Tag / careers

by Melonie Fullick

Myths and mismatches, part 4

This is part of a series of posts that was written as a response to – and a means of thinking through issues raised by – an e-course by Jo VanEvery and Julie Clarenbach called “Myths and Mismatches”. Here is the link to the original post, from January 11, 2011: “Myths & Mismatches” Part 4: Structural Faults?

Continuing my weeklong blogging escapade of commentary, today’s “Mismatch” from Jo and Julie is one that relates quite directly to my own research project on governance of universities…

“Mismatch #2: Mismatch of Structure”

Structure relates to the functioning and ultimately to the purpose of the university. Jo and Julie write that the purpose of the university is to “transmit the best that has been thought and spoken (i.e., maintain tradition) and advance the state of human knowledge through novel research (i.e., innovation)”. And they rightly point out that there’s something of an inherent contradiction between those two things, one that is dealt with in different ways depending on things like disciplinary context.

With the changing context of the university as institution comes changes to the way academics are expected to do their jobs, including how they work with colleagues, where their funding comes from and how it’s allocated, how teaching appointments may work, what’s expected in terms of research and “engagement” with scholarly work and life, and so on. Jo and Julie cite the example of interdisciplinary work and the (lack of) institutional structures designed to facilitate it, and one of the ways in which even the best candidates in graduate school can “fall through the structural cracks”.

In spite of what looks like an obvious topic of study (post-secondary education), I’ve found that my own work seems to be pretty interdisciplinary–probably because of my background in multiple areas of study, which in turn is feeding (I think) an existing intellectual tendency. I follow paths that interest me and I’m usually focussed on some specific kind of “problem” or issue. If there’s an answer to my questions in another discipline, then I tend to start extending myself and sniffing around that territory in search of something useful for my purposes. And in the process of this, I’ve realised that interdisciplinary/”innovative” work is or can be fairly unsafe, depending (again) on the environment in which you’re working and on what your goals are. It’s hard to build an academic career in an environment rooted in disciplinary distinctions when you’re not sure which conferences to apply to, which scholarly associations to join, and (my own current problem) which journals would be appropriate venues for your research.

My tactic thus far has been to take “slices” of things and relate them to specific disciplinary areas, e.g. if a particular paper or presentation topic relates more heavily to Communication Studies, then I take that into account and try to tailor it to that perspective. It doesn’t always work, but it gives me something to start with. My hope is that knowing the norms and expectations of this environment will help me to find ways to work within the existing/evolving structure, even as I’d like to be a part of changing it–though as Jo and Julie note, “the university has a lot more inertia than you do” so to expect to make your own “place” within it is to take on a complicated (though obviously not impossible) task.

You may not feel like you really “fit” anywhere, but this feeling can have different causes and implications. It could signify that you’re on the “cutting edge” and doing work that will in time have an important place, but it’ll be a place you’ll have to carve out for yourself. Or it could just as easily mean that you should be looking for a career in some other arena that better accommodates your interests and needs–and as I’ve discussed previously in this series, there’s no reason why academe needs to be the only environment in which you can write, think, and produce scholarly work.

by Melonie Fullick

Myths and mismatches, part 3

This is part of a series of posts that was written as a response to – and a means of thinking through issues raised by – an e-course by Jo VanEvery and Julie Clarenbach called “Myths and Mismatches”. Here is the link to the original post, from January 9, 2011: “Myths & Mismatches” Part 3: Assessing Your Qualifications.

Today’s “myth” from Jo and Julie is a real classic, something that can be unconsciously inculcated from the moment you enter graduate school-! And it’s this…

“Myth #2: You’re Unqualified to Do Anything Else”

This is the illusion that even after successfully completing a PhD, there’s still no-one other than a university who’d hire you–because what “real-world” relevance is there for your academic training? (And look–there’s that “Real-World/Academia divide again.) Part of the reason for this assumption is that in graduate school, the focus is placed heavily on “content knowledge” and not on the skills and “process knowledge” that come along with grad school experiences. And (discipline-specific) content is generally less transferable to work outside the university.

