How Not To Invite The Professor To Your Campus

This past week a group of graduate students in one department at the University of Oregon approached their Chair and requested that I be invited by the department to give an intensive workshop on professionalization and the job market. The Chair, a guy I know from my old days at the UO, got in touch with me, collected some information about my workshops and their fees, and put the graduate student request on the next faculty meeting agenda.

That evening, I got an email from him. “That was about as much fun as shoving my head in a Cuisinart,” he said. The faculty, it turns out, were irate, IRATE, I tell you, at the implication that they were in any way deficient at preparing their students for the job market. “Outrageous!”

When the Chair remarked that the students told him they felt awkward asking their advisors potentially “dumb” questions about the job market, one faculty member responded, “then the graduate students are just being childish.”

The Chair wrote, plaintively, “I tried…I struck out…. I am really not paid enough for this.”

I was not actually surprised. I had told the Chair in our initial exchange that invitations at the department level, particularly when initiated by the graduate students, always carry an element of awkwardness for the faculty, since they do imply a gap in the program. I told him, “my life on the speaker circuit, if and when it materializes, will almost certainly be at the behest of graduate colleges, not departments!”

Still, I was disappointed in the faculty. It really is too bad that faculty defensiveness stands in the way of graduate students getting all of the assistance available for this job market. There is no point in rationing information about the job market. And there is no such thing as too much information about the job market. The fact is, it is BECAUSE I’m not peoples’ advisor that I can tell them, with a total value-neutral bluntness, that their cv sucks, their letter is pandering and embarassing, their hair looks like a birds nest, they have waaay too much cleavage showing, and their interview response is a giant snooze-fest.

Any graduate faculty member reading this: Do better! I expect more of you. Your students need more from you.  You don’t have to call me.  But set your ego aside and do what it takes to make sure your Ph.D.s get the training they need, whatever the source.

What Should Graduate Students Ask Candidates? A Special Request Post

Continuing on my theme of speaking directly to current graduate students, today’s post is a Special Request post for a graduate student reader who contacted me to ask what kinds of questions she and her peers should be asking the job candidates visiting their department.

She hastened to assure me that she and they are “nothing like” the grad students I have described in some posts (ie, potentially jealous, reactive, or even sabotaging), but rather genuinely excited to meet the candidates, and eager to do everything possible to make sure that graduate student interests are represented in the search.

“But what should we be asking??” she wondered.

This is a good question.  Many search committees attend closely indeed to the opinions of the graduate students.  You need to make sure that your opinion is an educated one.  Here is a partial list of some valuable questions that graduate students should consider asking job candidates who make campus visits to your department.

*How would you mentor graduate students?

*What graduate seminars would you like to teach?

*I work on xxxx. Are you familiar with that area of work? Do you have any brief recommendations for directions I might pursue?

*What kinds of graduate student committees do you see yourself being able to sit on/participate in?

*We are trying to get the department to develop a new certificate/program/focus in XXX. What is your experience in that area? How do you see yourself participating in it?

*Looking at the current department, what new directions do you think you’d like to see it move in in the next 5-10 years? Why?

*What is your next major project, after you finish your work on your current one?

*What do you think are the most important new developments/directions in our field?

*What is the best recent book/article in our field that you have read? Why?

*What was your graduate program like, and do you feel it was effective in training Ph.D.s for research and for jobs? Why?

*When you teach with TAs, what are the major issues and problems that you find, and how do you resolve them?

*What do you think ABDs should do to prepare for the job market? How did you prepare for the job market?

*What do you do for fun?

The point of these questions is to get the candidate to reveal how responsive he or she is to graduate student concerns, how attentive he or she is to different areas of research being pursued by the graduate students, and how much of an ally he or she will be in graduate student initiatives and goals.

Another point is to test how current the candidate is with regard to new and emergent debates in the field, and how savvy he or she is with regard to job market and professionalization, the disintegrating conditions of academic labor, and the welfare of TAs.  

And the point of the last question is to check if the prospective faculty member is a balanced human being, or some kind of academic automaton.  Steer clear of those whenever possible.

Many, many times we heard from our graduate student representatives that candidates looked “bored” or “uninterested” when dealing with these queries from graduate students. It goes without saying that a bored or non-responsive candidate is a candidate that you, as a graduate student, do not want joining your department. Young and dynamic faculty are some of the best allies graduate students can have in staying current with new and emergent trends in the field, and prevailing against the dreadful conditions of the job market. Be courteous and friendly and good humored, but grill those candidates, and don’t hold back from pressing for answers. The very best candidates will come away from such encounters deeply impressed with the quality of the graduate program, and more compelled to accept the job if offered

What To Do Now in Grad School (Special Request Post)

Apologies for missing Tuesday’s post and then delaying on Thursday’s post. I had a family health crisis (thankfully, fully resolved) that kept me away from the computer this week.

Today’s post is a Special Request post for K, who asks, what can a grad student do right now (even from the first year) to prepare for the job market?

This is an excellent question and one that I have wanted to write about for some time. I have no patience, no patience whatsoever, with the “love” narrative (“we do what we do because we love it and money/jobs play no role”) that prevails among many advisors and departments and profoundly mystified graduate students (see the most recent example, in the Chronicle this week, here).

