Change, Higher Education, Inclusion, Resilience

The Balcony View

Managing a campus under crisis conditions is, well, challenging. All campus leaders, and I mean everyone not just the academic leadership team, have been immersed in the details of health and safety and the related enrollment challenges that came with COVID-19. At the same time, higher education has been grappling with the social injustices laid bare in this environment and heightened by the events surrounding the death of George Floyd. We have been running at high speed from problem to problem for a year now, and our ability to keep running may be reaching its end. Even Olympic athletes need to rest now and then.

So, at this one year mark (our campus closed on March 13, 2020), I am taking a moment to step back and consider our next steps. I’m taking a “balcony view” (coincidentally, I have just finished a course that introduced me to Heifetz and Laurie’s (1997) work on this subject, and now it is in the higher education news), and asking myself, “In light of all that we have experienced in the last year, how should our university evolve?”

Why ask this question, now? Why not just chart a path back to “normal”? After all, the vaccination roll out in Connecticut is progressing well and I feel very optimistic about our ability to be fully open next fall. It would be easy to just focus on that project, attending to the normal recruiting and scheduling questions and reveling in the knowledge that we can finally reduce our dependence on Zoom. But I can’t do that, because COVID-19 was not just an emergency for the last year: it was a powerful tool for surfacing structural issues that were already pervasive in our society and on our campuses. No, I can’t just breathe a sigh of relief. I must help our entire campus community dig into the necessary conversations about equity that have been made abundantly clear in this crisis.

So, as I invite my colleagues to engage in questions of what we should learn from life in a pandemic, I have a list of questions.

First, how should we respond to the access issues laid bare by COVID-19?

Questions about access to education and healthcare are not new, but they sure did move front and center over the last year. Last March, as students, faculty, and most of our staff shifted to remote learning and work environments, it became abundantly clear that the distribution of technology and wi-fi was not equal. We scrambled to deploy resources to students, only to find that our faculty and staff needed them, too. In 2020, this was kind of shocking. The world of work and the work of community has been at least partially digital for many years now, so how could we have found it acceptable that members of our organization did not have the basic tools necessary to interact remotely? As we return to “normal” let’s not lose sight of this fact. As we face the many budgetary challenges ahead, let’s not forget that this access issue is our responsibility. What can we do to reorganize our priorities so that the gap in access does not return?

While we are not in the health care delivery business, we are in the health care education business. The last year has made clear to many what some of us have known all along – not everyone has access to quality healthcare. But there’s more; communities do not just have financial barriers to medicine, they have cultural histories that lead to distrust of the health care system. As we work to educate future health care providers, how might we make those cultural and socio-economic barriers to health care a central component of our student’s education? How can we bring those same issues to the forefront of the education we offer to future educators, social workers, police officers, lawyers, and politicians? Can we become an organization that keeps these realities and histories central to all that we do?

Second, what should we learn from the experience of online and remote learning?

While none of us loved the abrupt move to online everything, it has become clear that this should be available to us for specific audiences and scenarios. Some of our students really benefitted from the flexibility of online courses and are hoping to continue in that modality for more of their education. The string of snow days in February was a good reminder that having all faculty prepared to hold some of their classes remotely is important for continuity. But not all students and faculty thrive online and not all disciplines are great experiences online, so we need to really explore what just happened. Perhaps the most important questions to ask right now are 1. What should we offer online to support our students and, perhaps recruit new ones? 2. How will we discover who is ready for online learning and who is not?, and 3. How can we ensure that our course design for online learning is as robust as it is for on-ground learning?

Third, how should we respond to the social justice issues surfaced by George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter movements?

As we struggle to have the important conversations about race and equity in the United States, we must remember that these issues are not new. The differential experiences of communities of color in all social institutions has been real forever. As important as the questions around policing are, and they are incredibly important, the reality is that we should be focused on our own practices, practices that are re-enforcing inequity. So, while I do ask that my colleagues dedicated to educating law enforcement professionals carefully scrutinize the ways in which they are addressing social structures and racism, I am looking in the mirror first.

