There is no clear-cut, universal, transparent set of standards for success in academia. Even “publish or perish” is both too fuzzy and fails to account for teaching, service, and the politics in one’s department/university/discipline to serve as a formula for achieving tenure or any other milestone in an academic career. While some universities work to make their standards more transparent, many scholars simply admit that standards are impossible to define. The reality is most PhDs do not land tenure-track jobs, most tenure-track professors secure tenure, and few are ever promoted full professor. But, these aggregate patterns cannot serve as an individual scholar’s chances of success; maybe the more confident among us can “face the facts” and sleep peacefully at night, but the rest of us work even harder to beat the odds.
The aggregate patterns also mask clear disparities by race, ethnicity, and gender. I imagine we would also find disparities by sexual identity, gender identity and expression, age, ability, weight, social class, and family structure. Those favorable odds for tenure look a little more like the odds of a coin toss for scholars of color, for example. Women and people of color are overrepresented among those landing contingent and adjunct positions, and underrepresented among tenure-track and tenured faculty (especially full professors). For marginalized scholars, one thing is certain: our future in academia is uncertain. Needless to say, many of us are well aware of the “Black tax” or “female tax” or other penalties that demand extra work (and worry) for equal outcomes.
As marginalized identities intersect, optimism about one’s career becomes a foreign feeling. Diversity initiatives tend to focus on a single identity in isolation from others. Progress made in recruiting people of color and women really means more men of color (especially Black men) and more white women. Women of color know well the status of being a token. Other identities like sexuality, ability, class, and weight barely register as dimensions of “diversity,” if ever. While freed from accusations that we secured a job solely because of our marginalized identity, we know that we end up securing jobs or advancing in our careers despite these identities.
To be completely honest with you, I am scared. I was surprised (and relieved) to secure a tenure-track with one year’s job search. Despite the shift in my research toward health — a lucrative subfield in sociology — I feared losing opportunities because of a focus in my research, teaching, and service (and advocacy) on sexuality. There were no jobs with a specialization in sexuality; and, I have heard that has changed little since my 2012 search. Now on the job, my sense of favorable odds for tenure is trumped by the fear of unknown, unpredictable, and insurmountable politics. The fear is strong enough that I secretly await the notification that I have been terminated immediately — not in 5 years through a tenure denial.
Strike one: I am black. I am queer. I am fat. (That’s already 3 strikes, right?) Strike two: I have pursued a non-traditional academic career, first, by taking a liberal arts job in the context of an R1-bias in academia, and second, by engaging in intellectual activism. Strike three: I have documented my professional journey publicly (i.e., this blog). I cannot help it really; I feel compelled to tell stories I do not see reflected elsewhere, and to offer my experiences and advice to other marginalized scholars. But, doing so publicly has not been without criticism and concern from others.
This is uncharted territory. That is the only way I can describe pursuing a liberal arts career with a focus on intellectual activism, as a multiracial fat queer man. With little effort, I can find examples of liberal arts careers, successful academics of color, and even some successful LGBTQ academics. With a little more effort, I can find examples of intellectual activists (who were not harmed or forced to compromise professionally in major ways). But, frankly, I do not see any one who looks like me.
Maybe these potential , but their careers, journeys, and experiences are never made readily available. On my own, I had to familiarize myself with Patricia Hill Collins’s , and her . As a distinguished full professor and former president of our discipline’s organization (American Sociological Association), Collins continues to be one of my role models. I surmise, based on her writings, that she felt similarly to the way I feel today. At the start of her career, she probably did not see many Black women in sociology or academia in general, especially those who advanced scholarship on Black women and Black feminism. I hate to ask, but how many Patricia Hill Collins exist who did not reach her level of success and visibility? If there are many who have not “made it,” is it misleading to point to Collins as proof that any of us can make it?
Paving The Way
I suppose, in some way, I have known all along that I would be embarking on uncharted territory, both professionally and in life in general. In my office, I have a black-and-white picture of my hands “paving the way,” reenacting the motion I made in my 2007 interview for the Meyerhoff Scholars Program at UMBC. I was finishing up my senior year of high school at the time, and hoping to be selected for the scholarship program. After the interview, I told my mom how it went, and that one of the interviewers gave me an usual look as I made the gesture. My mom teased me that my motion of paving the way looked more like sweeping people out of the way. Jokes aside, even at 17, I was both aware of the challenges that lie ahead for me in pursuing an academic career, and that I would be tasked with making change along the way for others who followed me.
While I attempt to identify the safe bounds of my career in academia, experimenting with work-life balance (and WERRRK!-life balance), authenticity, and intellectual activism, I also feel slight pressure to figure things out and succeed for future generations of scholars and my own students. I notice that some students pay attention to how I present myself in the classroom — do I seem guarded? will I ever give the suits a rest? do I mention my partner or otherwise out myself? A few students have found this blog and expressed their appreciation of it (to my embarrassment, nonetheless). Now having experienced a glimmer of comfort and confidence in the classroom (omg, year 2 is so much better than year 1), I feel compelled to finally rid myself of the usual nervousness because I can more genuinely connect with the students.
But, without many of my own role models, I am still trying to find my way in the dark. I certainly do not want to send the message to students, especially my LGBTQ students, that we are all one three-piece suit away from success. But, I am not confident enough that this is purely a myth to do away with suits all together. I do not want to be yet another tenure-track professor who trades silence and invisibility for job security. But, I would be a fool to ignore the horror stories of professors who refused to be silent and paid the price professionally.
How can I be a role model for students and future scholars if I am making it up as I go, treating my career as a series of trials and errors? Why the hell, in 2014, do I feel like one of “the firsts”? I actually do not want the honor of being “the first” nor the pressure of being a role model. I just want to publish useful research later made accessible, help students to develop skills necessary to view the social world critically, and make space for all people in academia and society in general. I can follow the road too often traveled, playing it “safe” all of the way to tenure. I can totally embrace my marginal identities and interests without regard to the mainstream of academia, and surely find myself forever on the margins of academia. But, I have decided to carve my own path, working to bring the marginal into the mainstream. I would be more than happy to know that, along the way, I have paved the way for others so that they will not experience academia as uncharted territory.