Life Intervenes and "Silly Season" Ensues

If my readers were looking for a blog post this week just past, there was not one.  It was one of those weeks:  The weather was worrisome for the big drive commute and the walk commute, and more importantly, the smaller child was very sick.  Also, I had a good deal of papers to grade and return because the students needed the feedback to continue with their projects.  I even began the week getting observed at School Two.  And I had to chase down an observer at School One to get last term's observation report signed.  And, and, and, and....ad infinitum.

The funny thing is, as I sat evaluating papers, planning classes, and working on all the things either late at night or very early in the morning when the small, clingy sick one was asleep, I missed this.  I felt somewhat guilty about not posting this week.  To say there is A LOT going on with the #AdjunctUprising would be an understatement.  University of Illinois at Chicago's adjuncts staged a planned work stoppage, or strike if you will, to bring attention to their cause despite the insane weather the midwest is getting pummeled by.  Lecturers at the University of New Hampshire voted to unionize while many others work towards this goal for their own campuses.  Media coverage of adjunct issues continues on Al Jazeera America, NPR, Inside Higher Ed, and The Chronicle, not to mention in brave student papers at campuses across the nation.

As schools edge towards Spring Break and the halfway point of the semester, many of us search frantically for our next paying gig(s).  In NASCAR they have a part of the year called "silly season," which involves drivers changing teams, drivers losing their rides or sponsors, or teams try to lock in drivers and/or sponsors for the upcoming season in an effort to win the most races.  I believe we adjuncts also have a "silly season," but it is much more serious than the name implies.  Just as a driver could end up without a ride and thus a livelihood, so too could any of us in adjunct land.  People get frantic, then desperate.

Those of us whose full time adjunct positions were cut at School One, which necessitated my employment at School Two and was the impetus for beginning this blog, were told in a meeting that we would not be rehired.  At this point, it looks as though the union there, which I have belonged to since 2006 and is for all faculty, will not protect us.  They failed to write explicit terms for our situation into the last contract though they fended off an attack on adjuncts from management during negotiations.  I suppose they did not foresee their own departments in turn meting out the same abhorrent treatment that was deemed abominable when suggested by those on the opposite side:  cut hours to avoid paying benefits or good salaries.  I still do not know what will happen with the job posting there and am in a wait-and-see-while-plotting-other-routes kind of mood.  Clearly, adjuncts need their own union, and not one that inevitably puts tenure track faculty first whether on purpose or by default.

In the ongoing effort to remain relevant to the academic field, I've been busy submitting some award applications, publications, and sketching out some new article ideas during all this as well.  Oh, and even doing some service work.  Winston Churchill said, "If you're going through hell, keep going."  Some days it feels like that.  The danger in stopping is inaction, apathy, and defeat.  Even if I end up going in entirely another direction, I don't think I can stop moving yet.  Maybe it means creeping only inches forward in a week or a month, but it is motion towards some goal though I'm not sure what that is.

What will happen to the intrepid adjunct population?  I guess that's a story for a later post.  My Magic 8 Ball still isn't working very well.

Chaos Clouds, photo by me

A Day in the Life of an Adjunct

Many of my posts lately have stuck to issues or events related to adjuncts nationwide.  This one is what an average day is like for this particular adjunct, in case some of my readers do not live this life.  This is based on my Wednesday last week with some added aspects for perspective.  It is all true.

On the days that I commute to work at School Two, I get up at 6:15 am.  My first class is not until 11:20, but to get everything done, arrive with time to gather my thoughts and/or make any copies needed, and get to the right floor of the right building I must leave then.  This is a one-hour improvement from last term when 5:15 was my wake-up call.  I must get up on the first ring and go.  I can't really think about what all must be done or I wouldn't get up.  I'd pull up the covers and hide.  