This is an idea that works alongside “Myth #1”, that “success” after the PhD means becoming a tenured research professor (and that any work outside the university is somehow “lesser” than an academic job). Not only are you unqualified for a job in another field; it would also be an admission of inadequacy to abandon the quest for tenure-track employment. In some cases this line of thinking can be quite potently inhibiting.

As the authors point out, “the reality is that, outside of academia, most jobs are far more about your skills than about your content knowledge – and just by virtue of having been through graduate school, you’ve amassed a lot of relevant skills” relating to research, writing, editing, presenting, organizing, collaborating, assessing, teaching…the list goes on.

I still feel as if I’m simply not aware of most of the job options I have in front of me (but with a much better sense of possibility than I had several years ago). Though I’m in a position where my topic of research is one that can apply in more than one context, I still have so little idea of my own usefulness outside the university classroom–and how to put that to work. I’m fairly sure I still have talents I haven’t yet discovered, and I think that’s been the major lesson I’d take away from the past 8 years or so. After all, when I abandoned my BFA after two years, I never imagined I’d end up studying Communication Studies, Linguistics, and Education (and doing well at it). I know I have a lot of fears and insecurities to overcome, but I think I’d rather feel significantly uncertain than feel as if I’m staking my career on only one prospect.

Jo and Julie also write that “academic disciplines act as though they’re in competition with one another, viciously defending methodological and content boundaries between fields that one might think would have lots of things to say to one another.” I don’t know if it’s my own interdisciplinary background or perhaps a kind of inherent pragmatism, but I’ve never held much to the maintenance of boundaries between different kinds of knowledge. My reasoning is that I’m more likely to be able to address a problem critically if I can do it from multiple angles; and that is a skill highly applicable to the “real world”.

Lastly, there’s “a general denigration of intellectual work” in our culture (speaking broadly about Anglo-America), such that what is “academic” is considered to be irrelevant, disconnected from reality somehow–like academics themselves. This is reinforced by the beliefs we may hold about the “narrowness” of our education, beliefs that can prevent us from seeing our own value in contexts other than academe. They can also prevent us from learning how to communicate the relevance of intellectual work to larger publics, which is a increasingly an expected function of faculty work as well.

by Melonie Fullick

Myths and mismatches, part 2

This is part of a series of posts that was written as a response to – and a means of thinking through issues raised by – an e-course by Jo VanEvery and Julie Clarenbach called “Myths and Mismatches”. Here is the link to the original post, from January 8, 2011: “Myths & Mismatches” Part 2: Time, Place, and Opportunity.

“Mismatch #1: Context”.

It’s a great idea to address conflicts of context, the “external circumstances” that have an effect on our career successes, because a lot of self-destructive psychological baggage can come from the idea that one’s “failure” is entirely one’s own fault. And while it’s important to take responsibility for your own decisions, just as crucial is the ability to recognise when your (lack of) “success” is being influenced by factors beyond your control. These factors can include anything from personal issues with health and family, to a simple lack of appropriate positions or an over-supply of candidates in your particular academic field; they are “more about timing and luck than […] a comment on your worth as a person or quality as an academic”.

In spite of the sense of it, I feel quite ambivalent about this point. because if I looked at the list of contextual factors in my own case, I’m pretty sure I’d pick another path to follow. That’s not meant as a comment about my own capacity–more as a point about the nature of the academic job market, which has declined considerably in the past 25 to 30 years. One reason for this pinch is that the “production” of PhDs has increased; and another is that simultaneously, the proportion of tenure track academic positions has actually decreased as universities have come to rely on short-term contract faculty (or “adjuncts” as they are referred to in the U.S.).

