GenX women in higher ed from around the globe

Author Archive

Ratemyprofessor.com in C Major

In Graduate Studies & Students on 2013/03/12 at 11:26
Deanna England, writing from Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada. 

One of the scholarship fund-raising activities my University hosts is an event called “Class Acts.” It’s a talent night where faculty and staff put on an evening of entertainment, and all proceeds from the ticket sales go towards Entrance Scholarships. It’s a fantastic evening, often resulting in many surprises – who knew that our registrar was an Opera singer, or that one of our librarians participates in poetry slams?

The first year I went, I was surprised to see a guitar-playing, singing duo on the program with members from the both the Biology and the Women and Gender Studies departments. I struggled to figure out how such a pairing would have happened, before remembering that sometimes the Arts and the Sciences CAN make beautiful music together.

What was particularly memorable though, was the topic of their performance; it was a hilarious song talking about ratemyprofessor.com. I had never heard of such a thing, and as they harmonized about the nerve-wracking trauma of chili rankings and student commentary, I weighed the pros and cons of the existence and functionality of such a site.

At the time, I had just begun a pre-master’s course, and was waiting to find out if I would be accepted into the graduate program. Would I use a site like that? And if so, would I offer rankings, or simply check out the commentary? And who cares about how “hot” they are, anyway? I’m not sure I wouldn’t find a faculty member’s hotness to be a deterrent really.

I found navigating the relationships with my instructors to be fairly smooth for the most part. At one point, I was taking a course with the woman who was Chair of a committee I support. Another time, I was taking two courses at once with my Advisor. I had preconceived notions, opinions and relationships with all but two of the professors who taught me..  So honestly, what would checking out ratemyprofessor.com really do for me anyhow? But I was curious, so mid-way through my program, I checked out some of the rankings to see if popular opinion meshed with my own.

Nope.

What I saw on the site was so utterly incongruent from my experiences that I had a hard time reading through most of it. They struck me as so completely immature and ridiculous that I couldn’t even find them laughable. The instructor that I found to be terrible, everyone thought was “hot,” “awesome” and “cool” while the woman that I adored got raked over the coals.

But I had a nagging doubt in the back of my mind. Yes, I found the “cool” instructor to be completely irresponsible (not hot) and awful. And yes, I found the so-called “terrible” instructor to be delightful, but who’s right really? Opinions are subjective of course, but I wonder if I might actually be so completely biased that I can’t judge properly.

That is a part of it, of course, but I realize there’s another layer to consider. The “cool” instructor taught material I loved, and I walked into the class already really liking her. She converted me to the negative end of the spectrum via her teaching style, while maintaining my interest in the course. It was neither dislike of the topic nor predisposition that made me dislike her instruction.

More importantly, I came to understand that it was my job that impacted my lack of faith in those rankings. I take part in discussions on program proposals, curricular development and research. I know what kind of time and effort does (and should) go into teaching courses, and my evaluation of the professor is influenced by that background.

I eventually concluded that the rankings might have meaning, but they just weren’t useful for me; there were too many factors against it. They did however force me to acknowledge the attitudes I held prior to walking into each class. And while there’s little I can do about them, I hope that acknowledging their existence was useful for something. And on reflection – perhaps they ARE useful for students in their decision-making process, as long as they remember to take those rankings with several grains of salt. Maybe I should perform my own song about it at the next scholarship fundraiser

This post was also published in Inside Higher Ed

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The Vanity of Graduate Applications

In Graduate Studies & Students on 2013/01/18 at 22:44
Deanna England, writing from Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada

A few weeks ago, I graduated with my MA, and I’m now confronted with the question of “what next?”

I didn’t go to graduate school to carry on to Doctoral work; I just thought the program looked interesting and that it would be a good idea to have a graduate degree if I was going to advise graduate students. I love my job.  I have no interest in leaving it, but I also absolutely love academic scholarship. To be honest, I find the idea of getting a Ph.D. positively decadent. To have all that time devoted to an area of research I’ve discovered a passion for? What an unimaginable luxury. Particularly to be able to do such a thing full-time, to not have to feel guilty for either not putting in overtime at work in September, or to doing laundry or grocery shopping instead of polishing another essay draft evenings and weekends.

