Social Crises and the Faculty Response
Edward Zlotkowski*
*A
version of this text was presented to the American Association for Higher
Education Forum on Faculty Roles and Rewards, Phoenix, Arizona, January 24-27,
2002
On the 11th of September, I was in my office, following the events unfolding in New York and Washington, when, like many other faculty nationwide, I received from the dean an e-mail (Hadlock 2001):
…most of the faculty I have talked to agree that we will find various benefits for the discussion of today’s events in classes tomorrow, Wednesday, and on Thursday. Students who typically see teachers as presenters of narrow material in a narrow discipline have much to learn from witnessing our concern for the issues raised by this tragedy. Sharing things we do not ordinarily take the occasion to share. I therefore would encourage every faculty person to make an effort to raise these issues for discussion in class since there is no single discipline that owns the subject of human tragedy, nor is there any faculty member who would not have valuable points to share in his or her classes from his or her disciplinary perspective.
Two days later, another message came, this time from the president (Morone 2001), referring back to earlier messages like the dean’s, and reporting that he had received several faculty e-mails describing “wonderful sessions” dealing with Tuesday’s attacks. Unfortunately, he went on to note, he had also received many student e-mails expressing disappointment that their professors had barely mentioned what had happened before launching into “scheduled lectures.” This disturbed him:
Our job as educators today
and tomorrow and for quite some time to come is to help our students as best we
can make sense of this, and for every discipline surely, there are connections
that can and should be made between the tragedy our students are living through
and the subjects we teach.
I would suggest that for every faculty member able to respond effectively to the tragedy of 9.11, there were many more who found those events outside of and unrelated to their spheres of professional competence. They may have attempted to respond personally, but a professional response and a personal response, as the literature on the scholarship of engagement makes clear, are two very different things. I suggest that one of the most important academic lessons of 9.11 is that our ability to respond to public events professionally is woefully underdeveloped.
Take, for example, one English professor’s published account of his response (Howard 2001):
Word began to circulate that classes would be canceled, a rumor that the administration soon confirmed. As we started to pack up for the day, we heard there were bombings all over Europe. In four hours the world had gone insane.
That night I sat down to prepare for class with the television blaring in the background. After a while the coverage seemed to blend into one tragic loop that just replayed itself over and over, and I dreaded going to class on Wednesday…. Professionalism upholds the importance of the job over the personal concern. In spite of whatever feelings you might be experiencing or the distractions you might be facing, the job must take precedence. And personal preoccupations should always take a backseat to performance in the task at hand. But humanity also demands expression and acknowledgment of feeling over logic and analysis.
My heart was in my throat when I stood before my students and started to speak. It was not business as usual and to deny what had happened would be absurd. And so, instead of trying to lecture to my students, or dictate to them, or ignore what had happened, I talked with them and they talked with me. Later as I walked down the hallway looking in on other classrooms, I saw and heard pretty much the same thing. Professors comforting students and students comforting professors. In spite of the fears and concerns and anxieties we had, we would be back for another day, and hopefully, we as professors would go on to complete our lesson plan. And for the most part be able to stay true to our course outlines. And our students would return to class and finish their normal work. And hopefully they would graduate and move on to other classes and other students would take their place, and we could put this nightmare behind us and get on with our lives.
What makes this account of professional “betrayal” even more telling is the fact that the class in question was focused on the stories of Edgar Allen Poe. That even the work of Poe – let alone set theory or tax accounting – should have seemed utterly unconnected to what had taken place suggests just how far the academy has come in disengaging its self-understanding from public concerns.
Can the academy remain a vital social institution if the best it can provide, in the face of great public challenges, is personal comfort? Several years ago, a group of faculty affiliated with the Benion Center at the University of Utah (1998) proposed that higher education is, in fact, responsible for three kinds of knowledge: foundational, professional, and socially responsive. Although most schools have been willing to invest major resources in trying to achieve excellence in either one or both of the first two, their commitment to the third leaves much to be desired. And yet, it is the third that should now be at the center of our attention.