If I'm lucky, the small child does not wake up during the first thirty minutes when I'm getting ready thudding around in the dark trying not to disturb anyone else until it's time.  At 6:45 I wake up my elder son to get ready for school.  I have to be done in our one bathroom by then to let him in.  On my commute days he must walk no matter what the weather and, outside of our block, few people bother to clear their walks.  That's just the way it is.  

I pack the lunches for the little guy and myself that sometimes I've managed to half prepare ahead of time,  and I put the kettle on for tea/coffee/breakfast.  I check my two bags and the little guy's bag, grab the lunches, then put everything in my vehicle.  If it's cold I start it up, clear the snow and/or ice.  If the walks need to be cleared I start them and my elder son takes over.  One of us salts if needed and he's gone.  Depending on traffic, sometimes he is tardy just from waiting to cross the streets.  

I go in, make the tea and oatmeal, then eat as fast as possible.  By at least five after seven, I have to be getting the little fellow into clothes.  Usually he doesn't wake up for this and I stuff him into pants, shirts, coats, and hats.  We make it out the door with my keys, my tea, and at least one stuffed toy.  The sitter's isn't far and I lug him, the stuffed menagerie, a lunch bag, and his bag inside.  I have gotten trapped in my vehicle due to the cold jamming the door lock and the sitter kindly came out to get him then.  I must be on the road by 7:30.  

Depending on luck, weather conditions, and the lack of police cruisers in the way, I usually get three miles from my parking area and hit the traffic wall.  If I'm lucky it's 8:30 at this time.  This past Monday, it was 9:30 because none of the major highways I travel had been cleared.  For about thirty minutes I creep along in traffic: a spectacular 10 minutes per mile.  Finally, I make it to my exit but even then the journey is not done.  I am only going to park on my friend's street because that is free and it puts me in the cheapest bus fare zone:  $2.50 gets me dropped off right on campus but it's $12.50 to park all day downtown.  On a good day, I catch the 9:00 am bus, but it's more likely I get the one twenty minutes later.  

I wait in cold that seems to only get colder for a nice, warm bus.  The ride doesn't take long and soon I'm waiting for an elevator to go to our department's office.  Then, I can grade, make copies, or fill out orders for large copy jobs.  At twenty minutes 'til class I make my way to another building.  I set up and get ready.  The teaching is the best part and that flies by.  Soon I'm telling them goodbye.  I use the time after that class to update my on-line course system with any info for that day because only one of the shared computers in the adjunct office sort of works and the wifi there is so scattered it's impossible to use my own things.  The classroom computer is a good one and no other class comes in, so I use it for about twenty mintues.  Depending on my level of hunger, I sometimes eat there.  

Some days I return to the department to eat and others I sit in a commons area.  On Wednesday, my long day, I have another class at night.  The middle of the day is mine to meet with students (somewhere), do prep work for the next week, grade, or run errands.  Last week I did some work for the adjunct cause, then practically ran to the transit station because my bus pass was low on funds.  I made it with ten minutes to go until closing.  

Around 4 pm I have to think about catching a bus to go get my vehicle.  The bus doesn't run at a time near the end of my night class, therefore I must bring my own wheels back downtown so that I don't have to wait 50 minutes in the dark for the last bus of the day.  Parking gets cheaper at night anyway and is even free after 6 if I can luck into a space.  It is usually about this time that I realize I haven't eaten anything that counts as supper.  That is followed by at least seventeen texts and eight calls from home because the world is ending for various reasons.

By the time I am back in my vehicle, I crank the music as loudly as possible to drown out the phone and my guilt.  So long as no one is seriously hurt or injured, I figure they'll be okay.  Also, I have to have some sort of order in my head before teaching a three hour class.  If traffic is light and I'm lucky, I get a space with fifteen to twenty minutes to spare.  This equals coffee.  