So I do feel uneasy about the context in which I’m finishing my own PhD, one that I think is becoming more evident to more people, though I don’t recall that there was ever a frank discussion of prospects and odds during any of my graduate courses. While the PhD is not just about “getting a job”, I think career-development should be emphasised from the beginning in a more well-rounded fashion so that by the time students reach year 3 or 4, they have a better sense of their options and a balanced idea of what factors they can “control” in terms of later employment options. This could be seen not as simple “job training” but as a reasonable/thoughtful process in which to engage considering the significant commitments of time, effort and resources that are required to complete a PhD, and the shrinking chance of achieving a tenure-track faculty position. It could also help graduate students to develop awareness of their strengths and capacities, and to build the resilience and adaptability that help with creating and navigating through a professional career (in whatever field).

by Melonie Fullick

Myths and mismatches, part 1

This series of posts was written as a response to – and a means of thinking through issues raised by – an e-course by Jo VanEvery and Julie Clarenbach called “Myths and Mismatches“. According to Jo and Julie, the “goal with this series is to help you understand your experience [in academe] as both personal and structural.” This was a helpful series for me, since I was in the process of thinking through the implications of seeking a tenure-track job (hence the in-depth blog responses).

Here is the link to the original post, from January 8, 2011: “Myths and Mismatches”, Oh My!

Over the next week or so I’ll be blogging my responses to “Myths and Mismatches“, an e-course by Jo Van Every and Julie Clarenbach. The goal of this series is to bring attention to a number of “myths” that can get in the way of making “conscious career choices” in the academic environment, particularly for those who are feeling “dissatisfied” with academic work.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately (and blogging about it too), since I need to make decisions about “where to go” next, and I find the options overwhelming. I thought it would be interesting to think through my responses to Jo and Julie’s course by writing about each of them as they arrive in my inbox.

“Myth #1: The Life of the Mind, or, Academia Is the Only Game in Town”

The first post refers to a misconception about the nature of academe, the idea of the “Ivory Tower”–one that is perpetuated by media images of university life. Jo and Julie advise us not to fall into the trap of imagining “academe” as a cloister into which one can retreat from the Real World whilst pursuing one’s ideas in peace among like-minded colleagues (and as far from possible from demanding undergraduate students, for example).

I would say it’s no coincidence that this concept of the Lone Scholar is reinforced by the ideal of the tenured research professor, which we’re generally encouraged to think of as the norm or the goal. If this utopian environment/position ever came close to existing, it was a characteristic of the traditional “elite” model of university education, something I’ve written about in previous posts.

The point here is that given the current context, you’re certain to be disappointed if you see this as the ideal, since the job description for professors includes juggling not only research but also teaching, committee and other “service” and administration work, student advising and mentoring, attending and planning events and conferences, and and array of extra-curricular work/activities. In fact the trend is for professors to be more “engaged” with audiences beyond the university because ultimately, public communication is what strengthens and smooths the relationship between universities and the communities/contexts in which they operate.

In terms of my own experience, I don’t think this idea of the “life of the mind” has ever been one to which I’ve had much access; and as wonderful as it sounds, I’ve also never really expected to be able to participate. Jo and Julie make the point that the mythical Great Solitary Thinkers were all men, which is only one part of that equation; there aren’t too many role models to emulate. I also don’t come from a particularly privileged background (economically or culturally), so my expectations have been different all along. I certainly never imagined I would end up doing a PhD at all. Since my undergrad years I’ve talked a lot with full-time faculty and had a good look at what happens in the day-to-day life of tenure-track professors (and part-time/contract profs as well). Probably the combination of these factors is why I’ve always felt ambivalent about the idea of trying to become a professor, as a specific career track. The increased competition in recent years has only made me feel less certain.

Jo and Julie point out that the flip side of “academe as intellectual cloister” is that the “world” outside the university is a barren and banal place, devoid of intellectual engagement. I think the myth of “real world” vs. “academe” is quite destructive, including that of a corporate/business world that’s somehow inherently unethical and opposed to academe. It simplifies the problems faced by universities, often reducing them to an “us vs. them” argument, and it precludes the possibility of meaningful engagement across boundaries. This kind of belief also seems to entail that academe is somehow more ethical than other environments. But to cling to that idea is to set oneself up for a despairing fall–academics are no more (or less) inherently moral or “good” than other groups.

by Melonie Fullick

The value of a degree, part 2

This is the second of two blog posts address the topic of how we understand the “value” of degrees. Here is the link to the original post from December 21, 2010: “What Value for a Degree?” Part 2: Inherent value.