There are countless numbers of people who do not do a Ph.D. on a “straight” trajectory: age eighteen graduate high school, age twenty-two graduate with Bachelors, age twenty-three or twenty-four, graduate with an MA, by age thirty complete a Doctorate. In fact, I imagine people who do that are in the distinct minority. I am thirty-seven. I have a mortgage, and an aging Father, a full-time job and a partner that could not come with me to another city.

But I also want to know. Could I get in? Could I be accepted into a Doctoral program? Could I find someone interested in working with me on a research project that I propose? Someone who has never heard of me before, but is impressed with my writing and ideas and achievement-to-date? Am I worthy of receiving a portion of their hard-earned research funding.

This is a slippery slope: putting in the time to apply when I don’t know if I could actually accept it. Because once you apply, your mindset switches. Suddenly, I will really want it. And what if they reject me? What if no one wants to work with me? Or even more alarming: what if they accept me? Then what would I do?

Sell my condo? Quit my job? Trust my brother to look in on my father? Expect my partner to wait for me?

Or perhaps I will decline. Perhaps I will simply be gratified that I was accepted. My ego will be placated, yet I’ll be unable to leave the province to pursue this vanity. Will I find peace merely with the acceptance? Or will I look back on my decision with regret, angry with myself for not seizing the opportunity when it happened?

I fear the guilt of simply applying will overwhelm me, because, full disclosure: I have in fact started the process. I have asked some wonderfully supportive faculty members to provide me with references. I have written a research proposal, and already received feedback from one of my referees on how to improve it, and advice on where else I should consider applying. I have contacted potential supervisors at other institutions and asked for guidance on the application process from program coordinators.

No woman is an island. Applying for graduate school takes a team, and all three of my referees have offered assistance beyond simply writing me a letter. Is it fair to do this to them if I am not even certain I can take up a potential offer? Is it fair to force graduate program committees to evaluate an application that might not even be serious?

I know just how much work is involved in the evaluation of a potential applicant, the time it takes to review credentials, and consider funding, and commit to supervision, the consideration that is taken away from another applicant who is applying unreservedly. Is this a selfish endeavour?

Yes, I can only conclude that it is indeed selfish. However, I am not sure if selfish necessarily equates to “bad.” Do I have the right to know what all my options are? Do I owe it to myself to figure out just how important this really is to me? Or am I just wasting a lot of people’s time and energy; two very precious resources that shouldn’t be taken advantage of? I honestly don’t know how to answer these questions. I could argue it either way. In between though, I‘ll be updating my research proposal.

Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada

Deanna England is a member of the editorial collective at University of Venus.

This post was also published in Inside Higher Ed

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Is That a B or a C?

In Graduate Studies & Students on 2012/10/21 at 21:55
Deanna England, writing from Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada.

I Will Now Stop Resenting the B+ I Earned Last Fall Quite So Much…

I was offered a position as a marking assistant in the Women and Gender Studies department, and offer that made my day/week/month.  I felt like I had finally “arrived” to be tapped on the shoulder like that. In my undergrad years I always envied the students who were asked to RA or TA for faculty members. They always seemed somehow smarter, or more together than I was. So to be asked now brought me back to my twenty-one year old self, validating my worthiness as a student. Silly, I know.

The course is Intro to Women and Gender Studies. A course I have never taken myself, though the Doctoral programs I have been tentatively exploring are in that area. I received my first batch of papers to mark this week, and I realized I was taking the course along with the students. I read the entire batch of reading responses, absorbing the summaries without making a mark. It was fascinating to experience the chapter from so many perspectives. Each of those students had read the same words, but not one of them repeated what another had to say about it.

Throughout the course of my education I, more than once, have been concerned that I would propose the same paper topic as another student. That we would write the same paper, but inevitably *they* would write it better. But reading those papers, I realized that such a thing would most likely never happen. One’s life experiences, culture, employment history, family, and a multiplicity of other factors would make that a virtual impossibility.

When I initially met with my Professor about marking for her, she asked me a series of questions about how I would handle the job. The more she asked, the more I realized just how much consideration went into every grade I have ever received. How *would* I handle marking for someone whose first language was clearly not English? I was not in the Math department where there is a universal language and only one right answer.  Perhaps this was going to be more challenging than anticipated.

And so I dove into the marking, with a mixture of both excitement and terror. These are GRADES.  These grades MATTER. They will be reflected on student transcripts, and permanent academic records, and what if they want to apply for scholarships and graduate school and jobs? I haven’t even taken this course! What right do I have to grade a paper when I haven’t done the reading myself?! What if they all hate me? What if I’m too harsh? Too lenient? What impact will my decisions have on their ultimate feelings of accomplishment or entitlement or future scholarly plans? Why did I take this job? This is WAY too much pressure! How do faculty handle this?