It is my view that graduate school is meant to prepare one for a job and career. And it is from that belief that all of my work as The Professor derives.

For those of you who feel otherwise, that is your right.

But my remarks are always addressed to those who wish to prioritize being competitive for permanent, tenure track employment, with salary, benefits, and retirement, at the end of their Ph.D. 

So, Dear Graduate Students, here are things that you can do now:

1. Never forget Dr. Karen’s primary rule of graduate school: Graduate School Is Not Your Job; Graduate School Is a Means To A Job. Do not settle in to your graduate department like a little hamster burrowing in the pine shavings. Stay alert with your eye always on a national stage, poised for the next opportunity, whatever it is, to present a paper, attend a conference, meet a scholar in your field, forge a connection, gain a professional skill. 

2. Year one and every year thereafter, read the job ads in your field in the Chronicle and your disciplinary professional organization website, and track the predominant and emerging emphases of the listed jobs. You don’t have to slavishly follow trends, but you have to be familiar with them and be prepared to relate your own work to them in some way.

3. Do not forget the rule of increasing returns (in grants). A $500 book scholarship situates you for a $1000 conference grant, which situates you for a $3000 summer research fellowship, which puts you in the running for a $10,000 fieldwork grant, which then makes you competitive for a $30,000 dissertation writing grant, and later a $100,000 postdoc.

4. Make strong connections to your advisor and also to other faculty members in your department and in affiliated departments outside your department. Interact with these faculty members as a young professional, without forgetting the letters of recommendation that you will one day need.

5. Minimize your work as a TA. Your first year will be grueling, but learn the techniques of efficiency in teaching as fast as you can, and make absolutely, categorically, sure that you do not volunteer labor beyond the hours paid. Believe me, this will take vigilance. Do it. You are not a volunteer and the university is not a charity.

6. Attend every job talk in your department and affiliated departments religiously. It matters not if these are in your field or subfield. Go to all.

7. Attend national (not just local or regional) conferences annually.

8. Take every opportunity available to you to present your work publicly.

9.  Remember that the best dissertation is a finished dissertation.

10.  Write your thesis and dissertation with an eye to publication. In many if not most fields it is now necessary to have at least one refereed journal article while still ABD.  Strategize your Masters thesis or one chapter of your dissertation to be your first publication, and send it out at least one year prior to the Fall you will first go on the market.  Do not be seduced by expressions of interest or invitations from editors of edited collections. These are where good publications go to die.  Your first piece needs to be in the highest ranked refereed journal you can reasonably manage.

Bonus Advice: Put the amount of work into your job letter and teaching statement and research statement that you would put into a dissertation chapter or refereed journal article. Far, far more hinges on these documents than any other piece of writing that you do.

There is more to write.  I am preparing a longer piece on this subject for the Chronicle of Higher Education.  If the Chronicle does not publish the longer piece, I will post it here on the blog.  For now I stop here.

In the meantime, I think I can hear about a third of my readers saying “Oh yeah! I can do this!” And a third saying, “Aaaaaarrrggghhhh…..I can never do all this!” And another third saying, “I refuse to do all this! What a distasteful exercise in tactical drudgery.” The choice is entirely yours. But be aware that the best and most competitive candidates, the ones whom I have watched and assisted as they sailed through a first year on the market with  something like 10-15 conference interviews and 5 campus visits, and 2 competing offers, had every one of these elements of their record locked and loaded.

Good luck.

 

 

Dr. Karen’s (Partial) Rules of the Job Talk

I’ve been asked by many readers to write about the Job Talk. I’ve resisted doing this because I believe that by the time you are writing your job talk, any meaningful advice has to be completely personalized. In other words, general rules about job talks would have to be so general as to be of minimal value. And valuable rules about your job talk can only be delivered personally.

I read job talks as part of my work here at TPII, and I’m convinced that on one occasion at least, my intervention saved a candidate from certain failure. She went on, with a new job talk revamped to showcase her authority and expertise, and proceeded to get the offer.

This morning, when asked again for a post on job talks, I began to think about what I corrected in that particular case, and a few others. I realized that I did correct for some errors that are relatively common, and that these corrections might serve as rules that could be of value to others. These rules will never replace personalized critique, but they may help you to avoid the worst and most embarrassing mistakes.

So, in no particular order, I present a preliminary list of Rules of the Academic Job Talk.

1.  Banish the following words:

  • seek
  • hope
  • try
  • wish
  • believe

Refer to my post: “Do or Do Not. There Is No Try.”

2.  Banish the following phrases:

  • is worthy of study”
  • “deserves study”
  • merits study”

The fact that you are studying it proves that it is worthy of study. Saying these words makes you sound like a junior grad student trying to convince a skeptical advisor of the value of a dissertation topic.

3.  Be thoroughly formal and professorial

This is not a chat. This is a formal presentation of research. It is meant to showcase your expertise and authority, not demonstrate that you are “nice.” Do not write the job talk as if you are “talking.” An example would be:

So then I’m going to ask the question, ‘what would happen if we look at x instead of y?’ And when I do that, a very interesting thing comes up, which I’m sure that you can anticipate, which is that focusing on x puts the whole topic of z in a new perspective….”

