Monthly Archives: February 2011

keep on TRUCEN

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Flying from Boston to Washington: I was in DC briefly today for a meeting of The Research University Civic Engagement Network (TRUCEN): representatives of research-oriented, selective, four-year universities that are trying to work with communities to address public problems and strengthen democracy.

Overall, higher education is a powerful sector. In the United States, it spends $136 billion annually, holds $100 billion in real estate, employs many thousands of individuals, and operates in most communities. “Civic engagement,” however you choose to define it, has not been a strong focus for these public or quasi-public institutions. But today the leading engaged universities are contributing at substantial scale.

One category consists of state universities, often Land-Grants, which (by both charter and tradition) operate major public programs other than scholarship and education on their own campuses. Those programs include hospitals and clinics, agricultural extension offices (operating in almost every county of the United States), consulting and training opportunities for adult citizens and organizations, museums, and enrichment programs for k-12 education. One example gives an indication of the scale of this work: the Industrial Extension Service at North Carolina State reports that it “hit its target of $1.0 billion” in impact on local businesses in 2010. Today, many state universities coordinate such programs under the heading of “civic engagement,” combining their public service functions with education, research, and partnerships with communities. Many now have either centers or senior administrators, or both, to coordinate civic engagement across their campuses.

Another category (more common at well-endowed private universities) consists of multi-purpose centers that provide specialized courses with community-service components, that sponsor research in and with their local communities, that develop partnerships with local NGOs, and that invite speakers and organize faculty fellowships and seminars. Some of these centers are large: for example, the Center for Social Concerns at Notre Dame, which conducts research, education, and outreach related to civic engagement, has about 32 full-time employees.

A third category involves intensive and widespread civic opportunities for students. For example, Duke Engage has funded more than 1,000 Duke undergraduates who conduct individual or small-group projects in Durham, NC, the rest of the state, and 44 other countries. Increasingly, “study abroad” programs are being tied to service objectives. For instance, UConn “emphasizes community engagement through is 200+ Study Abroad programs around the world.” At the same time, many TRUCEN campuses have chosen particular local neighborhoods or towns in which to invest heavily.

One factor that works against civic engagement in the TRUCEN campuses is a set of expectations for tenure and promotion that favor abstract, generalizable, methodologically complex research over applied or collaborative research. But many TRUCEN institutions are reforming their expectations. For example, the University of Minnesota now says that “‘Scholarly research’ must include significant publications and, as appropriate, the development and dissemination by other means of new knowledge, technology, or scientific procedures resulting in innovative products, practices, and ideas of significance and value to society.” That definition permits a broader range of research to be rewarded, as long as the research is done well.

forays into postcolonial literature

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    “Is there another side?” I said.

    “There is always the other side, always.”

    — Rhys, Wide Sargasso Sea

A couple of weeks ago, flying to California, I finished Jane Eyre and bristled a bit at the way the narrator shapes our emotional responses in line with her own rather specific moral worldview. The very next day, as I flew back to Boston, I read Jean Rhys’ 1966 novel Wide Sargasso Sea, which imagines the life of Antoinette (Bertha) Mason before she is taken to England to be the madwoman on the third floor of Thornfield Hall.

In Jane Eyre, the first Mrs. Rochester is the inscrutable, horrifying Other. A sexually licentious madwoman, she is the precise opposite of the reasonable, composed Jane. Jane has a “little pale face,” whereas Bertha–a “Creole”–has dark hair and features. Rochester says that he longed for “the antipode of the Creole” and found it in Jane.

In rebellion against Jane Eyre, the Dominica-born Jean Rhys starts her story with Antoinette’s childhood (not Jane’s) and allows Antoinette to narrate much of it. (According to Wide Sargasso Sea, “Bertha” is not her preferred name but is a hated nickname applied to her by Rochester.) Rhy’s novel is not the converse of Jane Eyre; it doesn’t replace one narrator’s subjectivity and values with another. Instead, it deliberately shifts among voices, so that Rochester narrates parts of the plot and emerges as a partially sympathetic character, just as Antoinette seems both pitiable and frightening. Whereas Jane Eyre resolves suspense by revealing what Rochester has thought and done, Wide Sargasso Sea leaves us deeply uncertain about whether Antoinette is mad at all, and whether her madness is hereditary or caused by other people.

Because Rhys’ novel takes place in Jamaica and Dominica shortly after the emancipation of slaves on those islands, the book has a new “other”: black people. Antoinette is white, the daughter of slave-owners. Some of the current debate about Wide Sargasso Sea concerns the degree to which the black West Indians are represented fairly and given adequate voice. Unlike Bertha in Jane Eyre, they do speak–at considerable length–but they are not narrators and their inner thoughts are relatively mysterious. This debate seems appropriate to me, but I can only say that Christophine (an ex-slave and spiritual healer) is my favorite character. If I were transported into the world of the novel, I would much rather talk to and learn from her than any of the white people. (That is a statement about the novel, not about me.)

Since finishing Wide Sargasso Sea, I have also read J.G. Farrell’s, The Siege of Krishnapur, a 1973 novel (and Booker-prize winner) that is often described as post-colonial. Pankaj Mishra explains that there was a Victorian genre of the “Mutiny novel,” in which a dashing and attractive young couple meet on the voyage “out” to India, find themselves in the middle of the Indian Rebellion of 1857, have many hair-raising escapes, and live happily ever after. The Siege of Krishnapur is a parody of this genre.

It begins with a rather arch description of young English ladies and gentlemen flirting in Calcutta. This sentence is typical: “Although he generally liked sad things, such as autumn, death, ruins, and unhappy love affairs, Fleury was nevertheless dismayed by the morbid turn the conversation had taken.”