Breathe.

The professor and I had decided earlier that I would mark 10 – 15 and then meet to review how I handled it. I dove in, wrote comments, assigned a letter grade and attached a grading rubric scale to the papers. That rubric killed me. As I was checking off boxes that meant C or B I felt constrained. I found myself giving lower scores than my intuition told me was warranted.

And when we met yesterday, my Professor agreed. She, too, was dismayed at the number of C’s I was giving. We had a talk about not discouraging first year students before they have found their bearings in both the course, and often in University as a whole. While we had to be fair, we also wanted to guide them, and offer them the opportunity to grow into themselves as scholars. We decided that the attached scoring rubric had to go. I would be more gentle, encouraging and numerous with my commentary and hopefully instill a love of the subject in them.

It’s a big task. My sense of weightiness and responsibility was not diminished after that meeting. But I also have shifted my own attitudes. Grading offers an opportunity to act as an indirect mentor to students. With each check mark, and “good point!” I could be inspiring them to continue on in an area that was completely unknown to them a mere month ago. I got a C in my Intro to Sociology course and I never looked at the subject again.  Where would I be now if that initial professor had taken a less standoffish approach?

I think I could learn to love this job, once the terror subsides a bit.

This post was also published in Inside Higher Ed

Once Upon an Elitist SlutWalk

In Graduate Studies & Students on 2012/09/02 at 23:59
Deanna England, writing from Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada. 

I recently attended a seminar hosted by Jack Zipes on fairy tale film research. It was an informal meeting where he showed us several obscure film clips on fairy tale interpretations and invited us to give our responses. It was a wonderful event offering interesting perspectives on familiar tales such as Cinderella and Blue Beard, and new insights into Red Riding Hood that I would love to work into my ongoing SlutWalk narrative.

The event was open to the public and there were students and faculty there, but the group also included teachers from outside the University, staff members and a surprising number of story-tellers. Story-tellers, what a wonderful sounding label – it wasn’t anything I had really heard of before, although I’m certain that title has existed for hundreds of years. I immediately wanted to go over and quiz them on the minutiae of that occupation.

Throughout the course of the session, however, I was struck anew with how immersion in the Academy has completely shifted my manner of thinking. And while it is an unforgivable and gross generalization to imply that those outside of academia never engage in critical analysis of the media, popular culture and the like, I have to admit, I rarely did so prior to beginning this degree.

While discussing some of the subversive aspects of the films –  for example applauding the feminist interpretation of Red Riding Hood baiting the wolf by innocently skipping through the woods, then turning and confidently killing him with her machete –  it is easy to forget that not everyone necessarily appreciates these alternate interpretations. One of the storytellers openly rebelled at the cold-heartedness of BlueBeard’s new wife Medusa casually discarding his former wives bodies out the window and threatening him with her stone-turning gaze.

Zipes discussed a village in England that is systematically filming classic fairy tales such as Rapunzel and posting them on the Internet. He queried whether such projects should be obligated to consult in some way; and while I pondered the notion of creative freedom versus the perpetuation of culturally oppressive standards, a lively discussion ensued regarding the logistics and politics around the project.  Suddenly one of the storytellers proclaimed that she was really disturbed with the general assertion in the room that fairy tales should be adapted through a contemporary lens; as she would far prefer telling her daughter the “original” or “traditional” versions of the tales.

At this point, I had an internal debate with myself. She is a guest to the University, and not necessarily an academic (however, the logical response here is: how do we define “academic” and just how important is that distinction anyhow?) and may not have the same background in critical theory and folklore that many other members of the audience do. However, should I not point out that if we’re not going to “update” the tales, then I think we have an obligation to contextualize these “traditional” narratives to our children so they understand that these are not the values that modern-day society embraces?

This internal dialogue led me to question my own attitudes as a so-called Academic. Am I right in feeling that I should correct her thinking?  (Emphatically no.) Am I right in thinking that I should be treating a “guest” with more consideration? (Not sure.) Either way, I felt pretty condescending.  I mentioned to the woman next to me (a faculty member from the Languages Department) that I found it challenging to “shut off” my critical analysis when I wasn’t with other members of the Academy, and she looked surprised and asked me why I would want to.