Why does the task of educating our students to be good citizens now require that we pay far more attention to socially responsive knowledge? To begin with, the needs that now challenge our society are significantly different than those that we academics faced in the past. Large-scale problems of the physical environment, health, homelessness, and underemployment have taken the forefront of our attention as never before. Moreover, changes in the demography of the nation and attendant issues of cultural, religious, and ethnic diversity, changes in family structures and lifestyles, and the globalization of the economy and political systems force us as academicians to no longer assume that we can perform our role without paying close attention to the impact of that role on the communities that surround us. And these questions simply cannot be addressed only be instilling traditional and professional knowledge in our students.
Nor, the statement goes on to point out, can the concerns identified here be addressed just by “providing opportunities for volunteer service…The transmittal of socially responsive knowledge must be integrated broadly into the entire educational enterprise.” The fact that it has not has led Russ Edgerton (1997), former president of the American Association for Higher Education (AAHE), to conclude that, if by quality education one understands an ability to teach “the literacies needed for our changing society,” contemporary American higher education is simply not passing the test.
Why this should be so becomes clear when one looks at what Gene Rice (1996) has called “the assumptive world of the academic professional” – the beliefs governing the academy as we have known it over the past half-century. These include the assumption that research, “maintained by peer review and professional autonomy” and “pursued for its own sake” is the “central professional endeavor and the focus of academic life” (8-9). This central endeavor, organized into disciplines whose national associations largely determine academic reputations, favors specialization over interconnection and acknowledges the validity only of cognitive truth. Such an assumptive world leaves little room for non-academic concerns or non-cognitive expertise. In it the complex multidisciplinary problems of society find little resonance.
Although Rice himself is the first to acknowledge the continuing dominance of this set of beliefs, he also points out how over the last few years that dominance has become less absolute as other values and perspectives have begun to push themselves to the surface. Indeed, even so effective and articulate a spokesperson for mainstream assumptions as Clark Kerr (1963/1994) has testified to this phenomenon. Kerr, who in the mid-sixties had foreseen a bright future for what he called the “multiversity” - the academy as alpha and omega of knowledge - had by the early nineties significantly revised his earlier vision. From that later perspective he could write that, in 1963,
I was generally optimistic about the workings of the knowledge process. I shared the confident belief that progress of knowledge leads to progress through knowledge. Now in the 90s, I have more reservations. New knowledge, like addictive drugs, can have bad as well as good effects. And new knowledge has limits to its curative effects. Knowledge is not so clearly all good, and certainly not the one and only ‘one good,’ and consequently the university must be more careful in what it does and less arrogant about what it claims it can do. So many of us should have realized this so much earlier, but we were too euphoric. (155)
Indeed, over the course of the 90s, we have seen a remarkable growth in programs designed to facilitate a shift from the mere accumulation of knowledge to what the poet Shelley might have called an imaginative appropriation and utilization of what we know. We have seen the founding and flourishing of the Corporation for National Service as well as the COPC program coming out of Housing and Urban Development. We have seen the phenomenal growth of Campus Compact from a few hundred members to approximately 800 institutions. We have seen the publication of the AAHE series on service and the academic disciplines (Zlotkowski 1997-2000) – a series that has helped prepare the way for many similar kinds of publications. We have seen the disciplinary associations begin to take on the work of engagement, from major initiatives at the National Communication Association to more limited but nonetheless significant developments in the sciences and the humanities. Associations organized by institutional type - associations such as the American Association of Community Colleges, the Council of Independent Colleges, the National Association of State Universities and Land-Grant Colleges, the private HBCUs working through the United Negro College Fund - all have mounted engagement efforts designed to redefine higher education in a post-Cold War world.
As I look at where we are today, as I think of the hundreds of campuses I have visited and the thousands of faculty with which I have worked, I am, in fact, optimistic that with the leadership of organizations like AAHE and Campus Compact, we have begun to move in the direction of a new educational paradigm. But I also see a fundamental threat to this development – a threat that many would just as soon ignore or deny. Nowhere is that threat more clearly captured than in a March 2000 piece by Arthur Levine called, ironically, “The Soul of a New University.” Here Levine, at one time a powerful proponent of community-based teaching and learning, calls on higher education to recognize the “convergence of knowledge-producing organizations” such as television and publishing and to join them in creating an array of technology-based knowledge delivery systems that will make the contemporary place-bound campus obsolete. This idea, that educational renewal can be achieved through the creation and utilization of new technological tools I find no more convincing than the idea that increased oil drilling will solve our energy problems or that a computer in every household will lead to a rebirth of democracy. And yet, there are at present many who would make technology and its uses the key to higher education’s future.