Among the things we should be considering are differential outcomes that cluster around race (retention, graduation, debt, and, yes, who enrolls in each major). We should be asking ourselves if the curriculum we offer reflects, at a minimum, the interests and histories of our students? We should be asking ourselves why we are still struggling to attract and retain faculty from diverse backgrounds? In other words, we should not let a demonstration last summer, end in a demonstration last summer. How can we keep ourselves engaged in meaningful and frequent examination of our own practices so that we progress toward greater inclusivity and equity?

Yes, it would be easier to “go back to normal” now that we can see the light at the end of the pandemic. But going back to normal is not a good idea. The pre-pandemic normal was not adequate or fair or just. So, I’m looking at this moment as the end of a yearlong sprint and the start of a marathon. We’ll just call that sprint the training I needed to go the distance, because I don’t want to go back to normal. I’ve taken the balcony view and I see at least part of the big picture. Now it is time to get back into the details and work with my colleagues to find some answers.


Women’s History Month

When I was 12 or 13 years old, I discovered that I was a girl. Well, sort of. I discovered what it meant to be a girl. Prior to that age, I was lost in the delusions of equality. You see I am the oldest of four siblings, the first three of whom are girls. A child of divorce and raised by my mother, it was clear that a woman was in charge. I was often regaled with tales of my grandparent’s participation in the fights for votes for women, civil rights, all with a pacifist twist. I was proud of my heritage. Foolishly, I thought that the path to equality had been completed.

Then it happened. I was on the gymnastics team and it was a tight budget year. The school put forth a budget that eliminated girls’ sports. This was infuriating on many levels, not the least of which was that in that particular year, we were the only team winning anything. As the battle for funding went on, I discovered something even more infuriating. For years I had been selling candy bars and calendars to fundraise for the team. This never struck me as odd, I thought all the teams did it. But what I discovered was that my team was raising money to purchase the old floor mats from the wrestling team. The school had purchased a new set for the boys’ team, but we had to buy the old ones from them. I was pissed.

This aha moment was my first clue that the fight for my rights wasn’t over. I had several more discoveries about the work still necessary for gender and racial equity, as I started to notice the sorting in my high school, and later when I accidentally rented a house in a segregated neighborhood (I moved as soon as I figured it out). The blissful bubble in which just a few hold outs were still biased against me was burst.

When I became a parent, I saw the inequities even more clearly, for my kids and their peers. There was so much privilege in my experience. The fact that there ever was a bubble gave me a kind of power and confidence that other girls didn’t have. The fact that I was white protected me from the immediacy of knowing my status in the hierarchies of the world, a protection not afforded to my African-American and LatinX peers. As my children discovered the histories of race and sex in America, I noted that they too had a bubble of protection from me, a bubble many of their peers did not have.

So, here we are in Women’s History Month, and every year I wonder if we still need a separate month. Honestly, I kind of resent it. After all, we have always been here, and we have always been essential to the success of the species. Shouldn’t we be ever-present, instead of relegated to attention in March? Well, here are a few important things to take notice of:

Given that these statistics are in higher education, where we seem to believe we are a meritocracy, it seems like we might need to do a little reflecting on our practices regarding both race and gender. The statistics in higher education are just the tip of the iceberg. There is work to be done.

So, like every other year, when I think about having a special month to notice the contributions of women, I feel a sense of pride in the women who managed to thrive in the face of the obstacles they experience, but I continue to be disappointed that we need to do such a thing. I feel the same about all of the histories we find the need to pull out and celebrate with a special month. Those months reveal the biases we’ve had all along.

Nevertheless, I am thankful this year. I am thankful to see a woman elected to the second most important position in our government. When Vice President Kamala Harris was sworn in, I wept. I wept for all of the young girls of color who see themselves in her face. I wept for me, too, a white woman in my fifties, because I see myself in her face, too.

I am hoping that the electing of Vice President Harris will accelerate our paths towards greater equality in country. I am hoping that this next step forward will help us scrutinize all that we teach, encouraging us to weave in the contributions of all people in every discipline. I am hoping that we are ready to do the hard work of reimagining the paths to leadership, correcting for the obvious biases that are pervading our choices so far.