However, I struggle with how to balance my own experiences within Western society versus that of many other people around me. I’m accused of taking things too seriously, of not having a sense of humour, or taking away their fun.  Am I? I don’t always know how to balance that – I feel that I am occasionally speaking a completely other language, leaving people slowly blinking up at me perched on my soapbox. I can appreciate that most people won’t share my adoration of Kristeva or Weedon or Bordo, but while I can pretty easily refrain from waxing poetic about semiotics at the dinner table, I don’t know how to read a book like 50 Shades of Grey without ranting about the re-entrenchment of heteronormative privilege and the violence such a text does to alternative sexual lifestyles.

Truth be told? I’m feeling pretty elitist even just writing this piece.

This post was also published in Inside Higher Ed

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Students vs. Academics

In Graduate Studies & Students on 2012/06/28 at 09:02

Deanna England, writing from Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada

Often in class or informal discussions my classmates and I would gleefully make up words, justifying the practice by saying “we’re academics – we’re just creating new vocabulary to expand the discourse.” Of course this is all just rationalizing the bastardization of the English language, but we amused ourselves with it nonetheless. In some ways, it was a kind of dreaming ahead – one day we would be “real” academics. Our made up words would subsequently be cited and we would go down in the annals of scholarship as being the source for an absolutely integral concept or phrase. It could happen right?

Last year I found myself purchasing books on Amazon strictly because the subject area interested me beginning with Susan Bordo’s “Unbearable Weight.” This was followed up by several others: The Beauty Myth, The Female Body in Western Culture, Generation Me – I was unstoppable! Then I found myself reading chapters in texts OTHER than what I’d strictly been assigned for my courses. Out of INTEREST. What was happening to me? Had I finally made the transition? Was I an academic?!

What is an academic anyhow? According to dictionary.com an academic (noun) is:
8. a student or teacher at a college or university.

9. a person who is academic in background, attitudes, methods, etc.: [sh]e was by temperament an academic, concerned with books and the arts.

10. ( initial capital letter ) a person who supports or advocates the Platonic school of philosophy.

 

Huh. I guess I already am. I suspect I already was before I started this degree. It seemed like such a faraway, glowy title – something that was only achieved after being published, or getting a PhD or teaching. Who knew?

I started out this degree merely out of interest. I attended a committee meeting, and the courses the faculty described sounded so interesting I wanted to check it out. This was exacerbated by the fact that I was also dreading the day that some angry Masters student would come into my office railing at me (for some reason) and exclaiming that I had no idea what they were going through. Who was I to deny them anything since I couldn’t possibly understand the graduate school experience? I found myself daunted at the idea of arguing with that logic. Who WAS I to claim to understand? Now, to this day, not one student has ever come close to doing that to me. They’ve all been genuinely interested in my experience, and have graciously shared theirs, but a couple years back, I wasn’t quite so secure.

But now? It’s like a drug. I want to publish. And present. And collaborate. And be CITED somewhere. I can’t imagine what an intoxicating experience that would be. I want to receive unsolicited emails from unknown scholars who are interested in work I’m doing.  I want to have a TV show based on my research like Kathy Reichs!

However, at the moment I am simply struggling to come up with a firm idea for my Jane Austen adaptation study. Suddenly the sexual exploits of Willoughby in the Andrew Davies versus Emma Thompson versions of Sense and Sensibility don’t seem like an interesting paper.

And that’s when reality comes crashing down on me. Being an academic is even harder than being a student. Teaching. Committee work. Research.  Publishing. Advising. Conferences. Grant writing. Evaluations. As I sit at home, dreaming about PhD programs, debating about whether I would want to pursue Cultural Studies or Women and Gender Studies, I falter. Academia has its share of glamour and pride and collaboration and admiration; but it’s also a lot of work, and I imagine, a lot of effort to stay positive.

I have the comfort of knowing that when I am done with this degree, a challenge I took on for fun, I still have a job that I love. A job in the Academy that allows me the occasional opportunity to work on scholarly projects and hear about exciting new research yet is safe. There is no risk in simply completing my degree and staying with the status quo. But how long will it be before I lose the ability to critically analyze the world around me, and the opportunities to work on projects in my field stop being offered? How long before I become stagnant?

It’s a decision I have to make relatively soon. I am done in two months, and then what?

