Soul Work and Thunderstorms
by Lee Shainen
LIVING IN THE desert where the annual rainfall is perhaps
ten inches, one paradoxically, learns a lot about rain. Considering
that all of the rain falls in two distinct and short seasons,
one also learns to distrust annual averages. We have winter
rains and summer rains with only a rare surprise rain in between.
Commonly but inaccurately known as monsoons, the summer rains,
or chubascos, are accompanied by a rolling orchestra of thunder
and lightning. The storms come quickly on driving winds, down
narrow corridors of terrain, dump enormous amounts of water,
cause rapid and often violent flooding, and then they’re gone,
sometimes in just minutes. They are brilliant, exciting, even
life-changing events but, arguably, more destructive than
beneficial.
It is the longer, gentler, and more widespread winter rains
that fill our aquifers, support our ecosystem, and bring forth
the incongruous colorful splash of desert wildflowers each
spring. Such rains are needed in higher education today. There
has been a drought of sorts. Money, attention, fairness, and
good will have been withheld from those who teach the majority
of college students. Yet in such a dry climate grow the conditions
for chubascos: intense but localized outbursts. Educated,
impoverished, angry voices are howling in the wind. But there
are also others who are talking softly, reasonably, joining
hands and moving together, perhaps forming a circle, with
a chant, and a dance, a rain dance.
Chris Storer is such a rain dancer. He is the legislative
analyst for the California Part-Time Faculty Association and
smack dab in the middle of the organizing that brought California
part-timers equal pay for equal work. He is now on the steering
committee that is bringing Campus
Equity Week (October 28 to November 3) to colleges all
over Canada and the United States. What an astounding undertaking!
I have often wondered about the people who are willing and
able to sit in the eye of such events. I talked to Chris.
I learned he began teaching in 1968, got caught up in the
anti-war movement in 1969, and by 1970 dropped out with his
wife and kids and became a subsistence farmer. Stayed at it
for eleven years. I imagine something of his spirit and effectiveness
was also cultivated during those years. When he emerged, he
had the audacity to sell an oil company on their need to have
a philosopher on staff. They went for it, and Chris was that
philosopher. He returned to teaching in 1988 and was stunned
to find 50 percent of the classes being taught by faculty
on temporary assignments. So, used to putting his hands in
the dirt, he went to work.
What impresses me about Chris is that his efforts are not
primarily about the money. He sees in California a part-timer
turnover rate approaching 40 percent. He sees students being
asked to learn on their own by instructors without office
hours who are also rushing back and forth between colleges
to make ends meet. He sees educational missions playing second
fiddle to the demands of efficiency, productivity, and the
bottom line, and, in these trends, he sees a danger to society.
He strongly believes that the quality of higher education
is directly linked to the strength of a democracy, and so
he does this work. And, he continues to teach philosophy,
now at De Anza College, in Cupertino, where he has been for
the past twelve years.
Perhaps there is a storm coming, perhaps not. Certainly,
something is happening. I trust in the winter rain dancers
who are committed to bringing deep change to our education
way. The Internet allows us all to join in the circle with
them. So, I urge you, get connected. Be a voice for equity
on your campus and, if you are so moved, e-mail me about your
efforts. You see, it’s contract time here at the magazine.
I’ve put mine down on the line. I’m betting that there is
a need for stories, your stories. It’s a gamble. If I’m wrong,
I’m out of a job. If I’m right, I’ll start hearing from you.
Tell me who you are, why you teach, what you know: the quirky
stuff-the dreams, nuts-and-bolts, guffaws-with an eye (of
course) towards the unconventional and a finger on the pulse
of a growing wisdom. I will listen, gather the threads, then
present the patchwork back to you. Together may we grow. LSHAINEN@pimacc.pima.edu