I am hoping that pretty soon we won’t need a special month anymore. But we’re not there yet.

equity, Hope, Inclusion

Desegregating Education

This morning I spent some time reading Eric Kelderman’s article in the Chronicle of Higher Education, entitled “The College Degree is Dividing America.” In his essay he recounts the powerful narrative launched in 2016, by then candidate Trump, that pitted the educated voter (ostensibly democrats) against the uneducated voter (ostensibly republicans). Kelderman does a good job of digging into the nuances of this slant, acknowledging that it really does not reflect the complexity of the relationship between education and politics. The rhetorical strategy was powerful in the moment, but it does not reflect the reality that educational opportunity is important to people from all parties, and that is likely to continue to be true.

Nevertheless, the power of the “liberal bias” trope about education should not be underestimated. It sways opinions all the time. It rings true to many, even as we work to cultivate the diversity of opinions on our campuses. It is an easy summary that helps people feel justified in their distrust of others. But as I think back on that moment when candidate Trump said, “I love the poorly educated” I see a much more important divide to be addressed: segregation.

Harboring hostilities toward groups different from ourselves is deeply supported by the segregation that is the routine practice of our nation. We may have banned outright racial segregation, but economic segregation is clearly encoded in our zoning laws, affordable housing deficits, and income disparities. Unsurprisingly, income segregation also tracks to racial segregation because of the systemic biases that keep some groups in poverty. We also organize ourselves in ways that keep young and old from mingling, religious groups from mingling, and yes, educated and less educated people from mingling. What a perfect way to keep each group comfortable in its assumptions about the other groups.

Education can exacerbate this situation. This happens first in access to pre-K. Those of us lucky enough to have had pre-K opportunities for our children know that this was an important step toward developing the habits necessary for success in Kindergarten. Whether learning to hold a crayon (important for muscle development), pass a crayon (important for social development), or identify the color of the crayon (important for vocabulary development), even the simplest of pre-K experiences have advantages with long lasting effects. One of those effects is to have the less fortunate labeled as “behind” on the first day of kindergarten.

Then it happens in K-12 education as students in districts with lesser means struggle with hunger, supplies, and adequate support for an education that leads to opportunity. Far too many students in under-funded districts cannot go on to college. For those who do, we sort them again in higher education. Those of us in colleges and universities focused on accessible, affordable education know our students are working more than they should, which tends to strain their ability to succeed. Unsurprisingly, fewer of our students make it to the finish line than those attending more elite schools, because there are too many things thrown in their way. Not finishing keeps them from advancing to better economic opportunities and so it begins again with their children.

The thing is these educational differences usually track to neighborhoods and those neighborhoods tend to be segregated by race, politics, and income. In each of our neighborhoods we get comfortable in our assumptions about those who live in other neighborhoods, and the spiral that re-enforces our biases winds unrelentingly into the future. This spiral makes it easy for us to tap into and cultivate distrust between the educated and the less so. I feel despondent just thinking about how deep these divides are, but then I reach for the hope that education can provide.

What I am about to propose is not new. We’ve tried it over and over again, and then people find ways around it, but nevertheless we should try again, because each time we do, we get a little closer to where we should be. So here goes–let’s actually desegregate our schools. This cannot be incremental; we are failing with that approach. No, we need to make one simple rule that applies to everyone. Let’s make it illegal for a school district to serve only high need or low need students. If we start with that simple guideline, so many things fall into place. With an economically integrated school comes better funding, better advocacy, and better opportunities for everyone.

Here’s the thing, education is not the cure for our biased perspectives, it is the mingling of people with different ideas and experiences of the world that makes us more open minded. It is harder to convince people that whole groups are against them if they regularly interact with each other. We will never agree on everything, but regular contact with people who are lawyers, carpenters, teachers, and wait staff can go a long way toward reducing our negative assumptions about each other. At the very least, we will have the opportunity to learn about new perspectives on the issues we hold dear.

It is not fair to ask education to take on the burden of desegregating our society, but I see no other reasonable option. The pervasiveness of public education has made it the best vehicle for building a better, more inclusive world that we have. So, on this election eve, I suggest that we make desegregating education our next national priority (again). Doing so offers a path to a more equitable society. It also provides us with an opportunity to move away from the divisiveness that makes hateful slogans so effective.

equity, Higher Education, Inclusion

A Million Little Things

Fall is settling in and the project of running campuses during a pandemic is well underway. As we get used to the constant stress of monitoring the health of our community, many of us have started to think about the other urgent things – budgets, enrollments, and most of all equity. These other urgent things may look like separate items, but they are really all of a piece. Addressing equity is addressing enrollment, which is addressing budgets. In higher education, the questions of equity must focus on four big issues: access to education, degree progress and completion, diversity in the curriculum, and diversity in the university community. This requires attention to a million little things.