Finally, I make it to my room way high in the sky.  Again, class time flies by with my talkative students.  By fifteen or twenty after nine, I'm safely back in my car with all my assorted bags of weight.  The commute home takes less time because there is little traffic.  By 10:15 I'm home again.  I can expect that things will be at some level of disaster.  The small child, who has fallen asleep waiting for me to come back, will wake up and be glad to see me.  He will not want to go back to bed at all.  I'll chase the older one to sleep after having missed his concert, forcing him to get rides there and back because it's dark and not necessarily the best plan to walk.  

I'll eat something left from dinner and check my messages.  If I'm lucky, no one needs any problems solved or questions answered.  By 12:30 it's possible I get to go to sleep.  The next morning, I will take the older one to school then fall back into bed for a couple extra hours.  My School One classes begin later in the day and run in a row.  

But that's another story.

(N.B.  I do all my prep work early in the week so that during this part I only am concerned with adjusting things or making copies.  This does not take into account the time spent doing that or the marathon grading sessions necessitated by teaching five composition classes.)

*Friend of the blog caught my misspelling of adjuncts in the first sentence.  I even proofread!  Thus the life of the bleary-eyed adjunct.)

Adjuncts, Assumptions, and Activism

I've started three posts tonight and deleted them all.  When I'm writing, that usually means I'm avoiding what I really want to say or I just don't know what it is that I want to say yet. Also, it seems that the more I write and share on here and in other spaces, the more I have come to care about this plight of adjuncts.  I also care about the persona of me that exists in these spaces.  Ridiculous! No one can control the internet.  Well, maybe the NSA does (Hi folks over there!) but the rest of us don't.  Once we write, post, like, +1, favorite, heart, or star any number of things, we become linked to those.  Sometimes we get drawn into discussions wherein people seem to just take everything the wrong way.  The internet is good for that.

For instance, after liking a post by another user elsewhere, we were both accused of wanting to do away with tenure entirely.  The post in question did not deal with that specifically and I did not say that.  Perhaps the other writer has in the past--I don't know.  I don't have time to read every single thing every person writes.  I have 102 composition students this term.  I read their many writings closely.  I read things that I'm interested in.  I don't read all of everything very prolific writers put out ever in the field of higher education.  Furthermore, why in the world would I want to remove tenure?  Simply, I don't.  The problem that I have with some people holding that designation is their lack of support or blatant disregard for adjuncts at their institutions.  If tenure provides protection, then please, please, use some of that to advocate for adjuncts.  Some schools allow us to attend department or college meetings, but some do not.  Even the places that allow attendance may not actually allow the adjuncts present to speak or vote.  Please, use your tenured voices there to question departmental practices, collegiate practices/policies, to speak for us when we are excluded.  If you don't know what to say, get to know the adjuncts working all around your school and ask them.  It might be possible to belay this into a service line on the C.V. by serving on a committee.  

If you as a tenure track person are lucky enough to have a union or lobbying delegation, use these forums to also bring attention to adjunct issues.  Many of us do what we can by protesting, meeting with elected officials, writing letters, and telling our stories, but sometimes this is deeply constrained by lack of money and the time involved for those teaching/commuting to multiple locations.  Telling adjuncts who ask for help that tenure track faculty don't make all the decisions is as weak an excuse to do nothing as the people who tell adjuncts to "just get another job." We know that faculty have limited direct power, just like other folks should know many of us are constantly looking for other jobs.  

Standing up for adjuncts IS standing up for tenure.  The corporate education model appears to think contract workers are the way of the future.  If fighting to keep tenure is the only cause or what is framed as the most important cause, then there are some other trees in the forest that need to be seen.  Most students scrape and struggle to pay astronomical textbook costs.  Staff work, in some cases, for a 12-month yearly pay far below the beginning professor on a 9-month contract--how could our schools function without them?  Far too many graduates from all levels of higher education cobble together cash and credit to pay astronomical student loan payments, many while working outside their chosen fields or massively underemployed.  Many adjuncts work without job security, benefits, and/or a living wage.  The disappearance of tenure cannot be championed separately from these other issues--it disappears because its absence makes the rest of us easier to exploit.  If you hold a tenured position and you're already silent on these matters, then what is the point fighting to keep that designation?  Higher education in America is in crisis and now is the time to speak up.