In a recent issue of Change (Spence 2001), there appeared a piece that so clearly identifies what is wrong with traditional teaching that one wishes it were mandatory reading for all college and university faculty. However, as trenchant as this critique is, it nonetheless leads to a conclusion more disquieting than encouraging:
We are hovering on the edge of a transformation of undergraduate education from practice based on habits, hearsay, and traditions to a science-based practice similar to the transformation of medicine in the 20th Century. We can find examples of the education of the future in charter schools in the learning software designed by [X ]and his associates, in the tutorials designed by [Y], in [a] math emporium… in the multimedia work of [university Z]… (19)
I think it is not coincidental that technology as the fulcrum of educational change so often looks explicitly to the corporate sector for models and leadership. Americans have as ingrained a habit of seeing the private sector as all-purpose solution as they have of longing for a technological fix. But the lack of public purpose that affects so much of the contemporary academy will hardly be addressed through measures that render it more – rather than less – like those forces that have been themselves powerful engines of social fragmentation.
Sandy Astin (2000), director of UCLA’s Higher Education Research Institute, has written eloquently about the ways in which a market mentality has allowed elite institutions to make the under-prepared student someone else’s problem. Russ Edgerton (1997) has described how competitive forces have conspired to impede the adoption of progressive pedagogies and new research methods. Like technology, market forces may indeed have an important role to play in the design and evolution of a new, engaged academy. But they cannot in themselves renew it; they cannot comprise its “soul.” For, as Donald Schon (1995) has argued, a new approach to teaching and learning, a truly new pedagogy, demands a new underlying epistemology, and thus, no advance in delivery mechanisms linked to, indeed, based upon the current epistemology can get us where we need to go. Only a scholarship of engagement can play this role.
The reason for this is quite simple: the scholarship of engagement actually redefines the way in which knowledge is produced. Far from simply signifying an application of what is already known, it derives what is known from the engagement process itself. This is what Schon (1995) refers to as “knowing in action” or “reflective practice,” and it contrasts sharply with the currently prevailing norm of “technical rationality.” No one has more clearly identified the many ways in which the latter – a largely unexamined legacy of late 19th-century positivism - has succeeded in informing how we see the world than has Harry Boyte (2000) at the University of Minnesota. In a recent article called “Democracy and the Struggle of Positivism in the Age of the Smart Machine,” Boyte notes that:
Positivism structures
our research, it structures our disciplines, our teaching, our institutions
long after it had been intellectually discredited. It structures patterns of evaluation, assessment, outcome
measures, sustaining patterns of one-way service delivery and the
conceptualization of poor and powerless groups as needy “clients,” not as
competent citizens, as those in need of our assistance. It infuses government spending patterns for
“interventions” to fix social problems. It shapes the institutions of the
market, the media, health care and political life. (50)
As a result, professionals, especially academic professionals, imagine themselves outside any shared public reality, instead seeing their fellow citizens either as recipients of academic expertise or as objects to be studied and manipulated. Furthermore, as Parker Palmer (1997) has reminded us, epistemologies are important not simply because they give rise to a certain kind of scholarship or pedagogy. They also lead to a certain quality of life. In other words, “the way we know has powerful implications for the way we live…every epistemology tends to become an ethic, and…every way of knowing tends to become a way of living” (22).
It is, for this reason, not surprising that the mode of knowing that now dominates American higher education – a relentlessly objective, analytical, experimental mode – has left us as a community fragmented and exploitable by the very mode of knowing we profess. As Palmer (1997) puts it, “We make objects of each other and the world to be manipulated for our own private ends. [We practice] a trained schizophrenia” (22). Thus, the corollary to our lack of public academic engagement is an a private spiritual malaise, with many faculty experiencing a loss of both the idealism and the sense of community that brought them into higher education in the first place. Younger scholars tell us of their mounting disappointment and frustration as prevailing norms drive them into isolated pursuits and fragmented lives. Is it any wonder that whenever AAHE runs sessions on the spiritual dimensions of our professional life, they are almost always packed to overflowing?