Access to Education

Obviously, access to education starts with the cost of attendance. We have all heard the nightmare reports about excessive student loan debt for an undergraduate degree. Well, most of those large numbers, $100,000+ in debt, have to do with private universities. Most people (75%) attend public universities, and they should never have $100,000 in student loan debt, when public university tuition and fees range from $9,000-$14,000 per year.


Well, if you include room and board the cost of undergraduate tuition at a public university becomes $22,000-$25,000 per year. Four years equals about $100,000. Oh dear. Now, I must acknowledge that there are grants for the neediest students, which may cover a lot of the tuition and fees part, but it still leaves them with $11,000-$12,000 per year for room and board. This is still a debt of around $45,000, which is not an insignificant monthly payment after graduation. For students who can live at home and commute, there may be significant savings. But for many of those students there is an expectation of a contribution to the household income, which they struggle to provide. Yes, cost is an issue, even at public universities. State appropriations keep the cost well below private colleges and universities, but the incomes of many who attend public universities make those subsidies insufficient. We must shore up the funding for public higher education if we want to achieve equity in access.

Degree Progress and Completion

The second question about access must focus on a student’s ability to succeed in college. Was their experience of education in K-12 adequate preparation for a university education? Well, when we look at the statistics for K-12 as they relate to income and other demographic variables, the story is not a good one. Insufficiently funded K-12 districts absolutely correlate to gaps in preparation for college. It is not that students in these districts cannot succeed, they do all the time, but they sure aren’t set up to do so.

As a university committed to supporting students from all backgrounds, it is imperative that we invest in support systems for students who have not had the full benefit of a strong K-12 education. It does not matter why they did not, just that we must help them succeed. To do so requires investment in support programs, review of the funding we make available to needy students, and a review of barriers to receiving those funds. The details in our data and the investment in student success deserve attention.

It should be noted that the cost of attendance and the K-12 educational experience are directly linked to our students’ abilities to successfully progress through their four year degree program. If a student needs to build foundational skills in their first semester, they are likely to be out of step with their four-year plan. This often translates into an extra year (or two) of attendance (more tuition). It can also mean that they are systematically excluded from the majors that are designed for students who performed well in high school or on the SAT. No, we have not yet set things up so that all students have the opportunity to succeed.

Diversity in the Curriculum

When we talk about welcoming students who are the first in their families to attend college, we are frequently talking about an increasingly diverse student body. This is a wonderful thing, as it reflects our national commitment to social mobility and, well, equity. However, our policies and practices are often mystifying to these same students. Let’s face it, education as a whole is really good at establishing rules that are less than straightforward. Many universities have focused on first year programs to address the demystification of it all. This is a good first step. But what we have not consistently addressed is the fact that this diverse student body is not well represented in our curriculum.

The national conversation about higher education has focused on a perceived liberal bias in the curriculum. While I am sure that there are liberal and conservative faculty on most campuses, and that their opinions may make it into the classroom at times, the notion that there is an overall liberal bias certainly is not reflected in our offerings. Indeed, our offerings reflect the traditions of each discipline, conserving the past. Most of this is to the good, as we connect our students to the history of ideas. But there are always gaps in those histories, and we are slow to imagine whose stories and contributions we might be missing. Our wonderfully diverse student body has noticed these gaps. There is work to do to broaden those stories and better reflect the breadth of the contributions to who we are today.

Diversity in the University Community

Then there is the complex issue of creating an environment that welcomes and supports faculty, staff, and students from all backgrounds. I was struck by a recent article in the Chronicle of Higher Education, that reviewed the impact (or lack of impact) of diversity training. These efforts have mixed and/or weak results. One of the likely reasons for this is that we do not do the rest of the work necessary to support that training. We raise awareness through special months or talks or events, but we do not dig into the routine practices that are keeping our biases in place.