This post was also published in Inside Higher Ed

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Occasionally the Awkward Has its Perks

In Graduate Studies & Students on 2012/04/25 at 01:05

Deanna England, writing from Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada

I have now completed the last actual class of my degree. I have one Special Studies course to complete this Spring (Jane Austen and Adaptation, woo!) and then I graduate. And while I’m not yet breathing a sigh of relief and soliciting congratulations, I feel that I’m now in a position to reflect back over the course of this program a little, particularly at how I’ve experienced the dual-role I currently straddle.

I’ve worked at the University for four years, and spent half of that time enrolled in this degree.  When I first began, I had oh-so-many pre-conceived notions of how my program would look and function based on the myriad of planning discussions I had previously participated in. A bit of a laughable expectation in retrospect really, as when does the theory ever truly represent the practice?  Like most of us, a large part of my job requires sitting in on meetings, and many of them focused around the construction of graduate programs: curriculum, policies, student issues, scholarships, promotion, recruitment…

One of the topics I always found the most interesting in those committee meetings were the discussions around the construction of courses.  I find it fascinating that at this level of study, a faculty member has the opportunity to take their area of research and construct an entire syllabus around it. Not only does it allow them the chance to share their passion, but it also grants them the occasion to explore the area further, and learn new perspectives on the topic as a result of student engagement.

On the other hand, wearing my student hat grants me the opportunity to experience those same courses from the other side. However, it’s an odd experience, and I find it impossible to simply flip a switch from one identity (Graduate Studies Officer) to the other (graduate student).  For example, I try to patiently listen when my fellow students informally complain (to me or around me) about the program, faculty, administrative details, fees and so many other frustrating facets of the student experience. Often I feel genuine sympathy and understanding of where they are coming from, but occasionally it’s challenging. I know just how much work goes into the running of these programs and how many hours of debate go into every decision. However, I have to admit: being a student has actually been quite beneficial to understanding just how it feels to be a recipient of those decisions. Because I know, if something doesn’t make sense to me, then there’s certainly no way that the average student will have much more clarity.

Now the two particular courses I’ve taken this year have been masters-honours splits. This is a phenomenon I’d been hearing about since I started at the University, but had yet to experience. And of course I was totally unprepared for what that would be like. I had  (arrogantly) assumed that the undergraduate students would be so much less knowledgeable and articulate than the graduate students in those courses that I was completely taken aback when I realized the exact opposite was true.

Cultural Studies is a multi-disciplinary program and these two courses were taught out of the Women and Gender Studies department.  Now, I have some background in feminist discourse, but it’s only one area of critical theory amongst many others I’ve been exposed to in this degree. But these honours students? It’s what they’ve been living for the past several years – their knowledge of the vocabulary and concepts around what we’re learning far surpasses that of the graduate students. I found myself so utterly humbled by those honours students for their patient guidance, particularly regarding how to handle some of the sensitive issues that the class was discussing. One student’s declaration that “this is a safe space,” reassuring us that we didn’t have to be so concerned about saying the “wrong” thing was absolutely invaluable.

This was something that never came up in committee meetings – the actual dynamic between the two levels of students. I had heard many discussions around the necessity for an increased number of pure master’s classes, countered with the practical use of resources in the split classes. Once again, the theory did not adequately describe the practice. I cannot explain just how valuable both perspectives have been to me in both roles. I think the only thing left for me to do now is to get my PhD and start teaching in these programs – the University really doesn’t have enough classes on porn!

This post was also published in Inside Higher Ed

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Scrabble, Tea, and Superheroes

In Graduate Studies & Students on 2012/03/15 at 03:43

Deanna England, writing from Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada

I really like Facebook Scrabble – I spend far too much time on there, with only a vague justification that it “increases my vocabulary.” Over my Christmas holidays, I spent the vast majority of my 10 days off napping and finding new Scrabble opponents. All my grandiose plans of completing my Special Studies proposal (Sex and Jane Austen – woo!), preparing my section of the introduction for the book I’m working on, editing chapters for said book, submitting papers to journals and/or conferences – yeah, none of that happened. Well, the barest minimum of it happened anyhow.

In between naps I found time to email the ever-so-wonderful Mary Churchill, my editor here at the University of Venus to tell her that I was simply incapable of doing a post every month. I was beginning to have anxiety attacks over it. After sending that email, but before my tenth nap of the holidays I began to berate myself. Am I lazy? Unmotivated? Do I deserve to be here? I was convinced that I was about to get my first B+ in a course towards my degree, had no idea how to contribute to a book, and just generally felt like a pile of exhausted goo.

