New Rules for the Game

I was taught my manners by a Southern mother, so when first introduced to feminism in graduate school, I shied away from it. “Nice Girl” played well with my professors and for me, too, as I received the kudos, scholarships, and fellowships that reward students who play the game. But slowly, slowly I felt my soul shrinking and began to bristle at the arbitrary power of academic faculty. My first effort was quiet and passive-aggressive—an article for a sociology newsletter that subtly mocked the pervasive use of the phrase “seminal idea” in (male-dominated) academic circles, as compared to the promise of “generative ideas” and the “birth” of new ways of thinking.

Then the two instructors leading my psychology practicum, both tenured faculty, both male, asked the twelve of us in the group to rank each other on a variety of dimensions. They said the questionnaire results would be confidential, a learning tool for our personal growth. Instead, they used the data to rank order us and sent that ranking to our advisers! I was horrified. As the oldest (I was 31 when I entered graduate school) and top-ranked, I thought if anyone's voice would be heard it would be mine (who'd listen to the lowest-ranked?) I sent a letter to those same advisers, signed by my classmates, protesting the misuse of the information and emphasizing that in a group of top performers even the lowest-ranked was still a top performer.

Did those two professors take me seriously? Did they in any way acknowledge a misuse of their power? No, they diminished my efforts by broadcasting my “problem with authority.” If you’ve experienced an “–ism” you’ll recognize the tactic—you stand up to those who've demeaned or bullied you, and they say, “You’re too sensitive.”

They did me a favor, though, because I realized I'd have to stand up for myself. I found it especially difficult to hold firm when someone on my dissertation committee asked for changes that seemed arbitrary to me. So I formed a dissertation support group. There were four of us struggling, not with the research and writing, but with the interpersonal and political dynamics of the academic system. Not only did we critique each others' thinking and writing, we rehearsed what we'd say when defending our ideas.

Then I met with my committee to review what I considered to be my completed dissertation. Out of the blue, two of them said it was too long and needed to be rewritten. One more hoop to jump through? No. Having rehearsed this possibility with my support group, I asked for specific examples and when they had none said, with rising excitement at my own daring, “I’ll be happy to consider specific suggestions; otherwise, what you have in front of you is my best effort.” 

They accepted it. 

Lesson learned.