It is not enough to discuss inclusion. We must systematically investigate and address the habits and assumptions that are re-enforcing exclusion. It is time to ask those hard questions like: Why are some departments dominated by female or male faculty? Why do some majors draw students from diverse backgrounds while others do not? Why are we unsuccessful at recruiting faculty and staff that reflect the diversity of our students? We mean well, but there is more work to do.

This is the start of a to-do list about equity. Under each heading there are at least twenty substantive questions that require research, planning, and investment. Taken together, it is not quite a million little things, but it sure is a lot of important things. It can be overwhelming, and that feeling can keep us on the usual path out of sheer exhaustion. But we must not yield to that exhaustion because all of this needs our attention now. These million little things really matter, both morally and for the health of our universities.

equity, Higher Education, Inclusion

Inclusivity Check-In

Over the last year, I have discussed inclusivity in our curriculum on several occasions. I have focused on hidden barriers to access to education (SATs or owning a computer, for example). I have talked about how some of our rules for how to be a student might be discouraging full participation from those who are new to higher education culture (no assignment extensions, ever!). I have questioned our reward structures, wondering if we are systematically excluding students who must support themselves while in college, because we are inclined to praise those who participate in everything. I have considered the potential gaps in our offerings and wondered if the stories our students encounter represent the truly diverse culture in which we all reside. I have made suggestions about course design that might help us improve learning experiences for all students, including those with specific cognitive challenges. Well, it is nice to discuss, suggest, and ponder but are we doing anything?

This, of course, is impossible for me to know in any real detail. The structure of higher education favors decentralization of most things and a necessary commitment to academic freedom. These are good things because they are meant to foster experimentation and creativity, and help us learn from the varied perspectives of our faculty. It is problematic, however, when striving for structural change. I have to rely on the anecdote and the occasional survey and trust that incremental change is taking place.

There is no doubt that the students we are serving are getting more diverse. This is a wonderful thing and reflects a positive trajectory for higher education and the nation. To meet the needs and expectations of students of all ages from a wide range of socio-economic and cultural backgrounds, we have to be more thoughtful about how we organize, well everything. We have been responding in sections of our organizations. From first year experiences, to intrusive (proactive) advising and tutoring, to guided pathways and alternative scheduling structures for adult learners, to honors programs that recruit from things other than SAT scores, we are evolving. Hooray. But is this evolution visible to our students? Probably not. I measure its impact in standard measures of retention and graduation and hope that they feel the benefits, even if they do not see them.

Then there is the question of inclusivity in the classroom. Over the summer, I suggested that our efforts to be diverse in our curriculum and inclusive in our teaching practices might not be visible to our students. Perhaps our course outlines reflect the diverse range of contributions to the field of study, but is it visible on the syllabus? Perhaps we say all students should contribute to class discussions, but do they all feel welcome to do so? Perhaps that group project you assigned seems like a perfect opportunity to support collaboration among diverse groups of students, but do all of the students feel respected in that group? In other words, are the efforts we are making to be inclusive in the classroom, reaching our students? Maybe we should ask them.

Today, I am encouraging every professor to conduct an informal inclusivity poll. This is an informational item for the professor only. No one else ever has to see it. I suggest some variation on the following questions:

  1. Does your initial review of the syllabus and course materials leave you with the impression that we will engage diverse perspectives as we explore the course topic? Please provide evidence or an example to support your answer.
  2. Is it clear from the syllabus and/or introductory sessions that all students are encouraged to participate in class discussions and activities, even (especially) when there are conflicting opinions and experiences?  Please provide evidence or an example to support your answer.
  3. When interacting with your peers in groups, do you feel free to offer your perspective or ideas? If not, how might I help you feel included or welcome to contribute?
  4. Are there any steps I could take that could help create a more inclusive classroom environment? 

Like all teaching, our strategies for inclusion will be iterative. Questions like these can help reveal what our students are seeing and help us make necessary adjustments. They might start some unanticipated conversations, but those are probably conversations worth having. Dare to take them on. Dare to be transparent in those conversations. Dare to deal with the myriad opinions and experiences in your classroom. Dare to learn from your students.

It may not always be necessary to make our inclusive pedagogies visible to our students. When we have a habit of this, it will probably just be a given. Then those standard outcomes measures might be sufficient. I long for that day. But for now, this is hard but necessary work. It will help us inch toward a more inclusive campus, one class at a time.