Fast forward a few weeks, and I found myself editing my share of the chapters for the book. As I wrote in my notes that this sentence was awkward, or she really should have considered that primary source, I was suddenly struck by the seeming absurdity of it all. I am a Master’s student. Who am *I* to be telling tenured faculty that they neglected to consider Freud when constructing their paper? Surely they had already thought of that themselves and had positively brilliant reasons for not including him.  I fell back into my gooey state of self-doubt.

I expressed my concerns about my seeming laziness to a trusted confidante and was greeted with (somewhat comforting) jaw-dropping shock. She first attempted to talk me down off the ledge over the B+ (Will it ultimately matter if I didn’t get straight A’s in this program? Will I still get the degree? Who is judging me other than myself?) and then started deconstructing this laziness fallacy.

Are you working full-time? Yes. Are you doing a graduate degree at the same time? Yes. Do you have extra-curricular activities? Yes. What? Well, there’s the book, and writing for the University of Venus and assisting with the coordination of the Winnipeg SlutWalk and my new involvement in a sexual empowerment and education group on events and writing and… OK, do you have a family? Yes. Friends? Yes. Romantic relationship? Yes. Laundry? Groceries? Housecleaning? Bills to pay? Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Honestly? I had to go through the entire exercise before I got the point. I genuinely interpreted my sleep and lack of accomplishments over the holidays as a sign of failure. Confession: it’s sometimes a challenge to work for Senior Administration at a University. I see everything they do – committee work, supervising staff, teaching, publications, meetings upon meetings upon meetings, travel, research….How dare I aspire to anything less than that? Doesn’t it mean that I’m a lesser person? Weaker somehow? How do they accomplish such superhuman feats of productivity and still remain…pleasant?

I don’t actually know the answer to that question. But it does reinforce the importance of this mental health initiative that the University is constructing. And while the details of the large initiative are still being sorted out, I am on a sub-committee that is becoming increasingly important to me, as I wade through my own journey of exhaustion, potential over-achievement disguised as laziness, and self-doubt.

“Take 5” is the name of the event. It will be a week-long program of activities on campus that provides free yoga, dodge ball tournaments, massages, prizes, tea breaks and so much more. Last year when working on this, I viewed it as something “for the students.” This year it struck me that I am one of those students. And I could certainly benefit from taking a 5 minute break for some tea.  It’s a simple enough concept, take a breather, appreciate what’s going on around you, and take care of yourself without feeling guilty for doing so. It’s funny how much easier it is to give advice than to take it.

This year though, I think I really want to throw a dodge ball at someone – it sounds deliciously C-A-T-H-A-R-T-I-C.
This post was also published in Inside Higher Ed.


Professors Are PeopleToo – Who Knew?

In Graduate Studies & Students on 2011/12/11 at 22:32

Deanna England writes from Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada.

When I first began working at the University, I was absolutely terrified of making an idiot of myself. I had graduated ten years earlier with an honours degree in Psychology, and had done very little of academic note since then. And while I still don’t relish the idea of broadcasting my ignorance when it happens to come up, I have realized that faculty and administration do understand that everyone comes from diverse educational backgrounds: one person’s expertise in bats does not make another’s knowledge of tree rings any less significant or noteworthy.

Now, I have very little knowledge in either of the above areas (though I have sat through enough thesis defenses and colloquia presentations on bats that I feel like I could achieve a passing grade if tested – “torpor rates,” “white nose syndrome” and “myotis lucifugus” were certainly not phrases in my vocabulary prior to three years ago), but I certainly have an interest in and willingness to learn. I find sitting at committee tables absolutely fascinating – when academics from completely different areas come together, the diversity in language and discussion styles that occur could be a study in and of themselves.

But now that I am less shy about speaking to faculty, I take advantage of the myriad of experts at my disposal. I had an Economics faculty member come to my office the other day to ask some administrative questions, and I was absolutely delighted to have her stop by. I impatiently answered her queries, and refused to let her leave until she explained the Occupy (Winnipeg) movement to me. After looking slightly taken aback, she very kindly explained why it wasn’t hypocritical to consider donating to their cause– a concept I hadn’t been able to wrap my head around until that moment.

