More Master and Man in Masterpiece

Today’s post is going to revisit two posts from several months ago (here and here). In them, I opined that the characters in the PBS series Inspector Morse and Inspector Lewis (detective series, set in Oxford, England) were contemporary re-imaginings of the three orders of the medieval period: 1) those who fought (knights, of whom Inspector Morse was the contemporary incarnation); 2) those who worked (squires, peasants, of whom Inspector Lewis is a modern-day version); and 3) those who prayed (Inspector Lewis’s sidekick, Detective Sergeant James Hathaway, who has religious leanings and a background as a seminary scholar).Masterpiece-Mystery-Inspector-Lewis and Hathaway

Well, I’m quite excited to report that a new season finished recently on PBS and gives further evidence that I was right to notice the echoes of the medieval period in the characters! Because Hathaway has taken, for his vacation, a “walk” which we learn half-way through the first episode is a trip to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. The reference is somewhat elided: Lewis says that his neighbor has gone to that cathedral, but its significance is not fully fleshed out for the viewers.

Well, let me do that here. The Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Spain was a major pilgrimage site during the Middle Ages. People throughout Europe walked to the cathedral from their homes as an act of religious faith. It was the third most popular site, after Jerusalem and Rome. (The Way of St James, mapCathedral is traditionally thought to be the resting place of St. James, one of the 12 apostles.) To give you a sense of how many routes there are, I’m posting this handy map from the Wikipedia entry.

So in making this walk, James Hathaway is acting as a contemporary religious pilgrim, even if he disavows the action by saying that he “wasn’t on pilgrimage” and “didn’t go in.” He is a religious seeker, if a conflicted one. The action and destination is enough to mark him as a kind of contemporary monk.

This makes me very happy not only because my initial musings on Inspector Lewis have been proved right, but because the pilgrimage phenomenon is very interesting, whether you have religious leanings or not. Because the pilgrims exist not only in days of yore (as Hathaway’s trip indicates): the pilgrimage site is incredibly popular now.

Indeed, the church office keeps statistics on how many people make the trek as pilgrims, and in 2013, nearly 216,000 did. That’s a steep rise from 5 years earlier, when the number was 125,000. It’s a whole cultural event, with special passports, clearly marked routes, dedicated hostels, and (I am not making this up) vacation packages.

I find this incredibly touching. It’s as if Europe, rather than losing the traditions of the Age of Faith, simply…brought (at least some of) them back. Many people, according to the church’s site, go for religious reasons, but many more go as a nonreligious retreat, as a break from contemporary life (the walking can take months; you have to walk the last 100 kilometers to be certified as a pilgrim). It is also a cultural locus where one can see how pan-European—indeed, how worldwide—some of these customs are, as evidenced by the map and the fact that the cathedral is a UNESCO world heritage site.

The pilgrimage has figured not only in Inspector Lewis, but in a number of books and films. I plan to talk about some of the latter here shortly.

The Case of Philosopher W, Part II: The Feminist Moment

Yesterday, I wrote about W, a philosophy PhD whose tenure-track offer was rescinded when she asked the hiring institution for a number of goodies.  Much of the commentary on W’s case has focused on the perils posed to women by negotiating. (See yesterday’s links to the philosophy graduate student site Philosophy Smoker, which contains run-downs on the media responses.) Many articles about it use Sheryl Sandberg’s advice to lean in and negotiate hard as the journalistic hook. (Women negotiate far less than men–7% versus nearly 60% .) I’m concerned that much of this commentary on W’s situation misses a few points. Let me say why.

W did negotiate. Her statement about why is a poignant testimony to how much feminism has worked in making young women highly aware of the need to proactively ask for more: “This is how I thought negotiating worked, how I learned to do it, and, for that matter, how I think it should work: you ask about a number of perks and maybe get some of them…I just thought there was no harm in asking.”

Yes, absolutely right. But the lack of reasons in the e-mail leads me to believe perhaps advice to women about negotiating has done, to date, only part of the job. She knew to ask. But she could have used advice on how to ask effectively. I think that educating young women about negotiating sometimes leaves out the “articulate the benefits and be attentive to the [institution’s, other person’s, whatever] needs” portion of the process because (the thinking goes) women need to put themselves first. To think about the other’s needs might lead to people-pleasing and scanting yourself, many women’s pitfalls.