Instead, you will write:

Focusing on x instead of y reveals a different perspective on z, and it is on that perspective that I focus in this talk today.”

In addition, use formal words exclusively. This is not the place for slang and casual language.

4.  Minimize your use of “us” and “we.”

I’m not saying you have to jettison them entirely, but based on my experiences with job talks, they are vastly overused, and are a central element of the excessive chattiness that I describe in rule #3.

5.  Use humor sparingly

Search committees and audiences always appreciate knowing that you have a sense of humor, but the job talk is not the place to demonstrate it. One small witticism, if it arises naturally from your materials, or some mishap in your presentation, is certainly appropriate. But beyond that, let your sense of humor emerge in your conversations throughout the day; in the job talk, give your research the serious delivery that it deserves.

6.  Use visuals, but don’t over-rely on them.

Academic audiences are generally ambivalent about PowerPoint. They appreciate visuals as much as anyone, but they also resent the “dumbing down” that often happens in a PowerPoint-centric presentation. Be sure that the text stands alone as academic written text, and is not subordinate to slides. In other words, don’t stand in front of the screen and say “and next, in this slide, we see that….”

7.  Leave visuals that you do use on the screen for long enough that the audience can thoroughly assimilate and respond to them.

One of the most common errors that nervous speakers commit is snapping through visuals too quickly. You may have seen these slides 127 times, but your audience is seeing them for the first time. They need abundant time—several minutes most likely—to thoroughly study and assimilate the information on the slide.

8. This goes without saying, don’t read from the paper.

While this may seem to contradict Rule #3 and possibly Rule #6, it does not. You can remain strictly professorial and formal, and still make abundant eye contact, gesture broadly, and in some cases move about the stage or podium area. It is imperative that you draw your audience in and also closely monitor their reactions to what you are saying. For both of those to happen, you must watch them. Know your talk well enough that you don’t have to read it. Also, anticipating nerves, print the talk out in large font and doublespace, so that it’s easy to read, and also don’t be afraid to put stage directions into the text (“point to screen here”; “offer ‘spontaneous’ remark about xxx here”, etc.)

9.  Make sure the talk speaks to the job being advertised.

Candidates can be so obsessed with their own narrow project, on the one hand, or so over-amped about trying to be all things to all people, on the other, that they often miss the mark in pitching the talk to exactly the position being filled. If it’s a 19th century literature job, then should your talk be about postcolonial literature? No. Should it be about Fielding? No. Should it be about 20th century adaptations of Dickens? No. It should be about some aspect of actual literature written in the actual 19th century. Do interesting things, but don’t forget that they have curricular needs that they are filling.

10.  Get to the point. And stay on point (Brits, I’m talking to you).

Don’t spend 7 pages in prefatory remarks and caveats. You should be into the main topic of your talk by the end of the first page. Make sure that the evidence mobilized and arguments advanced actually speak directly to the topic, and make your core central point.

11.  Articulate an argument.

One of the most startling things about working as The Professor has been discovering just how many young scholars, across the university, cannot articulate a central argument of their research. You should be able to give the core argument of your project in a single sentence. That sentence should be prominently placed in the beginning of your job talk. You will then use evidence and logic to prove the legitimacy of your argument. And then you will conclude by reminding the audience what you argued, and then briefly gesturing to the wider implications and ramifications of that argument.

12.  Be aware of your body language.

I worked with a stellar client who was the real deal, the whole package—brilliant project, fabulous teaching, terrific intellectual pedigree. And then we did a run-through of her job talk on skype. Who was this person? Her typical self-assurance was nowhere to be seen. Her hands fluttered like little fish. She bobbed and swayed. Her eyes darted side to side. “No, start over, try it again!” I said. “No, you’re still doing it!” Three times we went through it. I hung up feeling anxious indeed. Turns out, of course, she totally killed it, when it counted. Thank god. But she told me afterward, without that skype practice she never would have realized just how much she let her nerves show through her body language. You need a level gaze, head high, a firm stance, strongly planted feet (no winding or twisting your feet below the podium), squared shoulders, hands calmly on the podium or gesturing.

13.  Have a strong and inspiring finish.

Do not dribble away with “so, yeah, uh, I guess that’s it…. uh, so, yeah, does anybody have any questions…?” leaving the audience to squirm in their seats and wonder when to clap. Finish strong. Asssertively. With a clear falling tone in the final words, then a pause, and then a confident gaze with half-smile taking in the whole audience, and a strong and gracious “Thank You.” Then another pause for applause, and then, “I’d be happy to take questions” (or acknowledge your introducer rising out of his or her seat to mediate questions for you).

14.  Finish on time.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: the fastest way to lose a job is to go over-schedule. Searches are grueling and exhausting and inconvenient for departments. The faculty are dragged out of their already over-taxed schedules to sit in your talk. They have things right up to the start, and more things immediately after the finish. They need your talk to start on time and end on time, period. Zero tolerance for mistakes here. Practice 10 times at home until you can say with total certainty that the talk will never, under any circumstances, go over your allotted time.