I am now friends with a handful of faculty members on my personal Facebook account. Occasionally this is somewhat disconcerting, but has also proved to be unexpectedly useful. A few weeks ago one of them posted a link to a book review on hegemony, and I made a comment about how I would only read it if it explained the concept to me in more detail, as my rudimentary grasp of it was proving insufficient for my needs. A Politics faculty member joined the commentary and said that I could stop by his office anytime and he’ll go over it with me.

I was invited along to a group event one Saturday visiting various artist studios around Manitoba. The Chair of the Indigenous Studies Department came along and she was kind enough to sort out my confusion around what it means to be a “pipe holder” and what the significance of tobacco is in ceremonies. Not only did she take the time to explain all this, she went out of her way to assure me that I was being in no way culturally insensitive by asking the questions – indeed, I think she appreciated my interest.

The University is a hierarchical institution, there’s certainly no denying that. But I am consistently struck by the openness and collegiality of those I deal with. I so often hear other staff members taking about “diva-like” members of faculty or administration, but I can’t say I experience much of it. Even those that I have the odd run-in with still make up for it in subsequent encounters. Perhaps it’s how I approach them, or perhaps it’s how my fellow staff members treat them as well. It’s easy to feel mistreated and patronized when you’re lower down the ladder – but it’s not always easy to not hold a grudge, or examine your own behaviour and how you may have provoked it yourself.

When I have curiosity about the research that many faculty members are experts in, they are usually genuinely pleased to have someone take an interest in the area where they feel a profound investment and passion. Why would I not want to encourage and share in that? Yes, maybe I have to send them the same email ten times, and maybe they just cannot remember how certain forms should be filled out. But in the grand scheme of things? We’re all working together on a common goal, and I love the fact that I have the ability to take part in some of the brilliance and scholarship surrounding me.

 

This post was also published in Inside Higher Ed .


Must Share All the Things*

In Graduate Studies & Students on 2011/11/06 at 21:38

Deanna England, writing from Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada.

I got an A+ in Porn. That fact still amuses and delights me, and in certain circles I am sure to find some semi-awkward way to bring it up in conversation. And while I would never claim to be an aficionado of pornographic film or erotic text, I did spend a great deal of time this past Winter in a Special Studies course exploring pornography, erotica and romance, focusing on the production of erotic writing by women. And the highlight of the course was, without doubt, my final paper. While I’m fairly confident that writers typically endeavour to create something original and productive, this was the one paper that I felt genuinely addressed a gap in the scholarship. I was thrilled to have made (what I felt to be) a useful contribution to an important area of feminist discourse.

I’m sure many graduate students feel the same way:

I have discovered/written/conceived of this amazing thing! Why hasn’t anyone thought of this before!? Must. Tell. Everyone. Am brilliant! I will become the next rock star of Erotic Academia! Female sexuality will never be the same!

And then Spring came, and my next course began, and my condo flooded and the craziness of the next academic year began so work was overwhelming. And the paper sat. But it still lingered in the back of my mind – it was a good paper. And it really did focus on an under-represented area. What could I do? Being “just” a master’s student, I didn’t really know what my options were, and of course I wallowed in self-doubt. Maybe I just think it’s a good paper. Maybe my instructor felt she had to give me an A+ because that’s standard in all Special Studies courses.

I had just begun to consider consulting with my advisor on whether she thought I should submit the paper to some journals, when out of nowhere; a friend sent me a link to a conference listed on a university of repository for various CFPs. The perfect conference.  A conference that focused on erotica in popular culture, and at the construction of identity and…well just everything about it was perfect! At last, my answer. I gleefully created an abstract and sent a draft to both my advisor and the chair of my program for feedback (I’m surprised I didn’t send it to my boss, the Dean of Graduate Studies too). Perhaps I was a bit overzealous – but this was it! The chance to share my knowledge with the world! After endless tweaking and edits, I sent it off, cursing the fact that the conference website was down so I couldn’t be sure that I wasn’t submitting it late.

Thoughts began to creep into my mind:

You know that website has been down a while. For over a month. Isn’t that a bit odd?

And why did my email provider tell me that my message was “delayed”?

Come to think of it, there really aren’t any institutional credentials attached to this conference posting.

And why does a Google search list a bunch of launch conferences in completely diverse areas from this organization? Yet none of the websites are working.

And that conference write up really is poorly written.

