The Judgement Call
Workplace relationships can be challenging. Tenured university professors who have worked to become permanent fixtures in “The Academy” can find themselves in situations where these challenging relationships go on for decades. These scenarios are further complicated by part-timers, term appointments, and sabbatical replacements, who often arrive with personal philosophies and agendas they attempt to plant in the minds of students and colleagues.
The two university positions where issues arising from difficult relationships end up in conversation are those of Chairs and Heads. For the most part faculty, staff and students with problems end up discussing things with the departmental Chair or Head. In earlier times problems could usually be solved at this level. Increasingly, however, problems---real or otherwise---are sent further up the line, or to counselors and psychologists where copious rules and regulations are used to solve them.
I served as both Chair and Head of Visual Arts in my department at various times over the years and had my share of conversations with what seemed like dozens of individuals with hundreds of problems. These dealt with issues ranging from various forms of harassment to plagiarism, theft, grading, favoritism, gender and race issues, dirty washrooms, space allocation, parking, funding, visitors, smoking, and more. But the issue that resonated most with me and that I never forgot involved a professor who was replacing a permanent faculty member who was on sabbatical, and a “mature student”. “Mature” usually referred to someone over 21 who hadn’t gone directly from high school to university, but sometimes they were much older---50’s, 60’s, and even older.
I had been contacted by several students who had all kinds of issues with this professor but because they were students, none were willing to do more than “vent” to me in a private conversation, and were afraid to issue a formal complaint in writing, which would have resulted in some type of recorded investigation. They complained about inconsistencies with grading, favoritism, being ignored, being unpleasantly criticized or humiliated, and so on. One student quit the program completely after a couple of tearful sessions in my office. And one sixty-something mature student came to me with a particularly astonishing tale.
She had been ridiculed for producing representational art. I don’t know what her choice of imagery had been---landscapes, portraits---whatever---but representational art-making was taboo for the instructor so the student was receiving low marks and failing marks. Our program had always prided itself in allowing for all types of visual creativity. As the only show in town (in the whole province, actually) most of us tried to make room for any style of art making since our graduates moved forward in a variety of career paths, and so we purposely avoided any dogmatic, restrictive philosophies.
What really annoyed the student, however, was that the instructor had humiliated her in front of the class by declaring that she was not a feminist. I don’t know how that judgment call was determined and never found out, but it obviously had hurt the student quite a bit. And so, after stating politely that she wanted no action taken regarding the instructor’s observation, she told me the following story---a purely cathartic exercise for the student:
“You know,” she began, clearing her throat and swallowing, “in my early twenties I was a nurse in the British Army. I was stationed in North Africa for two years in the late 1950’s. Every morning that we could manage, another young nurse and I would borrow a military Jeep and head out to a large dump on the outskirts of the city near our base. There we would search for, and rescue, female babies who had been abandoned. Sometimes we were shot at. I don’t think the shooters were trying to kill us because they certainly could have if they wanted to---they just wanted us to go away.”
She took a breath and composed herself.
“I thought I was a feminist.”
© Kent Jones 2016
Workplace relationships can be challenging. Tenured university professors who have worked to become permanent fixtures in “The Academy” can find themselves in situations where these challenging relationships go on for decades. These scenarios are further complicated by part-timers, term appointments, and sabbatical replacements, who often arrive with personal philosophies and agendas they attempt to plant in the minds of students and colleagues.
The two university positions where issues arising from difficult relationships end up in conversation are those of Chairs and Heads. For the most part faculty, staff and students with problems end up discussing things with the departmental Chair or Head. In earlier times problems could usually be solved at this level. Increasingly, however, problems---real or otherwise---are sent further up the line, or to counselors and psychologists where copious rules and regulations are used to solve them.
I served as both Chair and Head of Visual Arts in my department at various times over the years and had my share of conversations with what seemed like dozens of individuals with hundreds of problems. These dealt with issues ranging from various forms of harassment to plagiarism, theft, grading, favoritism, gender and race issues, dirty washrooms, space allocation, parking, funding, visitors, smoking, and more. But the issue that resonated most with me and that I never forgot involved a professor who was replacing a permanent faculty member who was on sabbatical, and a “mature student”. “Mature” usually referred to someone over 21 who hadn’t gone directly from high school to university, but sometimes they were much older---50’s, 60’s, and even older.
I had been contacted by several students who had all kinds of issues with this professor but because they were students, none were willing to do more than “vent” to me in a private conversation, and were afraid to issue a formal complaint in writing, which would have resulted in some type of recorded investigation. They complained about inconsistencies with grading, favoritism, being ignored, being unpleasantly criticized or humiliated, and so on. One student quit the program completely after a couple of tearful sessions in my office. And one sixty-something mature student came to me with a particularly astonishing tale.
She had been ridiculed for producing representational art. I don’t know what her choice of imagery had been---landscapes, portraits---whatever---but representational art-making was taboo for the instructor so the student was receiving low marks and failing marks. Our program had always prided itself in allowing for all types of visual creativity. As the only show in town (in the whole province, actually) most of us tried to make room for any style of art making since our graduates moved forward in a variety of career paths, and so we purposely avoided any dogmatic, restrictive philosophies.
What really annoyed the student, however, was that the instructor had humiliated her in front of the class by declaring that she was not a feminist. I don’t know how that judgment call was determined and never found out, but it obviously had hurt the student quite a bit. And so, after stating politely that she wanted no action taken regarding the instructor’s observation, she told me the following story---a purely cathartic exercise for the student:
“You know,” she began, clearing her throat and swallowing, “in my early twenties I was a nurse in the British Army. I was stationed in North Africa for two years in the late 1950’s. Every morning that we could manage, another young nurse and I would borrow a military Jeep and head out to a large dump on the outskirts of the city near our base. There we would search for, and rescue, female babies who had been abandoned. Sometimes we were shot at. I don’t think the shooters were trying to kill us because they certainly could have if they wanted to---they just wanted us to go away.”
She took a breath and composed herself.
“I thought I was a feminist.”
© Kent Jones 2016