy a few moments of friendly banter with the Sage on the Stage may feel virtually included.
But as I watched the video with my students, it struck me as incredibly sad. Why would we sit there and watch another professor discuss important issues with another set of students? So I jumped up and turned it off, told the students to watch it at home, but only after they had finished the assigned reading, and the students and I talked about the issues ourselves.
Maybe you’d like some food for thought, but you’ve already had lunch and it’s too early for dinner. Or maybe you’re looking for a midnight snack. You want something tasty but not filling, just a short chapter or two, a bookish treat.
You could try a bite from a bit of my book.
The culinary landscape of academic publishing is changing in all sorts of ways, and MIT Press recently expanded their menu with something called “BITS”: single-serving chapters of MIT Press titles.
A BIT doesn’t cost much ($2.99 to $4.99), and it’s readable on any screen (DRM-free). If after the BIT you want to buy the book, you get 40 percent off on the Press website.
The BIT of my book Science in Democracy includes chapters 3 and 8. The text is identical to the printed book, including footnotes, but without the original page numbers.
Chapter 3 is about the relation of democracy and expertise in eighteenth-century theories of political representation. Here’s an excerpt:
Commentators today usually portray political representation as necessary for coping with the size and complexity of modern states. The founders of representative government agreed, but they were also convinced that it offered a way of dealing with the perceived incompetence of unruly citizens. Scholars today echo this view when discussing the relation of science and democracy. They acknowledge that science incorporates both egalitarian and elitist elements (e.g., egalitarian norms of publicity and transparency on one hand, and merit-based restrictions on membership on the other). But when it comes to democracy, they equate democracy with its egalitarian elements (e.g., voting rights) and neglect its elitist elements (voting is a process for selecting representatives whom voters deem, in one respect or another, more qualified than others). Indeed, commentators generally equate calls for the “democratization” of science with efforts to increase the quantity rather than the quality of public engagement. This chapter shows that this populist view of democracy is embedded within the liberal theory of representative government. It also shows that this view of democracy stems from a time when most people believed that democracy necessarily led to majority tyranny. This historical legacy suggests that finding a place for science within representative democracy depends on rethinking the relationships among science, democracy, and representation.
Chapter 8 is about how science becomes political:
To say that science has been politicized implies that it was previously not political. And assuming that politicization is reversible, things that have become political can be depoliticized as well. But what does it mean to make something political? How does one know that a particular change or event qualifies as an instance of the larger phenomenon of politicization? . . . My aim in this chapter . . . is not to tell everyone what politics really is, nor to subvert practical efforts to shift received boundaries between science and politics. On the contrary: the purpose of asking how science becomes political is to facilitate such efforts by exploring their normative stakes and potential contribution to representative democracy.
That’s all for now. Go ahead, try it, you’ll like it.
It’s Valentine’s Day, and even though it’s a holiday no less commercialized than most, and stores are suddenly filled with flowers, champagne, and chocolates, we all know you can’t buy love. (Actually, the chocolate might help, or so early modern physicians believed, according to an op-ed on “Sex and Candy” in today’s paper.)
What about education? Many of us in the liberal arts tend to see education as inherently non-economic, as fundamentally opposed to economic ideas, values, and interests. The liberal arts have intrinsic value, we say, good in themselves and not (only) for their instrumental benefits. And even if liberal arts students actually have better economic prospects than most assume, I think there’s a tendency in the liberal arts to draw a sharp line between economic and intellectual concerns. Maybe that’s why so many faculty continue to have an ivory tower view of our profession, finding little time for the mundane work of participating in university politics, engaging the general public, or actively promoting public support of higher education.
To be sure, university life depends on intellectual curiosity, autonomy, community, and other values and activities that are easily undermined by commercial thinking. But it’s not a black-and-white issue, as critics of the commodification of academic work sometimes suggest. It’s possible to think in terms of what legal scholar Margaret Radin calls “incomplete commodification.” I wrote about this issue in an earlier post, and in a book chapter that I’ll excerpt here (citations removed):
When giving someone a gift, it is indeed “the thought that counts,” but expressing that thought by purchasing a gift with money need not denigrate the thought. Similarly, most people must work for pay, and yet most hope to have jobs they would enjoy doing for free. And anyone who takes pride in “a job well done,” does the job in a manner that is not fully captured by its market price. Rather than simply banning certain things from being sold, society might resist universal commodification by finding ways of protecting and promoting the non-market dimensions of things exchanged on the market.
Today the non-economic dimensions of higher education are especially threatened by a lack of economic resources. Deep cuts in public funding have led to skyrocketing tuition and student debt, increased reliance on contingent faculty, and reductions in faculty positions, course offerings, and library services, among other things. Many taxpayers seem unwilling to spend money to educate “somebody else’s children,” otherwise known as the future of our society.
Fifty years ago the Beatles released the film “A Hard Day’s Night,” which includes a scene of the band frolicking on the grass during the song “Can’t Buy Me Love.” The song is a joyous embrace of love over money. The scene ends with a grumpy man saying to them, “I suppose you realize this is private property!” George replies dryly, “Sorry we hurt your field, Mister.”
Just because something has economic value, such as a field, doesn’t mean it will be hurt by non-economic uses, such as frolicking. And just because university education depends on non-economic values doesn’t mean nobody has to pay for it. The question is who.
Happy Valentine’s Day!