There is a real risk of that, yes. But, real life negotiations aren’t simply expressions of healthy proactive interest either. After all, a request for a reduced teaching load might well have genuine negative repercussions for the department. (The department in question was tiny–a 4-person department split equally between female and male.) It’s an implicit request that another faculty member take the course , or that they ante up for an adjunct, or not have coverage. (I know adjuncts are poorly paid, readers. So I’m not trying to say it’s a big ante. But in a small college, it might make a difference.) I’m sympathetic to W’s situation, but I also can understand the reaction of college faculty and administration who looked at the e-mail and, if they were expecting a full-time colleague whose tenure track began next fall, saw that she was asking for nearly 50% time spent otherwise in the usual 6-year pre-tenure run.

It also wouldn’t have hurt to explicitly state up front that she was opening negotiations and knew they were counter positions that the institution could take, rather than simply sounding as if she was giving a laundry list that would have left them without an instructor for at least a year and a half. That could read to a committee thinking that they wouldn’t have coverage in the very area it’s trying to cover.

There is no harm in educating yourself in being smart in the negotiating process, as one of the better business commentaries points out. The list sans reasons makes me wonder if it doesn’t hide tentativeness, still; to give reasons is more bold than simply to ask. For a young post-student, especially, buttressing one’s own case with reasons might seem a bridge too far. So I think that the how of negotiation needs to be stressed, both as feminist point and student point.

I sometimes worry, too, that the emphasis on gender inequality as a causal explanation leads young women to worry needlessly, as if their gender is an implicit trap. It minimizes the very real progress that has been made in women being able—expected –to negotiate. The recursion of a gender explanation often assumes that women need basic advice they have in fact been receiving for decades now. (The advice to women to negotiate did not start with Sheryl Sandberg—she’s a bit new wine in an old bottle. I’m in midlife, so I have vivid memories of being told in the 1990s and even the 1980s to be assertive. Classes were given in this and everything.)

Perhaps what we need is parsing elements within gender more attentively. Sadly, recent studies show that women who negotiate are perceived much more negatively than men who do. Well, I’ll certainly keep the studies in mind, but because I also know a lot of women who negotiate successfully, so I wonder if the data couldn’t be broken down and parsed in different ways. Is there a difference in negotiation styles that women could learn from? Do men give more reasons, or more fully assume that they will be in an institution that wants their contribution and thus articulate that contribution as a matter of course? I’d love to hear other ideas on this.

In a final gesture of solidarity and education on this issue, I’ll give an example of a recent negotiation I did, and one in a very male world. (I owe my own negotiating stance to feminism; in fact, I could echo W that “this is how I thought negotiating worked, how I learned to do it.”) The old car I’d been driving around during graduate school died, and I had to buy another one. This was a big deal to me, as I’m in transition between graduate school, don’t have full time work, and don’t have a lot of money for a car. (I’m not trying to equate a tenure-track offer with a car; I realize it’s big apple and smaller orange, or bigger and smaller potatoes.) Still, a car is a major life purchase.

So, I researched used car prices, read a book (seriously) on buying a car which included a chapter on negotiating, and researched going prices for my old model. I managed to knock a substantial amount off the asking price of the new vehicle by and get more than initially offered for my old one by citing Kelly Blue Book values for similar cars. In each instance, frankly, the prices asked were already reasonable, I just managed to get a better deal. And the people involved did not fall over, or act as if there was anything unusual in my negotiation.

So we know to negotiate. We need our reasons and our evidence.

The Case of Philosopher W, Part I: A Teachable Moment

If you follow academic news at all, you have probably heard the tale of W, the philosophy PhD who was offered a tenure-track position at a small liberal arts college in upstate New York, negotiated her offer, and, as a result, saw the offer very quickly rescinded.

I’m going to use this case as a teachable moment in this post, but before I do, let me sketch in the background. Briefly, she asked for a raise beyond the first offer, a reduced teaching load, a sabbatical prior to being granted tenure, a year off to complete a postdoc, and maternity leave. (Non-academic readers scratching their heads at 4/4: it means teaching 4 courses each semester. In small liberal and community colleges, the standard is 4/4; in larger research-oriented institutions, the standard is 3/3, with concomitantly higher demands to publish research.)