We must, therefore, look to another way of understanding the “soul” of
a new academy – or, as Frank Newman (2000), one of the founders of Campus
Compact, recently put it, another way to “save the soul” of the one we
have. According to Newman, the market
forces currently impinging on higher education could very well erode the
special place it has historically held in our society.
Over
the long history of higher education, universities and colleges – both
state-owned and private – have held a privileged position because they have
focused on the needs of society rather than self-gains. They have in turn been given special
responsibilities. As higher education
becomes more closely linked with for-profit activities and market forces, its
special status is endangered. Under the
assault of new competitive pressures, the protected status of higher education
is eroding. (2)
Many faculty are, of course, aware of these pressures and their corrosive effects. Unfortunately, however, many also see as the only alternative “a determination to ‘stay just as we are.’” But the status quo they would embrace and maintain has not only lost much of its guiding vision and social justification; it has also absorbed too much of the “rational instrumentalism” (Sullivan n.d.) and competitive individualism those market forces represent. It is, in short, too inherently compromised, too morally unsure of itself, to offer effective resistance to the siren call of “for-profit activities and narrow uses of technology.”
In one of his last public
statements, “The Scholarship of Engagement” (1996), Ernest Boyer, the
individual who helped set so much of the contemporary academy’s agenda,
implicitly signaled his awareness of the necessity of moving beyond discrete
reforms to a new animating vision. For
it was here that he substituted for “scholarship of application” the phrase
“scholarship of engagement.” And
although it may at first seem as he meant the two to be more or less
interchangeable, a close reading of the text will show that, unlike the former,
the latter does not so much identify one of several legitimate forms of
scholarly activity as it does suggest a context within which the entire academy
should function.
Here, then, is my conclusion. At one level, the scholarship of engagement means connecting the rich resources of the university to our most pressing social, civic, and ethical problems, to our children, to our schools, to our teachers, and to our cities…
But,
at a deeper level, I have this growing conviction that what’s needed is not
just more programs, but a larger purpose, a larger sense of mission, a larger
clarity of direction in the nation’s life…Increasingly, I’m convinced that
ultimately, the scholarship of engagement also means creating a special climate
in which the academic and civic cultures communicate more continuously and more
creatively with each other, helping to enlarge what anthropologist Clifford
Geertz describes as the universe of human discourse and enriching the quality
of life for all of us. (19-20)
How then do we now seize the moment?
How do we act on our recognition that “the assumptive world of the
academic professional” is no longer capable of meeting the challenges facing
American higher education in 21st century? How do we proceed to build something that not only allows us to bring
over all that is still vital in the traditional academy but also to
reconstitute it in a way that leads to genuine renewal – a renewal powerful
enough to absorb technological change and competitive pressures?
I think there are four strategies that can serve us especially well. Already they are in play across the country, in need only of more sustained attention and resources. The first revolves around the growing self-confidence and independence of non-research one institutions. Only in the last decade or so have we begun to see a re-embracing of the institutional diversity that emerged shortly after World War II. Less and less does higher education as a whole need to look to elite, flagship institutions for leadership. Increasingly we find comprehensive universities, faith-based institutions, community colleges, and historical black institutions deliberately reclaiming their original functions. As John Alberti (2001) of Northern Kentucky University has written, "our discussions of the future of…pedagogy in higher education are limited by models of college life rooted in enduring but increasingly misleading images that take the experiences and practices of elite research universities and liberal-arts colleges ... as the norm for higher education." In point of fact, it is at "working-class," open-registration institutions that most Americans go to college. Research universities and selective liberal arts colleges will, of course, continue to play important educational roles – but those roles should no longer be viewed as normative.
Several years ago, in an
essay entitled “Naming Pragmatic Liberal Education” (1995), Bruce Kimball, an
educational historian at the University of Rochester, identified seven concerns
he found widely associated with contemporary liberal learning. They included (1) multiculturalism, (2)
general education, (3) common good and citizenship, (4) K-16 continuities, (5)
teaching as values and inquiry, (6) values and service, and (7) assessment, and
together they constituted a new educational Gestalt. After several dozen well-known academics had
been invited to respond to his thesis, Kimball (1997) was, in turn, invited to
respond to them. Almost as telling as
his original thesis was his observation on that response:
The response to the consensus thesis …seems to vary
with the perspective and context of the observer. Most of the original respondents who were doubtful of the
consensus thesis work at institutions in the “top” 10 % of the more than 3,000
post- secondary institutions in the country.