The racism of the Empire is scathingly satirized, although native Indian characters have no speaking roles (with the exception of one young prince with a British education). Some of the young ladies and gentlemen find themselves besieged in the fictional town of Krishnapur, where they behave in rather valorous and chivalrous fashion. But they are also beset by scurvy, cholera, and famine, which degrades them sufficiently that by the time their rescue party arrives, they stink and look horrifying. Meanwhile, the travesty of their “civilizing” mission has been thoroughly debunked. They have even fired busts of great Western thinkers like cannon balls into the Sepoy lines, literally killing the Indians with Shakespeare. (But Keats’ curls make him an ineffective missile).

Ferrell and Rhys were white Britons who wrote relatively early post-colonial novels that debunked imperial fiction. Of the two, Wide Sargasso Sea is incomparably a greater work, in large part because Rhys’ imagination encompasses the colonized as well as the colonizers.

homage to Hannah Arendt at The New School

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In New York City–At 6 pm today, I will speak at The New School on a panel entitled “Civic Engagement and Higher Education in the United States: What Do College Students Gain From Civic Engagement Experiences?” My co-panelist is my friend and collaborator Connie Flanagan from University of Wisconsin. Admission is open to the public and free.

The New School was where Hannah Arendt taught from 1967 (when I was born) to her death in 1975, and her concept of “natality” is fundamental to the whole issue of youth and politics.

We often give pragmatic or utilitarian arguments for engaging young people. For example: (1) Teenagers perform much better in school when they are attached to communities. (2) If we seek an equitable political system in the future, we need to intervene with our youth today, to give them all the skills and motivations to participate. (3) Today’s young generation already has praiseworthy values and talents that will help them to reform the society that we older people have messed up.

These are valid reasons, but Arendt gave deeper ones. Her teacher Martin Heidegger had seen mortality, the inevitable movement toward death, as the fundamental metaphysical fact. In politics, he had been a Nazi. Without naming him, Arendt replied to him in The Human Condition (p. 9): “Since action is the political activity par excellence, natality, not mortality, must be the central category of political, as distinguished from metaphysical thought.”

This was the response of a little-“d” democrat, someone who believed that we should create the world freely but together. She derived this commitment from the fact that human beings are constantly being born, thus renewing the world and making its future basically unpredictable and up to us. Racism, to name just one example, is not written in nature but is produced by people, and the new people who arrive on earth every few seconds do not have to reproduce it. Later in the same book, Arendt elaborates:

    The miracle that saves the world, the realm of human affairs, from its normal ‘natural’ ruin is ultimately the fact of natality, in which the faculty of action is ontologically rooted. It is, in other words, the birth of new men and the new beginning, the action they are capable of by virtue of being born. Only the full experience of this capacity can bestow upon human affairs faith and hope, those two essential characteristics of human existence which Greek antiquity ignored altogether, discounting the keeping of faith as a very uncommon and not too important virtue and counting hope among the evils of illusion in Pandora’s box. It is this faith in and hope for the world that found perhaps its most glorious and most succinct expression in the few words with which the Gospels announced their glad tidings: ‘A child has been born unto us.’

I have written elsewhere about hope and loyalty as cardinal intellectual virtues. (See also this post on loyalty in academia.) Arendt was right–I believe–that our highest calling is to love the world. To love the world is to remake it in each generation with our contemporaries, which is “politics.” We count on the newly born to replenish our efforts, and we owe them the virtues of hope and loyalty. We owe them, in short, a genuine welcome to the political world.

educating for civility

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I am concerned about civil society and active citizenship, not about civility per se. I think an obligation to be polite can suppress engagement or can favor one side over the other (normally the side that is invested in the status quo). Sometimes, an angry critique is just what we need.

But there is a sense of “civility” that means a willingness to listen to others and learn from them. Civility in that sense is vital unless one is certain one is right. Only a few people should enjoy that certainty. (For example, Frederick Douglass appropriately refused to hear or answer arguments in favor of slavery.)

Anyway, I have generally avoided debates about civility, but I was persuaded to write a chapter on the topic for a volume entitled Educating for Deliberative Democracy, edited by my friend Nancy Thomas. The book is now out. It is not available online, but Wiley has chosen my chapter as their free online excerpt (PDF).

voter ID requirements may not be a big problem

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I do not favor voter ID requirements, because evidence of fraud is extremely scarce; some people don’t have government-issued ID’s; and in general, our voting process is too cumbersome, not too easy. But I would hesitate before putting major effort into fighting the ID requirements. In a carefully conducted survey,* Harvard political scientist Stephen Ansolabehere and colleagues asked 22,211 voters if they were (a) asked for ID at the polling place and (b) blocked from voting. Twenty-five respondents out of those 22,211 said that this had happened to them. That is slightly more than one tenth of one percent–and some of those may have been truly ineligible. In 2008, Ansolabehere and colleagues asked non-voters why they hadn’t voted, and four people out of 1,113 non-voters cited ID requirements as one reason. (Those four people also cited other reasons, so it’s not clear that abolishing the requirements would have caused them to participate.)

I can well imagine that the intent of ID requirements is to suppress voting. The requirements are being applied inequitably: according to the Ansolabehere study, African Americans are much more likely than whites to report that they were asked for ID. The intent is indefensible. On the other hand, if the actual reduction in turnout is much less than one percent, maybe we should put our attention elsewhere, whether that means effective civic education, adequate numbers of polling stations, same-day voter registration, or campaign finance reform.

*Stephen Ansolabehere, “Effects of Identification Requirements on Voting: Evidence from the Experiences of Voters on Election Day,” PS, January 2009 pp. 127-30. The survey used an Internet sample, not a random-digit-dial sample, but the authors employed impressive techniques to test for representativeness.