Because this event is so unusual (rescinding an offer almost never happens) and so public (W, rightly perceiving its academic interest, posted the e-mails), it created a firestorm of commentary among academic media (Chronicle of Higher Education, Inside Higher Ed). But it also attracted attention from the larger media world, because of the attendant issues. Was the offer withdrawn because W was perceived as an uppity young woman? Are women who negotiate perceived as overreaching or overly aggressive? Is the advice promulgated by books like Lean In setting women up for failure by urging them to always negotiate? Was it part of the power differential in academia generally, where the low number of available tenure track jobs has created a buyer’s market to beat all buyer’s markets? (To quote the wonderful Rebecca Shuman’s summarization of buyer’s market attitudes: “In this market, if a university wants her to wade around in pig crap, her only counteroffer should be: ‘Should I bring my own snorkel?’”) Did it reflect the divisions between larger research institutions (who may have more negotiable goodies) and small colleges? Lack of job market acumen on the part of advisors, who may not advise on how to negotiate? Was it ethical to rescind a job offer to a candidate? Should the institution have counteroffered or discussed the matter with W, rather than simply grabbing it back from the table? (There is so much commentary, in fact, that rather than link to all of it here—my preferred educational method–I’m giving links to Philosophy Smoker, a blog about the philosophy world, which carried the story, posted W’s thoughts about it, rounded up and linked to the commentary, and responded thoughtfully.  (These posts also contain the original e-mail and response, plus a lot of comments from the field.)

However, when I read these original e-mails on Philosophy Smoker recently, what struck me most forcefully was the bare bones, list-y quality of W’s e-mail. The English teacher in me rose much more mightily than the feminist, the grad student, or the job-seeker. (Not that these are entirely separable categories within me, mind you, but you get my drift). Like most English department PhD candidates, I spent a number of years as a writing instructor to college students. The foundational triangle of college writing? Purpose, audience, and genre. Think about your purpose in writing, we urge. Do you want to persuade? Inform? Analyze? Entertain? Think about your audience, we entreat. Appeal to their interests. Their concerns. Find the commonality between your interests and their concerns. Think about your genre, we say. A research paper is very different than a blog post. They require a different voice, different levels of evidence.  So my teachable moment is to point out how much this e-mail could have benefited from focusing on purpose, audience, and genre

To get the bare bones quality across, I quote the e-mail in its entirety:

“As you know, I am very enthusiastic about the possibility of coming to Nazareth. Granting some of the following provisions would make my decision easier.

1) An increase of my starting salary to $65,000, which is more in line with what assistant professors in philosophy have been getting in the last few years.

2) An official semester of maternity leave.

3) A pre-tenure sabbatical at some point during the bottom half of my tenure clock.

4) No more than three new class preps per year for the first three years.

5) A start date of academic year 2015 so I can complete my postdoc.

I know that some of these might be easier to grant than others. Let me know what you think.”

It’s just a…list. There is no attempt to contextualize why she wants these things or to explain how a negotiable point might contain potential benefits to her future institution. For many of these points, it seems to me that the articulation of benefits would have been pretty easy to do. For example, would the postdoc completion allow her to have publishable research already in the bag (so to speak) when she arrives on campus? (Which many small colleges would greatly love, despite the emphasis on teaching.) Is the sabbatical request to do further research, ditto? Is the 3-course teaching load so that she can teach the best course ever on ___, which the college currently has no offerings in and which students love to learn about, if only they can benefit from her methods? And so on.

Some of them (the higher salary, the maternity leave) don’t have specific benefits to the audience. But there would also be no harm, folks, in letting them know that salary survey X indicates an assistant professor’s salary is on average Y (so please meet that average) or that guaranteed maternity leave is standard at Z% of institutions (if it is, of course).

A counteroffer (I’m back to genre here), whether delivered by e-mail, letter, or phone call, to be persuasive (purpose), has to take into account the benefits to the audience. The search committee itself has to be persuaded by the research and the justification.

In a sense, a counteroffer is a type of thesis statement. Like many English PhDs, I spent years telling students that each thesis statement has to be supported by reasons, and the reasons, in turn, by evidence (facts, research, examples, case studies, etc., etc.). A thesis analogy might have helped W make her case.

In my next post, I’ll talk about women and negotiations, the other part of this case to particularly interest me.