I became increasingly suspicious and dismayed. I decided to phone the hotel where the conference was supposedly happening to double-check: The Hilton, St. Louis.

“Oh, there are 4 Hiltons in St. Louis? Can you check them all please? Thanks … Oh, not at any of them?”

And then my email finally bounced back with a fail receipt and I had to admit defeat. The conference was not a sign from the Academic Gods in response to my possibly earth-shattering paper. As it turned out, this was a different kind of growing experience. One that told me that even in the Academy one is subject to fraudulent events and scams for money.

I will say I have learned some things. Not all conferences are of the same calibre. Not all will generate the kind of audience and networking opportunities that you might be looking for. And some aren’t even real. However, I have learned how to write a fairly decent paper abstract. And that’s a valuable thing to have gained from what really accounts to a relatively minor annoyance.

But I still don’t know what to do with my paper.

*This is only an amusing title if you’re familiar with Hyperbole and a Half. And if you’re not, you should be.

This post was also published in Inside Higher Ed.

Cheating, Plagiarism and Just Plain “Not-Too-Bright” Students

In Graduate Studies & Students on 2011/10/16 at 00:10

Deanna England, writing from Winnipeg, Manitoba in Canada.

We’ve discussed the notion of cheating several times here at the University of Venus, its ramifications, philosophical perspectives, and devices instructors haveused to combat it – but I’ve recently come across a situation that made consider the topic once again. A student I know (let’s call her Clare) put out an ad for English tutoring and received a somewhat distressing, but not wholly unexpected response: “Write all my essays for a fee, I can get you consistent work.”

Clare was understandably outraged at this request and debated over whether she should report the student to the institution in question. She also did a search on the solicitor and discovered that she could conceivably have her in one of her classes (as her student – presumably this solicitor was an undergrad, while Clare is now entering her first year in a Doctoral program) as well.

The group of colleagues that Clare approached with this dilemma was equally disgusted with the privileged and “not very bright” attitude of the solicitor. And they relayed various anecdotes of their own of being solicited in the same manner, as well as expressing a general sense of indignation over plagiarizers in general. However, upon reflection, I began to debate with myself – is this plagiarism? Or is this simply cheating? Is plagiarism just a specific type of cheating? Why am I debating semantics anyhow?

I suppose it’s both. It’s not merely neglecting to properly cite a section of a paper – this is taking another author’s complete work, and taking credit for it as one’s own. According to a quick check of Dictionary.com, plagiarism is defined as: the unauthorized use or close imitation of the language and thoughts of another author and the representation of them as one’s own original work, as by not crediting the author. And some definitions of cheating include: to violate rules or regulations; or to take an examination or test in a dishonest way, as by improper access to answers. It seems that each is relevant here.

In the end, Clare seemed decided that the best course of action would be to report the student to the institution, and hope that the student would not be placed in one of her classes due to the potential conflict. However, what was interesting to me was some of the discussion around Clare’s dilemma. One person proclaimed that the solicitor wouldn’t make it through University anyway since the solicitor really wasn’t very smart. While the group wholeheartedly agreed that the solicitor in question wasn’t particularly stealthy about her dishonesty, they expressed reservations about the conviction that she wouldn’t manage to make it through that way, as some of them knew of people who did precisely what the solicitor had done and managed to graduate just fine.

The concern from their end is what these solicitors would manage to do throughout their lives. Would they end up in some position of power with no clue about how the world and their own industry actually work? How far-reaching would those implications be?

However, what frustrates me about the solicitor is her complete lack of regard for the implications of what she’s done. She’s placed Clare in an awkward situation, and while she may have understood that such behavior would implicate Clare as well, obviously that decision would be up to Clare and her own conscience. However this behaviour also demonstrates to me that the solicitor clearly has no comprehension of, or care for the amount of effort involved in the creation of a piece of scholarly work and is obviously missing the purpose and benefits of engaging in such an exercise — the acquisition of research skills, knowledge of the subject area, increased writing ability, etc. She also seems to have no clear understanding of the futility of going through University in that way — what does that piece of paper actually mean if you didn’t earn it yourself?

But to go back to the comments by some of the other individuals that Clare consulted – what was the solicitor thinking? Of course if Clare refused, the risk was there that she could be reported. But to what end? Would this report result in any kind of punitive action if the student had not yet made such a purchase? What consequences could be enforced in such a case?

This post was also published at Inside Higher Ed.


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