Those tending to be persuaded by the consensus thesis come from the
other 90% or from national associations or programs whose membership includes
many from this sector. The correlation
is not perfect, but is still significant. (60)
In other words, we should, perhaps, take to heart the fact that paradigm shifts more often progress from the periphery in than vice versa. It may well be that those most interested in an engaged academy should concentrate their attention on building critical mass among that 90% percent of higher education institutions already somewhat open to change, leaving more elite, research-oriented institutions to follow if and when they will. Certainly we have no death of exciting models within that 90% majority. I think here of the pioneering work done by schools like Indiana University Purdue University-Indianapolis, the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee, and Portland State University among the public comprehensives; Marquette and DePaul among the privates; the campus-community partnering efforts facilitated by the Council of Independent Colleges, the American Association of Community Colleges, and the HBCU network; colleges like Calvin, Mars Hill, Miami-Dade, Kapiolani, and Lemoyne-Owen where multiple paths to institutional engagement are already being developed and tested. Here we find the gap between public mission and academic programming a matter neither of rhetorical obfuscation nor wholesale denial but, instead, the source of what Peter Senge (1990) has called “creative tension” – an honest juxtaposition that draws vision and reality ever more closely together.
Second, we need to make sure that the fragmentation that besets the
academy as a whole does not also undermine our own reform efforts. It took ten years for the service-learning
program at my school even to begin to collaborate with the diversity program,
despite the fact that we shared every conceivable value. But there were no structures to facilitate
our dialog. We were as unconnected as,
in some schools, accounting and finance, psychology and sociology, biology and
chemistry.
Indeed, I believe that, at some
institutions, there already exists a critical mass of faculty committed to the
scholarship of engagement in its broadest sense. However, their self-identification with a wide variety of
different reform movements makes it difficult for them to communicate – let
alone join forces. Service learning,
participatory action research and community-based research, professional
service, diversity, women’s studies programs, ethnic studies programs,
environmental studies programs, the learning community movement, the first-year
experience movement, problem-based learning and undergraduate research – those
who support these may soon constitute a new working majority. Even now we are only beginning to
understand, for example, how first-year seminars, when linked to learning
communities and community-based work, can result in educational experiences of
unusual efficacy in reaching and retaining a diverse student population.
To these we can add writing programs and the work of some of the more
progressive disciplinary associations like the National Communication
Association, internships and other experiential education programs that take
seriously the task of producing reflective practitioners, study abroad programs
that replace tourism with transformation.
Indeed, if many of us were to take a careful inventory of what we have
on our campus, if we were invest more energy in on-campus grassroots organizing,
we might be surprised by what we can already accomplish. The fact that, however slowly, women and
persons of color – many with teaching goals and styles that diverge from those
of the past - are just now making their way into the academy but are also beginning
to achieve positions of power suggests still another way in which the
traditional face of the academy is literally changing.
Third,
to realize the potential of these increasing numbers, we must recognize that
new activities need new forms of support.
Mary Walshok, in Knowledge Without
Boundaries (1995), has called our attention to the critical importance of
“enabling mechanisms” to facilitate the faculty’s new work. The college or university that simply says,
“go to it, faculty,” will not, in fact, succeed in creating an institution
capable of generating and disseminating socially responsive knowledge. Such knowledge is the responsibility of the
institution as a whole, and every office, every department has its role to
play. That being said, we must
recognize the importance of some kind of coordinating if not centralizing
effort. We do not attempt to court
corporations without the help of development offices. We establish alumni offices to help us keep in touch with our
graduates. Why should effective ties
with the community be any different?
Ernest Lynton (1995) had it exactly right when he said that for
outreach/engagement/service, choose whatever word one wants, to be effective,
there must be “appropriate bridging mechanisms
between the academic institution and its external constituencies. [For even] a relatively small college, and
more certainly a comprehensive university, is quite opaque to anyone on the
outside…” (58). Indeed, in my numerous
visits to campuses around the country, I have found no single instance of an
effective, comprehensive community-based teaching and learning effort that does
not draw upon the assistance of some specially organized and designated office.
