It’s that time of year again: the magical time when my 10 page undergraduate research proposal deadline is enough to cause a health scare among the geriatric population of mid-Missouri. As the semester comes to a close, my office is typically filled with both undergrads and grads coming to tell me a plethora of problems and stories. Many times, these problems preface a request for an extension of some sort. Can I please have an extra week? An extra day? An extra 20 minutes?
Some of the problems that appear at my office door are to be expected: a replication file can’t be found, an inter-library loan book hasn’t come in, the Hausman test doesn’t work. Other times, students come to my office with questions and stories that really do shock me: I’ve had students tell me about weekends in jail and their reproductive health. I’ve had students provide information that I would be hesitant to tell my significant-other and would never dream of telling my parents. Although some of these stories are probably laughable attempts to get an extension on a test or assignment, I also know that many of these stories are very real and, on a human level, I’m glad the student is sharing with me. Even if it won’t result in an extension to the assignment, I can be a sounding board and can refer the student to services that may help.
On a professional level, my office hours seem to be filled with these stories far more frequently than my male colleagues. As my former colleague and down-the-hall neighbor Sam Bell reported:
“while I was in my office having to explain to students that zombies are fictional, I was thankful to not have the trail of tears that led to your office…”
That’s right: my office was a trail of tears. And, I don’t think it was because I was difficult – I think it was because I was seen as caring and open to discuss issues with students. This seems consistent with a larger trend on gendered differences in academia. As Marcia Bellas reported in a 1999 review article in the The ANNALS of the American Academy of Political and Social Science:
“different socialization experiences” and /or “conformity to organizational and work role standards and expectations” … “can create pressures for female professors, in particular, not only to perform enthusiastically but to exhibit friendly, caring behaviors, and they appear to be more likely to do so” (99).
Again, I actually really enjoy this part of my job and, on days when I’ve had students talk to me about their problems, I am more than willing to get up an extra hour early the next day to ensure I still get my research done. My “rant of the week” comes from the fact that listening to student problems matters very little for my professional compensation. Bellas (1999) says this well:
“The extent to which professors should listen to their students’ personal problems is less at issue than the consequences of gender differences in professors’ behaviors and the toll women’s behavior may take on their emotions and time when they expend so much of both on activities that are little recognized or financially rewarded.” (101).
I don’t know if there is an easy answer to this but I hope it becomes part of our larger discussion on women in political science. My work in the classroom extends far beyond the classroom. And, some of that work may be doled out differently simply because of my gender and perceptions students make about my openness to listen to their stories. I consider it part of my job, even knowing it won’t be compensated. One of my colleagues in the field, Susan Allen at the University of Mississippi, had a wonderful take on this issue that I’d like to close this post with. There are many times in undergrad where a professor like Susan mattered for me:
“I’ve never thought of coming to a professor’s office as an act of religious penance, but something seems to happen when students step across the threshold of my office. There’s nothing special about the office – it looks just like all the others on the third floor of Deupree Hall. There’s no grid or lattice separating my desk from the chairs on the other side. Yet, students often find it a safe place for their confessions.
At first, I thought perhaps there was something about me. Maybe being young when I started made me the cool professor to whom you could say things like “I got my girlfriend pregnant and now I’ve ruined my life!” (Really, you’ve ruined your life?!?). As I got a little older, I wondered if I’d inherited my mom’s eternal maternal charm, and that students felt safe telling me about the pressing issues of their days – “I just broke up the guy I sit beside in your class and we’d been together for two and a half years. Now I’m a mess.” (You dated him?!?) or their more serious struggles with eating disorders, parental pressures, or mental health issues.
In the ten years that I’ve been teaching (Has it really been THAT long?!?), I’ve realized that this is something that many, or perhaps most, female faculty deal with much more frequently than their male counterparts. Whether it’s the perception of a safe space or a more compassionate presence, women are more likely to hear and more likely to listen to the confessions of their students. My male counterparts tell me that they always shut it down before it starts. Over time, I’ve realized that I can do that too, but I’m never sure if that’s for the best.
I almost never hand out Hail Marys or Our Fathers at the end, no matter how tempting. But sometimes I do pray for them.”
Agree. My undergraduate mentor, Lin Ostrom, used to listen to me about my peripatetic artist boyfriend. She would ask to see his letters and ask to look over the cards I bought to send him to pick up at some general postal station he would be passing through. She really helped me through difficult and happy times and certainly never got compensated for it. It meant a lot to me that she treated me as a whole human being. I always felt both obligated and intrinsically desirous of paying it forward with my own students. On my annual evals when I used to work, I used to list the number of students I spent time with on non-academic concerns. It certainly wasn’t noticed or, I believe, appreciated.
Many of the things we do as professors are not compensated in any direct way. Referring papers, attending seminars in our departments, and putting in extra effort teaching and mentoring students are a few that come to mind. As a result, we do the ones that are most important to and probably skimp on othut theers. For example, I spend a lot more time mentoring students and attending seminars than I do refereeing papers. That’s probably a form shirking at the disciplinary level. Sometimes I get frustrated with my colleagues who, I believe, shirk at the departmental level. But then I remember that there are things (forms of uncompensated labor) that they are doing that I am not. So, I kind of dig myself. I remember attending a teaching clinic at Georgia Tech when i was a newly minted Ph.D. and at the end of the day a colleague from engineering turned to me and said “I had no idea teaching was going to count so much.” I turned to him and said it doesn’t. If we do a good job teaching it has to be because we care about it, not because we’re going to be rewarded for it. At the end of the day, how we spend our time reveals our preferences. So, if we don’t like the way we spend our time, we need to change our preferences or institute mechanism to prevent us from acting on those preferences. Also, I’m not convinced its a gender thing, I have male colleagues who spend HOURS counseling undergrads and I’ve had grad students share very, very, personal things with me. In fact, it has been intimated that I am too involved in the personal lives of my students. I know that’s just an anecdote, but so was you colleague’s comment.
refereeing.
“Refereeing papers, attending seminars in our departments, and putting in extra effort teaching and mentoring students”–these activities ARE rewarded in the tenure and promotion process. These all count as acts of “service” that professors can and do receive credit for, even informally. There is no way to put “I was a shoulder for students to cry on” on a CV, nor do any other faculty members necessarily observe this type of “service” (as they would observe, say, seminar attendance).
Thanks to you and your Southern friend for being so empathetic and caring. In terms of translating this care into monetary or other forms of value, think of it this way — imagine a department where you have only two personality types: 1) the unapproachable scowling professor (who crosses a range of gender boundaries, but is unified by a near total lack of empathy); 2) the career advancing back stabber (where morality is only purely instrumental). Even if both are great at giving lectures, can you imagine the frightening community that administrative staff and various kinds of students inhabit in this department? Would such a department be an attractive place for students considering getting a political science degree? Are there not institutional resources linked to student recruitment to departments? It seems like the craft of care you describe is the invisible (devalorized) space that makes the visible (valorized) possible; in the terms of Gloria Anzaldua and some Chicana and African American philosophers, this is a bridge called your back.