So Long. Farewell. Sayonara. Good-bye.

by Anthony Akers

Hi. I’ll be your English professor this semester. I have a Master’s degree in English and Philosophy, seven years of teaching experience, and I’ve written three books. If you have a parent or guardian or sister or brother or friend who is a doctor or a car mechanic or a decent dentist, please indicate this on your personal information sheet. Also, any donations would be appreciated. Thank you.

I must admit that I am biased; I have taught as an adjunct instructor for seven years now, and like most adjuncts, I’m quite angry. I spent fifty grand on college to do something that I love, but it’s difficult to love when you’re hungry. It’s difficult to do your best in the classroom when you’re sick and have no medical insurance. It’s quite a feat to teach Kant when you’ve just walked to work; I imagine the categorical imperative would not couch well with walking to work. What are we really telling our students? It’s difficult to look your students in the eye and say “education works” (just don’t work in education, right?).

I have read multitudes of arguments, mostly written from other mad, biased adjuncts, on how to best treat the ills. Some call for extra expenditures from the guys in suits (who have never taken a course in education), milling around on the granite floors of the state capital, bantering about ways to save money. Some call for tuition increases; some even threaten 70s-style demonstrations and labor strikes. However, I have a new recommendation to add to the growing list of remedies, and this one is water-tight: quit your job.

Of course, I respect those that argue we should recognize there is a price to pay for doing what you love. The stocky guy who bagged my Ramen noodles and canned pasta at Kroger told me that; I listened, since some wise person once told me to listen to people who make more money than you do.

I love teaching. Judging from my student evaluations over the years, I’m good at it, too. However, I’m throwing in the towel. My best students, and even my worst students, all argue against voluntary self-destruction. I’m starting to agree with them.

And it’s not just a matter of money. It is a matter of integrity. I paid forty bucks for business cards so I could go to a conference that the college wouldn’t (couldn’t) help me attend. They also docked my pay for the day I missed. They offer a meager raise for professional development, but that development had better be on your own time. I work three jobs and I just can’t find the time.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are exploited; we know that, and when we quit, some idealistic liberal arts major, who is yet to be disillusioned, will replace us. They won’t even have to take the time to erase our names from the college directory, since they don’t appear there anyway. We aren’t posing our colleges any danger if we quit. They won’t even notice. Or will they?

I think of it like this: adjuncts make up over half of the faculty at most colleges in the U.S. We are the majority. The majority rules; the tenure-tubbies just haven’t figured that out yet. And I say enough is enough; the price for love is just too high.

The stocky guy bagging my groceries didn’t look too miserable, and he has health insurance. I think I could deal with that, and I could teach my fellow colleagues in the break room how to analyze Keats; I could educate older American bargain buyers about Marxism. I could slip copies of my educational reform rags in the bags, right beside the bread. I could start a revolution from Aisle 9.

I quit, and I have good reasons. But then again, I’m biased.