15.  Don’t forget your conclusion.

All academic writing needs a strong conclusion, and it is the element most often forgotten. Academics often forget that academic speaking is a form of performance. And as with all performances, the build up to the conclusion, and the conclusion itself, are in some ways the most important elements. The finish sits in the air, vibrating, and stays with the listeners for some time. It’s true that in an academic talk, questioners often jump in aggressively; nevertheless, a strong finish, more than almost anything else, demonstrates the speaker’s confidence and elan.

16.  Be prepared for the Q and A.

In my years on searches, it was the Q and A that most often destroyed candidates. Given enough time and help, most people could pull together a decent talk, but it was the Q and A that separated the wheat from the chaff. Remember that by the time you give the job talk, you’ve already proven that your work, on paper, is good. What the job talk proves is that you’re intellectually vibrant and dynamic, that you can defend your work against challenges, while remaining open to intriguing new scholarly possibilities and conversations. Remain friendly, good humored, and affable, but not cringing, obsequious, or pandering. Remember to thank the questioner with words such as “that’s an excellent question,” or “thanks for bringing that up,” or “that’s actually an interesting point.” Call on the most senior people first; they will expect it. Try to avoid calling on graduate students, who often ask questions that are off-point or self-aggrandizing. Master the art of academic jiu jitsu; when directly challenged, acknowledge the value of the questioner’s point, but then turn the focus away from their agenda and back to your own. In other words, never, ever respond “oh, wow, I really wish I’d had time to talk about that and it’s a total oversight that I didn’t include it, I’m really sorry about that…” Instead respond, “you raise a valuable point and it’s certainly one that I considered. However, my findings showed that the primary issue her is in fact xxxx, and so it was to that that I turned my greatest attention.”  

Having reached the Q and A, I will stop here.  I may add to this post as time goes by, and I remember elements of the job talk that need discussion and dissection.  Readers, feel free to add your own comments and suggestions.  

 

 

 

 

Be Professorial

If you had asked me, prior to my opening of The Professor Is In, what I imagined would be the biggest communicative challenge of young job candidates, I would have said, “being excessively pompous and pretentious.”

And I would have been wrong.

The fact is, I’ve learned after conducting some 100 Interview Bootcamps, the biggest problem that young job candidates have is not sounding pompous and pretentious enough.

It’s really the oddest thing.

Client after client, setting out to attain the position of professor, reveal themselves to be completely unprepared to sound actually….professorial.

I spend an inordinate amount of time telling Interview Bootcamp clients to, first of all, pause.  Pause, and stroke your metaphorical beard.  Nod sagely.  Think deeply.  Inhale.  And then—and only then—respond to the question.  This is the classic professorial move.  Learn it.

I tell them to slow down.  The slow, deliberate delivery is a core professorial conceit.  Professors don’t race breathlessly through their words.  They savor them.  They relish them.  The h-y-p-e-r-articulate them, the way Ross used to do on Friends.  Watch here, at 3:57, where Ross hits his stride on the subject of evolution. (sorry this isn’t embedded; i tried!)

Ross from Friends on Evolution

Like Ross, cherish your final consonants, because they are your allies.  Contractions, however, banish.  What are you, an undergraduate?

Practice saying this:  “I. Am. quiTE convinceD that they. Are. correcT in their assumptioNS, although [heh heh—conspiratorial laugh] I mighT dispuTE soME of their con-clu-sioNS.”

Gesture widely, expansively.  Opine.  Assert.  Dare I say it, explicate.

I would never have dreamed that I’d be telling graduate students to be more pompous, but in fact, that’s exactly what you need to be.

What most young job candidates lack, that actual professors have in spades, comes down to one thing:  self-importance.

Remember, if you’re setting out to be a professor, the first thing you have to do is act like one.

 

Pregnant on Your Campus Visit–A Crowdsource Project

Today’s post is a Special Request post for a reader who wishes to know how to handle pregnancy and the job search, particularly the campus visit.

This is a subject about which I’m not really qualified to write. I was never pregnant while on the job market. I was pregnant as a second and fourth year assistant professor, and I certainly have opinions about that.

But the demands of the job market are different, and frankly, the stakes higher, for the pregnant job candidate. There are so many assumptions about pregnancy, motherhood, and women that come into play when the highly cogitized realm of an academic department comes face to face with a conspicuously pregnant job candidate, assumptions that rarely work in the candidate’s favor.

Basically, bodies tend to make academics uncomfortable, and the pregnant body is hard to ignore.

I would suggest that at some point after the invitation has been made and the arrangements well finalized, you mention to whomever you’ve been corresponding with that you are pregnant.

“By the way,” you might write, “I just wanted to mention that I’m 6 months pregnant. This will not impact my visit in any way; I mention just so nobody is too startled when I arrive.”

My concern about springing a pregnant belly on an unsuspecting search committee or dinner group is that the truly minimal social skills that characterize so many academics could lead to wildly awkward or inappropriate (if well-intentioned) comments. Forestall that possibility with advance warning.

It is my observation that by and large, and particularly as more and more women enter the academy, departments do manage to successfully host pregnant candidates and take them seriously as contenders for the job. I’ve had clients who have also been pumping breast milk at the time of their campus visit, and asked for, and received, accomodation by the department.

Having said that, I’m certain that there are horror stories. And I want to hear them.

My purpose in this post is to solicit stories from those who have actually been there.

Readers, would you share your pregnant campus visit tales and advice, both good and bad, successful and not?

