Not much to report on the creation of the New Adjunct web site. We are working with our webmaster to make sure that we have a nice, clean design, and walking through the process of discussing initial content. So, with a potential launch date slowly approaching, I thought I’d take a little time to write about something that has weighed heavily on my mind, and illustrates the types of problems our page will try to fix.
In his venerable 1993 text, Race Matters, Dr. Cornell West articulates a perspective on the concept of the nihilism of Black America-essentially arguing that African Americans in the United States have accepted and even subconsciously endorsed a self-fulfilling prophecy of hopelessness and absence of meaning. Simply put, Black America’s self-loathing has made it difficult to love others. This nihilistic threat flew in the face of efforts by Black foremothers and forefathers to disseminate feelings of love, worth and pride in their respective communities. As Dr. West wrote, “These buffers consisted of cultural structures of meaning and feeling that created and sustained communities; this armor constituted ways of life and struggle that embodied values of service and sacrifice, love and care, discipline and excellence” (p. 15). The result was evident: 40 years ago, Black Americans accounted for the lowest suicide rate in the United States.
Unfortunately, Black America now accounts for the largest number of suicides.
Assuredly, you have now scratched your head a couple of times, trying to figure out how Cornell West’s analysis fits within the context of adjunct faculty. If you are anticipating this blog to be one that chronicles the plight of African American adjuncts, you will be disappointed. And you should.
Your disappointment however should be directed toward a much bigger problem.
Recently, I had a conversation with a colleague of mine who is a full-time faculty member at a community college. He is certainly an advocate of part-time faculty efforts, but is often taken aback by the manner in which institutions across sectors have become bequest to adjunct faculty (think back to the last time you sat in your mid-year adjunct faculty orientation or in-service, and were reminded how thankful the institution is for your work, and the recognition that you’re underpaid, but so vital to the growth and survival of your college/university), yet do not follow up their gratitude with efforts to enhance professional development, encourage research, or further scholarship. As Janet Jackson once quipped, “What have you done for me lately?”
I, too, am bothered by this. More immediately, I am surprised and even saddened by the manner in which we have allowed it to happen. Admittedly, it is a bit of a stretch, but we currently bear witness (and contribute) to the nihilism of adjunct faculty. West defines nihilism as “the lived experience of coping with a life of horrifying meaninglessness, hopelessness, and most important lovelessness” (p. 14). He goes on to assert, “The frightening result is a numbing detachment from others and a self-destructive disposition toward the world. Life without meaning, hope, and love breeds a cold-hearted, mean-spirited outlook that destroys both the individual and others” (pp. 14-15). In the same way West suggests that Black America has let corporate market institutions, and the prioritization of capital, power and enterprise compel an attitude of hopelessness and meaninglessness that tears at the core of a cultural structure, the adjunct community has not only accepted the lack of pay, space, and perceived credibility, but has wrapped it in a blanket of surrender. We have made ourselves bequest to the institution, and stopped seeking opportunity, because we naturally assume that the opportunities are absent (or granted in minuscule amounts at the mercy of full-time, tenured faculty and administration). We have determined that picking up sections is the opportunity. Some of us have just accepted that we will have to wait out a bad economy, or hope for somebody to retire before our time can come. In many instances, we have the same credentials as our full-time counterparts, yet let the stigma of the title “adjunct faculty” persist in weighing us down with a fervent belief that we are not yet real faculty.
Our time is here. In fact, it has been here for awhile. In proposing solutions to our self-loathing, West writes, “self-love and love of others are both modes toward increasing self-valuation and encouraging political resistance in one’s community” (p. 19). It is time for adjuncts everwher to love themselves professionally. Instead of just seeking opportunity, reflect on why we’re seeking it. Attend a conference, try to write or co-write an article or do scholarly research. Dialogue with colleagues about lesson plans, syllabi and teaching activities, but keep in mind why these opportunities are important. In the same way West urges us to love ourselves, our fellow people, and begin a path for those behind us, we must love our colleagues, our students, as well as ourselves. In this modern higher education, with increasing comparisons to the businessworld, administrations will bend to its constituents. We must demand more from our institutions in order to give more to our students. If adjuncts are as valuable to higher education as our administrative figureheads lead us to believe, just think of what might happen at the threat of our absence.
That same colleague of mine once said, “The professorial is the only professional context in which we devalue our worth.” Whether you’re full-time or adjunct, tenured or non-tenured, new breed of adjunct or old, it is imperative that we see the value of our contribution to education and take pride in it. If you think about it, students seek out our expertise as teachers in the same way that patients seek out doctors. Whenever we get sick, we go to our doctor for information that can easily be found on WebMD; and we do so because our doctors went to medical school. They’ve read books, done research and acquired knowledge necessary to preserve our health. Teachers are no different. We went to graduate school (in some cases, twice), read books, did research, and acquired knowledge necessary to share information with those who seek it. But the teaching profession doesn’t carry the same value, and as adjuncts we’re treated as if we are at the bottom of soiled barrel. Most students honestly don’t know what an adjunct is; but they do know what they see, which is us walking out of the classroom and into our cars to go home, or to teach multiple classes somewhere else. We must dictate our value, and not have it assessed. Remember, you may be “just an adjunct,” but you are still a member of the faculty, and have a job to do. And your job matters.
