How I Do What I Do
by J. Baxter
I ANTICIPATE AND APPRECIATE the Adjunct Advocate and eagerly peruse its pages. To many of us here the magazine is analogous to a broadcast of “Radio Free America.” But I feel I inhabit the last enclave that will be liberated by Allied forces, pocketed in what, logically, should not be occupied territory, but what is a refugee camp for the meek and unheard, the unrepresented and long-suffering part-timer. I am respectful of those who speak out, and write out, about conditions at their institutions, those who have the courage to demand recognition and fair play. My question is this: How do they keep their jobs?
I have been an adjunct for area colleges and universities for 12 years, and have always felt my positions hung by the frailest of threads. I have learned to steer a moderate course (maybe an ultra-conservative one would be even wiser). I eschew office politics and controversy and profess neutrality. In the classroom, I allow students to speak out and argue, but mute my own opinions. I act the role of facilitator and arbiter. The lectern is not a platform for my thought, at least not to the extent that it would run against purported cultural and institutional ideology. My reliability, preparation and attendance, are near perfect. I am respectful of my supervisors and have not once been involved in any administrative conflict. To act otherwise, I believe, would break my tenuous hold in academe. I am, to outward appearances, an innocuous and ideal sheep.
On the extremely rare occasion I have said the word “union” or organization to my fellow part-timers (and not in regard to adjunct activity, or with any avowed intent to organize, merely to discuss), the conversation turns suddenly to ice and I become a pariah. Sanctioned and ad hoc adjunct gatherings happen as often as pandas mate. We are a timid and fearful lot. Job security is an alien concept to us. We never speak of benefits or higher pay. We can only dream alone and wait to see what befalls us. We have learned to acquiesce and accept what administration passes along to us. I pounce, like a starved hound, on leftovers parceled out to adjuncts. I fear I have been conditioned to demonstrate the subservience of a field hand, hesitant to make a move or to voice an opinion without first looking to the Boss for approval.
At one university, I (along with a majority of the other part-timers) am treated basely by the ostensibly powerful office secretary. Unkind, demeaning and arbitrary behavior characterizes this woman. Full-timers are showered with charm and blessings. But this is a specific gripe about a specific person. The intent might not be overt, but her treatment of the part-time faculty is classic in that it inculcates a sense of inadequacy and weakness. Humiliation fosters voicelessness. It is symptomatic, an underlying manifestation of administrative policy. It takes a sense of worth to speak out.
At another college, I was offered two summer courses and thanked my lucky stars for the opportunity to get through the dry season without having to pick fruit. As it turned out, they neglected to tell me that the first session had been canceled until I drove 30 miles to the university. I was subsequently told that the second session was cancelled, but later learned that they had given the course to another faculty member. It was not due to my poor performance, as might be inferred, because I was offered the same class for the fall semester. Do I have a voice here? Can I complain? Is there any recourse? Can I unionize my fellow part-timers? Of course not. I am conditioned, and though hurt and resentful, I am grateful for the class I am teaching this fall.
I am not one to complain. As with the rest of us, I take immense satisfaction in my teaching. I think, though, that after years of honing my performance, studying the psychological intricacies of the dynamics, after years of fulfillment of duty, I would like to hear the words, “nice job.” Instead, I am rewarded with rudeness and the attitude that conveys the message that I can be easily replaced. And what do I do? I turn my back for the strap. I know I am being exploited, but realistically, in this province, I can do nothing.
There is sympathetic administrative staff. We all know this. But it has been my experience that sympathy extends only as far as the line between change and the status quo. When the status quo is jeopardized, when administrators order the two-course per semester cap be kept in place, nothing will change. Ask yourself: will this administrator take a cut in pay to improve an adjunct’s quality of life? Tough question.
Am I speaking out of anger? Probably. However, I tell my students that often the best and most honest writing comes from anger. Have my comments been biased by recent and dated treatment? Most assuredly. But that doesn’t make my words any less valid. I am anonymous and gagged and will look forward, along with my colleagues, to the next Adjunct Advocate. As for activism, I am busy wondering how I will make my next car payment.