I’d like to create a resource here that will be useful to everyone confronting this challenge, both candidates themselves, but perhaps also the hosting departments, who may be just as desperate for reliable information about potential pitfalls and challenges.

I and my Special Requester thank you in advance.   

Can I Ask For Feedback After a Rejection?

Yes.  Yes you can ask for feedback after a rejection. 

While I don’t recommend you do this indiscriminately to all jobs to which you applied, if you were invited to a campus visit, then yes, it is in my opinion appropriate to respond to a rejection with a very brief and unemotional email to either the Department Head or the Search Committee Chair something along these lines:

“Dear XXX,

I want to thank you again for hosting me at your department.  I understand the position was offered to another candidate. I am writing now to inquire if you have any feedback that I might take from the visit to improve my candidacy as I move ahead in my job search.  I would be most appreciative of your honest constructive critique if you see elements of my candidacy that could be improved.

Thank you for your time,

XXXXX”

 

Now, to be truthful, I suspect that the norm here is that you will not get a response.  I think that faculty members may well feel awkward, embarrassed, ashamed, annoyed, or just plain too busy to respond to this honest request for help. 

In addition, the issues may well have little to do with the candidate personally, and more to do with “fit.”  But sometimes there really is feedback that can be offered, without damaging the integrity of the search, which a candidate can take away and learn from.  “Your job talk was poorly organized and needs work”; “You seemed unprepared to answer questions about basic courses that you’d teach”; “You’ll want to get better at showing an interest in the job itself and the people with whom you’re talking”; etc.

If I had *ever* been asked for this kind of feedback from an unsuccessful job candidate, I would most definitely have responded.  Indeed, I longed to be able to offer feedback to many of the particularly clueless job candidates who lurched through our doors.  But it is a thing that cannot be offered gratuitously.

The important thing here is not to sound needy or resentful or emotional in any way. You cannot express disappointment and resentment or personalize the rejection  (“I really don’t see where I could have gone wrong”; “I don’t understand why the other candidate was better qualified than me”; etc.).  A firm neutrality that you may be far from actually feeling is the key to an effective approach here.

I will reiterate that sometimes the answer is “You were great; in the end our decision revolved around the best fit for the department.”  That may seem unhelpful, but it does require you to ask yourself if you really did, in reality, express your potential fit as well as you could have.  Be your own harshest critic in these things.  Take the step to find out who did get the job, and think about their profile and whether it has strengths that yours lacks.    And take steps to fill any gaps.

The job search process is, for most, about learning from rejections.  As painful as it is, assume that there is something concrete to learn from every rejection and make every job application that you send out better and more focused than the one that preceded it.

 

 

 

How Would You Mentor Graduate Students? Another #Facepalm Fail

Today I was doing an interview bootcamp and came upon yet another #Facepalm Fail of the academic interview.

The #Facepalm Fail is: “How would you mentor graduate students?”

Actually, this might not rise to the level of a full-size #Facepalm Fail, because it will only be asked in certain contexts–interviews for jobs in departments with graduate programs.

Nevertheless, you should be prepared. One of the hardest mental shifts to make in the grad school –> job market transition is from being a graduate student to being a person in charge of training graduate students.

And yet make that transition you must.  This is a question that virtually all interview bootcamp clients bomb.  

Here, in brief, is how to respond to that question:  

“Graduate students at different levels will have different needs. First year graduate students will be struggling to simply adapt to the demands of graduate school, and for those students, I would focus on helping them navigate the expectations of the program, its requirements, and basic academic reading and writing skills.

Mid-program students who are involved in establishing their dissertation projects will need assistance in formulating an original research project, and then gaining a command of the theoretical schools of thought and the various methodologies necessary to conduct it. Teaching skills in grant-writing are also important at this stage.

With more advanced students I focus on academic writing skills, and also work with them to plan ahead for conferences and presenting work in public.

As graduate students finish the program I would focus on the job market and other professionalization skills such as fellowships, the job market, and networking. Overall I want to support students in both their scholarly growth as well as their professional development.”

Would that our own advisors had actually done–or even thought of doing–any of this!

The Ins and Outs of a Professional Academic Website (Guest Post)

Today’s post comes to us from Roger Whitson of the Digital Scholarship Commons (DiSC) at Emory University.  Roger kindly stepped forward when I asked for a guest post on the often asked questions: Should I have a professional academic website? And if so, what should it do?  I’m so pleased to have this post to both answer those questions, and demonstrate with lots of live links how to go about creating such a website.  Thanks for this, Roger!
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I have to admit, I’m a little biased. I have been interested in personal and professional websites since around 1996, when I created my first website in college. I enjoy having a web presence. I like the idea that my friends can contact me and keep up with what I am doing. And I admit that I’ve said things I definitely wouldn’t want a job committee looking at online. When my colleagues tell me that they don’t want to have a professional website, I can understand the fear they have of saying or doing something that will come back to haunt them.

So, why am I an advocate of creating a professional website? As a member of the Digital Scholarship Commons (DiSC) at Emory University, I believe academics should use digital technology to their benefit. Part of using digital technology positively is understanding and taking control of our online identity. It is almost impossible to not have an online identity these days. If you have ever responded to a blog post, you already have an online identity. If you have participated in a message board, or created a Facebook account, or wrote an amazon review, you already have an online identity. For me, it isn’t a matter of staying completely off the grid, it’s a matter of consciously crafting your online identity so that it most effectively presents who you are to potential employers.