Personally, I write about adjunct issues because that's what I am.  That is the truth that I live.  Does this mean I am not concerned about the rest?  No.  Don't mistake my concern for adjuncts as a dismissal of other factors.  I've been ready to walk a picket line twice with my union at one school, which is mostly tenure track faculty, for contracts that held far more for them than they did for me.  If it comes down to it and adjuncts must walk out to be taken seriously, will those tenured people be the ones standing with me?  I hope so.   

Already I feel like lines are being drawn between the outspoken adjuncts and those who vocally/visibly support us, and everyone else in higher education.  I want to be proven wrong on this hunch.  Just because I make a lot of noise about adjunct issues doesn't mean I consider everyone else enemies or non-players.  I want to see students, parents, staff, and faculty all in solidarity to make higher education in America accessible, affordable, and sustainable.  I want things to be better than they are now.  No, better than they ever have been.  This is possible--I believe it--but not without a great deal of work and, I fear, a great deal of hardship by those willing to stand up.  For me, the possibility of better is worth it.  

(For those interested in trending social media as it relates to adjunct issues, see the following hashtags on Twitter:  #NotYourAdjunctSidekick (created by @nickysaeun) and #AdjunctGeneralStrike (created by @GracieG)

Additionally, go to Adjunct General Strike's website:  http://leekottner.typepad.com/adjunct_general_strike/

for more information, links, and resources)

Unruly, Angry Adjuncts

For my last post, I discussed the derailment tactics being deployed against vocal adjuncts, perhaps leaving out one of the major ones.  Interestingly, it was the one that first started me thinking about how we were being categorized by others and that word is ANGRY.  Evidently, we are not supposed to be angry or express any emotion outside of gratefulness that we even have courses and are "doing what we love."  This past week, Jacobin published a very good article about this labeling of labor.  Miya Tokumitsu's "In the Name of Love" discusses what is termed a feel-good devaluation of work.  In particular, Tokumitsu unpacks the classism inherent in this "Do what you love mantra" as it pertains to those able to do what they love, those who should suffer in silence because they are at least doing what they love, and those unable to even have a chance to do what they love for work.  Adjuncts feature prominently in the latter third of the article and the assessment is spot on.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to teach.  I played school in the summer, I secretly liked school during the year--well, the learning part, not so much the mean people part--and I always have found myself teaching or leading workshops even when not in the teaching field per se.  When I teach, I am doing what I love.  Most of the time, this has been an equitable and livable job for me.  Until now.  Personally, I was able to teach because of two things:  a talent for it and the gift of a good education, much of which I had access to because of where I grew up--a good, rural school district--and a family that valued education.  This is not true for everyone.  I recall going to college after high school, expecting to be surpassed by students from larger districts in higher tax-base areas.  To my relief and utter shock, my school had prepared me far better than the majority of my peers.  I never once felt ashamed of my homeplace.  Not everyone, however, has this chance.  I have had students come to post-secondary education ready and willing to learn only to find that their schools have utterly failed them though they hold high school diplomas.  To paraphrase one student's writing at the term's end:  I had no idea how much I didn't know until I came here to college.  I was Valedictorian there and I feel very stupid here.  Now I know where my strengths and weaknesses are.  I want to learn and I know what I need to work on and that there are people to help me.  It won't be easy but I plan on succeeding.

I wish that were the result for every student who wants to learn despite what has happened to them before, but sometimes the shock is too much.  This makes me angry.  Disparate education right here in the state I live in and also in the state I grew up in could be leveled but it isn't.  Private schools and charter schools purport to be solutions, but not everyone can get to or afford these.  What about those students who are left out?  How will they do what they love?