To continue from yesterday’s post about the “relative value” created when education is a scarce commodity, today I’ll write about inherent value–that which we are assumed to obtain simply by completing an educational credential.

Governments are concerned with developing “human capital”, which is the value of the workforce as measured by people’s skills and capacities for economic production. The argument is that the “knowledge economy” requires more and different skills of the workforce. This assumes that everyone should have more education because education will develop these skills (as economic value that resides in people). So by extension, there is an assumption that education has an inherent value—as something that contributes to the economy through the gross increase of human capital—no matter whether there are better jobs waiting for the graduates.

An assumption of inherent value also means that a financial payoff is assumed for the individual—so there is (economic) value in education for the individual student (or graduate, at least). This dovetails with the current (neo-liberal) policy trend of privatising the sources of PSE funding, including through raising tuition fees. Individual value means individual benefit, and therefore individuals should pay for this benefit.

But as discussed in my previous post, education does not benefit every student equally, so taking an “average” increase to earnings over a lifetime—which is the most frequent means used to “prove” the monetary worth of an investment in PSE—is not the best means of assessing the positive effects of higher education for the most vulnerable/least privileged students, who could benefit most significantly from them.

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In government policy there seems to be a confusion between an inherent value created by a university education (i.e. skills, training, knowledge) and the relative value of a scarce commodity. But what does this difference in concepts of “value” mean when it comes to public debates about education, and the kinds of policies that generate and are in turn influenced by those debates-?

It tends to mean that we fight for university accessibility primarily in the form of increased enrollments, then wonder why attrition rates are so high and why so many students seem to “fail” at maximizing the resources provided by universities (such as student services). It means that governments create targets for the number of university graduates to be “produced” and for the percentage of the workforce that should possess a degree, assuming the additional human capital will generate returns to national economic success–but that many graduates nonetheless find themselves struggling to get work due to a lack of jobs appropriate to their level of education. Never mind ballooning debt loads, since personal financial “returns” to education should take care of this (unequally distributed) burden.

But if there is no job waiting at the end of an expensive degree, then the personal “investment” made by the student is seen as a failed venture for which s/he takes primary responsibility (particularly if student debt is involved).

In the UK right now we can see a clear example of this logic at work. As the system has expanded continuing to use the elite model of governance, costs have increased while the economy has become increasingly volatile. Government response is to radically reduce funding for teaching and to allow universities to raise tuition. Students are told they must now pay for something that in the past was more or less free (i.e. for their parents), a situation that creates inter-generational resentment, producing as it does a lopsided distribution of payment for the lingering costs of expansion.

Yet students will continue to enroll (if places are provided), since university degrees are considered more necessary now, for more people, than ever in the past. It seems that the cost of education rises, and indeed the value diminishes, with increased demand–the opposite of how markets are supposed to work.

by Melonie Fullick

The value of a degree, part 1

This is the first of two blog posts address the topic of how we understand the “value” of degrees. I started thinking about this not just because of the ongoing commentary in the media on this issue, but also because a friend asked me about whether I think “too many people” have degrees, and I think that question gets to the heart of a debate that has significant policy implications. In these posts I reflect on what we mean by “value” and how the different underlying assumptions about this idea have consequences for the imagined purpose of all education (not just PSE). Here is the original link to part 1, from December 20, 2010: “What value for a degree?” Part 1: Relative value.

A friend of mine, who teaches at an English-speaking middle school in Hong Kong, recently asked me if I think too many people are going to college (university).

I think about this a lot, since completion and participation targets are often in the PSE news and in policy. I always find it a hard question to answer—partly because answer means asking ourselves about the purpose of a university education, and what precisely it is about university degrees that they are somehow assumed to equip young people with what it takes to succeed (economically) in the world. What is it that makes a university degree valuable and why is this important?

The focus for students, parents and governments is significantly economic, in policy and in practice—something that has become more the case over time as universities have moved towards “massification” (expansion) and more emphasis on private sources of funding (including tuition).

The benefits of post-secondary (and particularly university) education are expected to increase both the prosperity of individuals and the competitiveness of the national economy. So why is it important to question both the “graduation imperative” as economic policy, and the “accessibility” ideal as progressive social policy?