Why should I have something other than my academia.edu site? Certainly, academia.edu might be enough for some academics simply wanting to have a single academic presence online. But, for those of us interested in business opportunities, non-academic and alternative academic jobs, other online services are important. Scholars are increasingly communicating on Twitter and writing blogs about their teaching and research. Different disciplines and fields might approach these technologies differently. Someone interested in the digital humanities and computer science, for example, may need to have a more robust digital presence than someone working in a more traditionally print-oriented field. Every year, DiSC conducts a very useful workshop on using online services like academia.edu, LinkedIn, Facebook and Twitter to control what happens when someone searches for your name on Google. Here is a video of that workshop. I like to have a professional website, because I can control almost every aspect of that site. I, then, use sites like academia.edu and LinkedIn to point people to my professional site. Having more sites that you can control also gives you more control over what people see when they perform a Google search on your name. Take a look at me. Professional websites, LinkedIn, academia.edu, Facebook, Twitter, and other sites tend to score very high on Google search results.

What should my website do? I see my website as an online hub for my accomplishments and current projects. I include a copy of my CV, using a paper-sharing application called Scribd; a brief account of my research and digital scholarship; my teaching portfolio, with a teaching philosophy, student evaluations of my work, sample syllabi, and links to student projects; embedded Prezis of my most recent conference presentations; and videos presenting my teaching and research. I feel that my professional site allows my job applications to come alive. Not only do employers see that I presented on collaborative reading and annotation in the classroom at the 2012 Modern Language Association conference, they can read that presentation, and see a video of me giving an introduction to the presentation at the MLA. Finally, I like to keep a blog on my personal website. This allows me to quickly point people to changes in my CV, like receiving an award, being quoted in a magazine, or accepting a new job.

What should my website look like? The design of your website is important. It helps to characterize you as a professional and an academic. Since I am interested in technology, scholarship, and teaching, I wanted a site that looked contemporary and gave evidence for my digital skills. The rounded edges, the overall clean and non-cluttered design of the site, and the multiple links to other social networking sites show that I am heavily invested in social media and design. I also wanted my site to establish my name (“Roger T. Whitson”) and my visual identity. If you look, I have the same picture on my header, on my Twitter profile on the right, and on the favicon displayed in the URL bar. This photograph is also repeated in many of the social network sites I frequent. Further, I try to use the same username (“rogerwhitson”) on those same sites. The point is to create and maintain a consistent message about my identity. Fellow DiSC member Brian Croxall does the same thing. The design of a professional site gives you a good sense of an academic’s professional identity. Doris Bremm has a minimal online website (including only her CV, a brief page about her Spring 2011 class, and a discussion of a film series she curated), whose design visually reflects her dissertation’s focus on visual art. The pixelated background to Zach Whalen’s site references his scholarly interest in video games. Anne Pollack’s site features diagrams of hearts and pictures of researchers in order to foreground her work in biomedicine and pharmaceuticals.

Where do I go from here? There are several different platforms you could potentially use when designing a professional site. Some scholars use a simple WordPress.com site. In fact, DiSC also has a very useful workshop on creating a WordPress.com site. I like WordPress because it is an easy platform to use and is open-source. Further, WordPress.com sites usually take very little time to set up, you can choose from many different themes, and update them when you want. I downloaded my own WordPress package from WordPress.org and use a site called Hostmonster to be able to have my own domain name. While WordPress.com hosts websites, WordPress.org gives you the WordPress program to set up your own website whereever you want. Some people are fine with having  http://yourname.wordpress.com, but I like the idea that people can easily remember my URL (“http://www.rogerwhitson.net”). You can pay for WordPress to host your domain name, but there are further advantages to using WordPress.org. These include the ability to extend the functionality of your website using plugins. I use several plugins on my site including Blackbird Pie, which allows me to embed Tweets into my site; WordPress GoodReads Bookshelf, which displays images of the books I’m currently reading; and Vimeo Quicktags, which allows me to embed videos uploaded to the Vimeo site easily. Some scholars also use Drupal, code websites themselves, or hire a professional developer but these are solutions that are often too complex and/or expensive to really help individual scholars. I am also able, should I decide to do so, to change the design of my theme by using CSS in the Editor on the WordPress dashboard.

Ultimately, the choice to create a professional website depends on a number of factors: who is your potential audience? Are the schools you are applying to invested in digital technology? Does your professional identity include technology in any significant way? While many academics may not want to create a professional website for precisely these reasons, controlling your online presence is becoming increasingly important as employers gain skill in using digital technology. Creating a professional website is one of many tools you can use to make sure the message potential employers get from the web is the message you intend.

Two Societies–Separate and Unequal: Thoughts on the TT-NTT Divide

On Tuesday I posted the first of two posts on the New Faculty Majority Summit on Contingent Labor in Higher Education that took place in Washington,DC this past weekend.  That post was, as I said then, in a descriptive vein.  I promised a second one in a more meditative vein.  This is the post that reflects what I was actually preoccupied with most of the time I was sitting in the Summit.  And that is:  how far all of this is from the world I knew as a tenure-line and tenured professor.