Alternatively, what if a person just wants to work in order to provide for themselves and/or their families?  What if "What they love" is their family and they would do anything to support them?  I am not saying folks working in food service or garbage collection could not love their job, but what if loving that isn't important?  What if the reward of a living wage, or more, is what they want?  That shouldn't be belittled.  I know many friends and family who do just this.  They may or may not hate their jobs, but they see them as means to an end:  clothes, food, shelter, presents for holidays, and vacations shared.  Even I've often missed the job that I left at the end of the day when I'm elbows-deep in grading.  None of these workers deserve condescension or disrespect and when I see that happening, that makes me angry, too.

As "In the Name of Love" relates to this blog, however, I find an interesting harmonizing note with some on-line experiences I've been drawn into lately.  Tokumitsu works deftly with a Marc Bousquet quote here playing on the false dichotomy between evil corporate drudgery and good academic labor:

Many academics like to think they have avoided a corporate work environment and its attendant values, but Marc Bousquet notes in his essay “We Work” that academia may actually provide a model for corporate management:

How to emulate the academic workplace and get people to work at a high level of intellectual and emotional intensity for fifty or sixty hours a week for bartenders’ wages or less? Is there any way we can get our employees to swoon over their desks, murmuring “I love what I do” in response to greater workloads and smaller paychecks? How can we get our workers to be like faculty and deny that they work at all? How can we adjust our corporate culture to resemble campus culture, so that our workforce will fall in love with their work too?

No one is arguing that enjoyable work should be less so. But emotionally satisfying work is still work, and acknowledging it as such doesn’t undermine it in any way. Refusing to acknowledge it, on the other hand, opens the door to the most vicious exploitation and harms all workers.

This is exactly it:  academia has found the golden ticket to getting mountains of work out of some devoted people for next to nothing.  There is no accounting for the amount of "work pain," to borrow a term from Blitz and Hurlbert's Letters for the Living. The type of work is to be its own reward and the drawbacks to getting access to it are unmentionable.  How dare we complain.  Are you angry yet?  If you find yourself feeling that way, then prepare for the next step.   

"Being ANGRY is Irrational Feminine Behavior and No One will Take You Seriously Being All Angry."  Or so I've heard.  I have seen this used on many people standing up for their causes and expressing just anger at the situation.  Critics quickly point out if these people just weren't so gosh-darned angry then the powers-that-be would be more than happy to listen to and perhaps address their concerns.  But not like this.  Not if they're ANGRY.

Baloney.

Adjuncts have a right to be angry.  We have a right to express our anger at getting/losing courses at the last minute, of late paychecks, of meager salaries, lack of offices and resources, and to tell the stories of our lives with their work pain even as we strive to change these things.  For some of us, that means organizing.  Organizing a nation of adjuncts is a monumental task because even organizing a campus of adjuncts often seems impossible.  If a union or teaching organization doesn't already exist on campus, it can be difficult to gather names and contact information to reach out to contingent faculty.  What possibly could help this is a safe, trusted nation-wide database any and all adjuncts could log in to and enter their information.  Some tech savvy one of us should get on that in their spare twenty-fifth hour of the day.  For others that means leaving teaching, whether we love it or not.  Some may shift to other positions on campus that are not teaching.  Some may leave for other fields entirely.  Whatever happens, I don't intend to become un-angry about what is happening to thousands of teachers in this country AND what that means for their students, who are and will be losing out on the stability of full time, permanent work for faculty members.

So if you want to be an Angry Adjunct, go ahead.  Anyone who tells you that you have no right to be angry probably has little to no idea what this life is like for professionals who've dedicated years, dollars, and time to a field that cannot sustain them.  Or they would really just like you to be quiet and stop rocking the very precarious boat.  The next step now is to put this anger to action and make things happen.  I still contend that a general contingent faculty strike would get the attention all our writing and organizing has yet to commandeer, but that, my readers, will take massive communication and coordination.  Nothing worth doing is ever easy.  Even if you love it.