While in the past it was true that people who earned university degrees then went on to have more economic success, this was partly because university education was an eliteeducation. No more than 5 to 10% of the population had a degree, so it was a valuable thing to have. Higher education usually meant training to be part of an elite; for example, the traditional “liberal education” was training for a small, privileged group who would become the “leaders of society” in law, politics and business.

In a sense, we’re now saying that as many people as possible should have an education of this kind, which means that by definition a university degree ceases to be “elite” in the way described, or to provide any value based on scarcity. This doesn’t mean there is no other kind of value—only that a degree will no longer provide the benefits of a scarce commodity (to the extent that it did in the past). It also means that universities are and will be using more tactics to explicitly demonstrate the value of what they offer (marketing, advertising).

In a system in which we rank and label people, a lack of obvious comparative value creates a problem, since we need to differentiate in order to allocate. If in the past the university degree acted as a filtration mechanism or a stamp of elite approval, it was the case that you had to have money, family/social connections, and/or a lot of smarts and savvy to get one. But how does this “filtering” happen when everyone gets a degree?

The cynical (or perhaps realistic) answer is that a relatively “elite” group will still form, and it does; filtration still happens because our system is driven by a capitalist economic model that works as a hierarchy driven by competition. People are ranked (using grades, for example), and it’s understood that this is more or less a zero-sum game. And some people still start out with far, far more than others when it comes to securing the highest spots in that ranking.

Yet most education systems are premised at least to some extent on the concept of meritocracy, the idea that people succeed based on “merit” or “excellence” alone, rather than through forms of extrinsic (often material) advantage. Though we have plenty of examples to support the idea that meritocracy functions fairly—e.g. working-class kids who “make good”—the wealthier and well-connected students still tend to get the best jobs in the current climate, no matter how many others may have university degrees. And from the inside, it tends look like this is because of differences in cultural, social and economic capital, rather than “merit” alone.

 

 

by Melonie Fullick

Decisions, decisions, part 1: what’s in store?

I wrote this as the first of two posts, back in 2010, not long after I started the first incarnation of Speculative Diction blog. I started writing these because I’d started following the higher ed news more closely, and I was thinking through the process of the Ph.D. and what kind of paths we’re encouraged to take throughout that process. This has since become one of the threads in my dissertation, where I’ve interviewed doctoral students about the nature of “success” in their academic contexts.

Link to the original post from September 5, 2010: Decisions, decisions, part 1: What’s in store?

Almost every day I take time to read the higher education (PSE) news from Canada and around the world. And every day a cluster of common (and inter-related) themes tends to dominate the articles and blogs.

One of those themes is: How many (or how few) tenure-track jobs are there availablefor new PhDs in various fields? Can we give tenure to “adjunct” (contract) faculty whose working conditions are insecure? Given the lack of tenure-track hiring, should we be encouraging and preparing grad students for careers outside academe? And inevitably the questions arise–should we retain the tenure system in universities? Can we keep it, and if so, how and why? What purpose does it serve, and for whom?

I’m going to try not to repeat too much what others have already said, since the discussion has been a regular one over some time and many of you have been following it with interest. What I write here is profoundly influenced not only by what I “study” (post-secondary education) but also by who I am, since the question of tenured academic employment is more than merely theoretical for me–it’s about actual life choices I need to make in the immediate future. My personal perspective is that of a PhD student who will need to decide, within the next couple of years, about either focussing on an academic track or looking for work outside the PSE system (and possibly returning to it later in my “career”–if I’m lucky).

I feel deeply conflicted about this issue. On the one hand, I love the “ideal” of the academic life: I love teaching and would like to be able to do research of my own (and even write the book I have planned). I was drawn into grad school because I loved the conversation, the learning, the sharing and development of knowledge and ideas that occurs when academe is at its best. And I like participating in the continuance of the university itself, in decision-making within the institution.