One phrase kept coming into my mind throughout the day.  The phrase was:  “two societies.”  Two societies, that is, separate and unequal.  Or, in its original form, from the Kerner Report of 1968:  “This is our basic conclusion: Our nation is moving toward two societies, one black, one white—separate and unequal.”

The Kerner Report, as it is known,  was a study commissioned by President Lyndon B. Johnson to investigate the causes of the 1967 race riots.

When it came out, the report was a damning indictment of white America and its abandonment of the black community.  It became an unexpected best-seller.  Its Introduction summarized its findings:

Discrimination and segregation have long permeated much of American life; they now threaten the future of every American.

This deepening racial division is not inevitable. The movement apart can be reversed. Choice is still possible. Our principal task is to define that choice and to press for a national resolution.

To pursue our present course will involve the continuing polarization of the American community and, ultimately, the destruction of basic democratic values.

The alternative is…the realization of common opportunities for all within a single society.

This alternative will require a commitment to national action—compassionate, massive and sustained, backed by the resources of the most powerful and the richest nation on this earth. From every American it will require new attitudes, new understanding, and, above all, new will.

The vital needs of the nation must be met; hard choices must be made, and, if necessary, new taxes enacted.

Setting aside any astonishment, in 2012, that a government-sanctioned committee would produce a document that included these words, I suppose it’s obvious why I found that phrase “two societies—separate but unequal” resounding in my mind the day of the Summit.  How much of a stretch is it to apply this to the tenure-line vs. NTT faculty context?  Let’s try it and see.

Discrimination and segregation have long permeated much of university life; they now threaten the future of every university.

This deepening status division is not inevitable. The movement apart can be reversed. Choice is still possible. Our principal task is to define that choice and to press for an administrative and pedagogical resolution.

To pursue our present course will involve the continuing polarization of the university community and, ultimately, the destruction of basic educational values.

The alternative is…the realization of common opportunities for all within a single higher educational context.

This alternative will require a commitment to action—compassionate, massive and sustained, backed by the resources of the most powerful and the richest nation on this earth. From every university administrator and faculty member it will require new attitudes, new understanding, and, above all, new will.

The vital needs of the university must be met; hard choices must be made, and, if necessary, new funding models enacted.

This is a truth I know in my bones.

The fact is, as a tenure-track and tenured professor, I never gave adjuncts a second thought.  They and their circumstances, their needs and goals, were of no concern to me.  I knew on the one hand that the job market was brutal, and that it was by no means a foregone conclusion that I should have ended up employed on the tenure track, or that others of my acquaintance would not.  I did not believe that I was significantly more brilliant than others who ended up unemployed or adjuncting.

At the same time, by virtue of the fact that I DID succeed in gaining a permanent, full-time, tenure track position at Ph.D.-granting departments at a R1 institution, I was in the elite class.

I hasten to add that I didn’t feel “elite” particularly, and certainly not elitist, which is counter to my basic ethos in life.  And I was painfully aware of how, at the perennially cash-strapped University of Oregon, I enjoyed far, far fewer resources than peers at Ivy Leagues and upper crust institutions.

But on another more core level, I was elite indeed.  Because I was in the top tier—a tenure-line faculty at Ph.D.-granting departments at a R1 institution with a low teaching load and access to excellent funding for my research and writing.  I was being paid a (barely) liveable wage with benefits to do what was ultimately the work of the mind—to publish my research for the benefit of the discipline, and to teach it for the benefit of students.

At the time my identity hinged almost entirely on that elite status.  Not consciously, mind you.  It wasn’t that I felt others were inferior.  It was that they were irrelevant.  I was a player, and they were not.  I was in the game of academic status and competition and they were not.  I was credible, I was legitimate, I was competitive (for grants, awards, and honors) and they were not.   The people I “saw” (ie, who were visible to me) were the others who, like myself, were in the competitive status game.

Now, I hasten to add that even labeling that context a “competitive status game,” is to descriptively fail.  Because at the time, in that world, it wasn’t conceived of as a game but as sober and serious “work.”  It also didn’t feel competitive in an immediate sense since collegiality was common, and collaborations were also possible.

And above all, status was never, ever openly discussed.

So “competitive status game” is what I call it only now, with the benefit of hindsight.  At the time I was simply totally engaged in the impulse to produce and to get ever-increasing recognition and rewards for what I produced.

It was grueling, but it was also deeply, profoundly gratifying, and frankly, pretty fun.  After all, I did love what I did.  I loved my field, and my work, and my intellectual mission, and my pedagogical coolness (I was one of those young, hip assistant professors so beloved of the undergrads).  I loved campus life, and tooling about importantly heading off to conferences and meetings. I loved meeting colleagues for coffee and talking intently.  I loved, really inordinately loved, being able to write off for free desk copies. I felt powerful.  My world was, in short, completely absorbing. I had drunk the Kool-Aid.

And so it seemed to be for my colleagues, especially the junior ones.  We made wry jokes about looming deadlines, recalcitrant funders, and intractable reviewers.  But those jokes were the language that communicated our membership in a single tribe.  We were the people who “mattered.”