Finally, and I think most importantly, we must begin making more room at the table of higher education - not simply for a wider variety of academics, for adjunct as well as full-time faculty, for community college and tribal college teachers as well as university researchers, but also for the outside community itself. Attend almost any academic conference and ask how the active participation of community members would change both the agenda and the tenor of the conversation, and one will immediately see how powerful the in-person presence of community partners could be to the change process. Campus Compact, the Council of Independent Colleges, and many other higher education organizations have recently begun requiring that campus teams participating in engagement-related events include a community partner, and the results have been in some cases transformative We know from the Civil Rights Movement and the Women’s Movement that our best efforts to be fair are no substitute for those not present to speak for themselves. We need to hear directly the voices of our community counterparts. We need to abandon the idea that we can represent the academy and speak for the community at the same time. That is not dialogue but ventriloquism.
I think it would be hard to overestimate the importance of this fourth strategy. We in the academy have had throughout our history a tendency – and an ability - to co-opt almost anything not already a part of our agenda. Our mental facility and sense of self-importance often allow us to bypass our need to listen and to respect perspectives not our own. In a recent essay for a forthcoming volume on service-learning and religious studies, Bounds, Patterson and Pippin (in press) from Emory University point out how, even when we explicitly identify ourselves with “others,” we usually spend our time “analyzing [them] through language and methodologies such as feminism, postmodernism, postcolonialism.” In other words, through the very methodologies we use to address them, we separate ourselves from them. Postcolonialism itself becomes a tool of academic colonization.”
No one has spoken to this problem more clearly or more forcefully than the Jesuits’ Father General, Peter-Hans Kolvenbach, S.J. In a presentation at Santa Clara University in October 2000 Kolvenbach made the case for a far more socially engaged agenda at Jesuit schools. Recognizing the fiercely competitive nature of contemporary society, he noted that
All
American colleges and universities, ours included, are under tremendous
pressure to opt entirely for success in [the] sense [of well-honed technical
and professional skills]. But what our
students want and deserve includes but transcends this kind of success.
(6)
He then took a conceptual step as significant as it is rare. Noting that for 450 years Jesuit schools have sought to educate the “whole person,” he suggested that this “holy grail” of American education is not an ahistorical concept:
…in the emerging global reality, with its great possibilities and deep contradictions, the whole person is different from the whole person of the Counter-Reformation, the Industrial Revolution, or the 20th Century. Tomorrow's "whole person" cannot be whole without an educated awareness of society and culture with which to contribute socially, generously, in the real world. Tomorrow's whole person must have, in brief, a well-educated solidarity. (6-7)
“Solidarity” as an educational concept – it is hard
to imagine a more powerful or effective way to short-circuit the academy’s
tendency towards self-referentiality and intellectual “colonization.” For the solidarity that Kolvenbach
envisioned cannot be achieved by means of concepts: it requires contact –
direct, personal contact:
Solidarity is learned through “contact” rather than
through “concepts”…When the heart is touched by direct experience, the mind may
be challenged to change. Personal involvement with innocent suffering, with the
injustice others suffer, is the catalyst for solidarity which then gives rise
to intellectual inquiry and moral reflection….Students, in the course of their
formation, must let the gritty reality of this world into their lives, so they
can learn to feel it, think about it critically, respond to its suffering and
engage it constructively….(7)
And like the faculty group at the University of
Utah, he then explicitly warned that such engaged knowing cannot be achieved through “optional or
peripheral” programs, but must be moved to “the core of every Jesuit
university's program of studies.” The
work we need to do we cannot do except in active, personal contact with our
community partners.
This
essay began with a challenge posed by the events of September 11 - a challenge
that asked if today’s faculty can bring to public events anything other than a
private response. Although the events
of that day were in many ways unique, the challenge they helped to articulate
is not. It is posed not just by
cataclysmic acts of terror but by all the everyday conditions of social
injustice and economic need to which we as a nation have almost become
inured. The assumptive world in which
most of us were professionally formed will not demand that we recognize this
challenge. We can only demand that of
ourselves.
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