But then again, close observation of the academic environment over the course of about 7 years has led me to doubt the reality of the “life of the mind”, to question its continued existence in its (past and) current form, and to think through the privilege that is necessary merely to have access to such a life, let alone to live it through the university. I feel more trepidation and doubt now that I did at the end of my BA. What kind of career might be possible for someone like me in the increasingly competitive environment of the university–and would I want it?

I do love teaching but I frequently feel frustrated by the context of teaching, wherein I’ve often felt stressed and compromised and have seen many others in the same state. Universities have continued to expand during the last 30 years in spite of relative declines in funding; the growth in undergraduate numbers has meant an increase to the amount of teaching work, and this task has been transferred to inexpensive contract faculty rather than to new tenure-track hires. Universities are now dependent on such faculty, and on inexperienced graduate students, to carry out undergraduate teaching at budget rates–in spite of the potential for negative effects on the learning environment.

Even as the need for teachers has increased, research and publishing are still the main means to reaching desirable tenure-track jobs. For those unable to score such a position immediately after the PhD or post-doc fellowship, the “hamster wheel” of contract teaching can take up all the time that might have been put towards writing. Gender also matters: not only is teaching itself feminised, but as a female entering my 30s I will face difficult choices about family and career–choices that often put women at a disadvantage in the university workplace, wherein we already earn less on averagethan male scholars. Contingent faculty also have much less input–if any at all–into the way the university is run, so they are shut out of decision-making processes that affect them.

The question of “tenure or no tenure, academic work or not” is not only about choice of jobs. Academic training involves 10 or more years of post-secondary education, which can mean stalling the supposed milestones of adult life (buying a house and/or car, having children, building a long-term retirement plan and so on) until your late 20s or early 30s–unless you had a healthy amount of economic privilege to begin with. This is a significant investment of time, money, and other resources. If you’ve managed to accumulate a mound of student debt during your time in university, then you’ll also be trying to find ways to juggle that with your regular living costs. In other words, you’ll want a steady, reasonable income, not the tenuousness of contract-to-contract teaching work.

The lack-of-tenured-employment problem is not just a short term one, a “dip in the market”. On the contrary, it is bound up with the structural changes associated with massification that have occurred in universities over the course of the last 60 years or so. For a while, the potential problems were allayed simply by injecting more public funding into the system (from the 1960s to 1970s), and hiring more full-time professors, as a means of increasing accessibility for previously excluded groups. But the recessions of the 70s, followed by 1980s neo-conservatism and (here in Ontario) the Harris Conservatives in the 90s, have made fiscal instability the norm. Hence contract faculty also serve as conveniently expendable labour when budgets shrink.

The future of tenure as a system is shaky, primarily because of these structural issues. As our PSE systems are stretched to their limits, old ways of doing things have come under attack not only by those marginalised by the existing, unequal tenure system but also by increasingly influential “stakeholders” outside the university. Tenure was a system that functioned reasonably well when universities were elite institutions with few undergraduates and even fewer graduate students, but in Canada at least, the beginning of the end of that arrangement came in the 1960s. And it’s somewhat ironic that while universities have become more “accessible”, tenure is now becoming much less so.

Even as contract faculty form associations to lobby for their rights, we see regular stories from the United States and elsewhere about PSE institutions making it easier for themselves to dismiss tenured faculty as well. So changes to tenure are already becoming an issue that affects everyone, one that needs to be resolved fairly and sustainably and in the near future. If we don’t come up with a more equitable solution by design, then the situation is likely to degenerate along the current well-beaten track–with persistent inequalities between a small, elite group of well-paid research professors (and increasingly, administrators), and the non-permanent faculty who pick up the expanding teaching duties necessitated by mass post-secondary education.

None of this looks to me like the kind of situation on which I want to stake my own career and livelihood. And I think the “rational” decision would be to choose some other field. But my love of learning–and of helping others learn–is not necessarily rational, though I do have a healthy desire to see things change for the better and to put my own energy toward that goal. As always I’m walking a line between intuition and “reason”, frustration and elation, helplessness and empowerment, and looking for some happy middle ground on which to build a launching pad, a castle, a jungle gym, whatever seems necessary. Of course that must be done whilst successfully navigating the way through the PhD process, but I’ll get to that in my next blog post.