And to a large degree we were treated as such—the people who matter—by the members of administration who actually noticed us (which were not many).  We were, after all, the capital-generators, the content-producers of the university industry. Without us and our “research productivity” and grant money, the university had nothing to brag about or use to solicit endowment gifts.

So our idiosyncracies and self-absorption were more or less tolerated and enabled by the managers/administrators in charge of capitalizing on our talent.

I go into this detail to try and give a sense of the habitus of what was, ultimately, a position of enormous privilege.  And as with all positions of privilege, this one was invisible to us, its holders.  Because we only “saw” and engaged with others equally privileged, those outside that world were rendered invisible.  They were not people who mattered.

I’m not proud of this.  But I bring it up to articulate, with difficulty, my sense that because we occupied two societies, the tenure-line and the non-, the needs and concerns of the non- were utterly invisible to me.

More to the point, looking back now, I do not know how I could have found any place of common interest with NTT faculty at the time, or indeed through most of my career, extending well past tenure and even into my administrative career as department head. As a department head wrestling with criminally inadequate program funding (albeit in a department that almost never hired adjuncts because we had a pool of graduate students for our grunt-work), I mainly just wondered how fast I could find one when needed.  I don’t know when a space for common interest would have arisen, in what context, or what would have compelled it.

What did eventually happen was this:  as my absorption in this world declined for a constellation of reasons both personal and vocational, my ability to “see” those off the tenure-track increased.  When I stopped drinking the Kool-Aid (and this was a painfully slow, difficult, and shame-ridden process indeed), the rotten structure, the crumbling edifice of the whole system became visible, and in fact, inescapable.  A growing friendship with a NTT faculty member on campus, and hearing her story and daily experiences, brought it into relief. After a time I couldn’t see anything BUT those who are excluded and marginalized by the system of privilege I had once uncritically inhabited.  And that status began to stink, and I didn’t want it anymore.  By the time I had the opportunity to leave, I was ready.

What astounded me most then was the dawning realization of my previous total lack of critical perspective on the academic world and its structures of privilege.  After all, all of my scholarly “work” had been dedicated to the critical analysis of social privilege and power.  How was it that someone totally committed to a “critical” ethos was able to spend 15 years in a profession and never turn that critical eye onto it?  How was it that power and class status were something I analyzed, but not something I inhabited?

Let me hasten to add that I was well-versed in the issues of white privilege and class privilege as they applied to myself in “society.”  I was very conscious of my backpack.  It’s just that I did not make the connection to the equivalent privilege and status in *the university setting* itself.  Status differentials there –outside of the authorized ones of assistant-associate-full-dean-provost-chancellor—were invisible to me.

I think they are invisible to most tenure-line faculty, even the most avowedly Marxist.  As the Japanese proverb goes, darkness reigns at the foot of the lighthouse.  There is something profound at the heart of the university enterprise, particularly in the liberal arts, that mystifies its members to the structures of money and power that organize it.  I don’t know what it is.  But it apparently persists long after the economic justification for it has evaporated.

The Kerner Report went on:

Segregation and poverty have created in the racial ghetto a destructive environment totally unknown to most white Americans.

What white Americans have never fully understood—but what the Negro can never forget—is that white society is deeply implicated in the ghetto. White institutions created it, white institutions maintain, and white society condones it.

Indulge me a moment longer in this exercise of translation:

Segregation and poverty have created in the adjunct ghetto a destructive environment totally unknown to most tenure-line faculty.

What tenure-line faculty have never fully understood—but what the adjunct can never forget—is that the educational institutions are deeply implicated in the ghetto. The educational institutions created it, educational institutions maintain it, and educational institutions condone it.

Tenure-line faculty enjoy a position of sanctioned ignorance about the conditions in which the NTT labor, and the degree to which tenure-line positions and salaries, not to mention funding for research, are paid for by the labor of others who may be going without health insurance, adequate medical care and food, and sufficient money to pay for rent and clothing in the same month.

“We have no adjuncts here” say faculty and administrators on campus after campus, apparently believing it, according to Adrianna Kezar, Associate Director of the Center for Higher Education Policy Analysis, who spoke at the Summit.  To acknowledge adjuncts’ existence next to you on campus, doing identical classroom work but getting paid 1/20th of the salary, is to acknowledge that what you do is a form of employment with an economic rationale. And to acknowledge the existence of a shadow economy on your campus, the underbelly of the university ideal.  Is this why so many tenure-line won’t meet the eyes of NTT they pass in the hallways?

As one tenure line assistant professor at the University of Oregon said to our campus union organizer, “please don’t come talk to me about a union.  If you make me think about how little I’m paid and how little I’m respected, you’ll take away the last, the very last illusion that I’m clinging to—that this is more than just a job.  Without that illusion I don’t think I can go on.”

While I think that tenure-line faculty are not actually privileged enough, in the present moment of the neoliberal university, to be able to afford not to have common cause with the NTT faculty, I believe that few of them are prepared to relinquish the sanctioned ignorance (or willful delusion) that derives from their invisible (to them) privilege.  Based on my former career and experiences, I believe that like Lyndon Johnson, most –with some notable exceptions—will continue to deny the existence of the two societies in their shared community, and hold fast to the status quo.