Martyrdom is Always an Organizational Liability (Part 1)
A faculty member stands at the office door, “I need to talk to you.” Upon entering, she launches into a litany of complaints about her peers who, she contends, do not do enough. She assesses that they do not care enough about the program and their students – or at least not as much as she does. Next, she begins chronicling all that she does for the program and for its students – each sentence beginning with “I. . .” The list of “I” statements are interrupted occasionally by “they” statements where she reiterates her peers’ lack of effort and commitment. This generalized scenario has played out in many ways over the years: my college sorority, a dog rescue group, church committees, every public school where I’ve served, and, of course, every university. It is the lament of the martyr. It is why I’ve maintained a strong mantra as I’ve moved into leadership positions: “Martyrdom is always an organizational liability.”
I’ve intended to make this a blog entry even before I began the blog. However, it has been challenging to write- largely because there are so many elements to consider that I was struggling with the editing process. Because there are so many factors regarding martyrdom in the academy, I ultimately decided that it needed to be addressed in multiple entries:
How do we recognize a martyr in the academy?
How have universities become contexts that promote martyrdom?
What are the costs of academic martyrdom?
What can administrators do to reduce martyrdom?
Signs of Academic Martyrdom
Not everyone in the academy who does a lot of service is a martyr. Some manage heavy service loads because they have great capacity as university citizens. While engaging in too much service is still problematic, it is not necessarily the same problem as one finds when working with martyrs. Further, not every organizational martyr has the heaviest workload. For some individuals, they may perceive that they do far more than others when, in fact, how they approach the work they do becomes all-consuming. Because they are not engaged with their colleagues, they cannot see their work in relation to the work of others.
Individuals achieve the characterization of martyr when they internalize the meaning of the work in destructive ways. They define themselves by the work, and, as a result, they create obstacles for relationships/collegiality with their peers. In short, it’s about them. Martyrs view their peers as inadequate regarding the work, so they prevent peers from stepping in to help while simultaneously complaining about the peers’ lack of support.
Academic Identity
Higher education is one the few organizational contexts through which individuals are expected to continually generate and promote images of themselves. Consider the process of interviewing for a tenure-track position. If you are seeking a tenure-track job, you need to make sure your vita is thorough and paints a clear picture of the kind of teacher/scholar you are. During interviews, you must be prepared to discuss your area(s) of expertise. Once hired, you are required to complete an annual report where you chronicle all the wonderful things you have done for the year. You couch your research and scholarship within your larger research agenda, and you analyze your teaching evaluations to speak to your strengths as an instructor. Those who wander aimlessly or who cannot present themselves as coherent researchers/scholars/teachers are at greater risk of losing their bids for tenure and promotion.
Not only must each tenure-track professor continually generate his or her identity, attempting to do so in the areas of research and scholarship is quite difficult. It takes a tremendous amount of self-discipline and self-direction to maintain sustainable lines of inquiry. As Dunn and Halonen note, this is not just a challenge prior to obtaining tenure. Given that faculty may stay in their positions thirty to forty years, maintaining a trajectory of research and scholarship over such an extended period can be daunting – and shifting directions in research and scholarship can be difficult as well. Sadly, self-discipline and clear directions for lines of inquiry are only two obstacles – and they are the two that a faculty member can control. Beyond these, each faculty member must navigate the challenges of getting his or her work to print: waiting months to hear back from reviewers, trying to respond to disparate feedback when an editor returns a manuscript with the dreaded statement “Revise and resubmit.” Even padding the annual reports and vita with conference presentations becomes more and more difficult with shrinking travel budgets at many institutions. Years ago, my husband and I would describe our efforts as “tithing toward tenure” because we were spending well over ten percent of our annual income to attend professional conferences. We were able to do this because we had no student loans. Many in our field are not as lucky.
Over the course of my experience at multiple institutions, I’ve seen faculty who chose service over research. In addition to the challenges described above, the nature of service is more tangible. Faculty could see the fruits of their labors when they coordinated programs or served on committees. This work helped them build their professional identities. Titles and roles within the department, college, or university distinguished them from others. Particularly in professional schools, faculty may also find themselves in positions where they also serve externally – spending time in the field and building partnerships.
The Critical Juncture
There is nothing inherently wrong in making the conscious decision to focus one’s efforts primarily in university service instead of research and scholarship. I know many who have done so in meaningful ways and, thankfully, were responsible for tremendous program growth and support of students. I recall the master’s program coordinator at Illinois State University who chaired the search committee when I was hired. She maintained the program and allowed those of us more focused on research to serve students without worrying too much about the details. I recall the work of my mentor who became my most treasured colleague when I returned to Georgia State University as a faculty member. He managed both scholarship and service while maintaining some of the highest ratings for teaching. Given his stature in the field, he could have focused exclusively on his scholarship and published even more – but he was committed to his program and to its students. He also served in ways that would challenge most in his position – taking time to help me develop an executive doctorate even though he was ideologically opposed to the idea. While at Missouri State University, I worked with incredible stewards: a coordinator for the elementary education program who worked tirelessly to ensure the program’s integrity; a faculty member whose passion about the family led him to serve the local community as well as the larger field through free-access lectures; and an early childhood faculty member who managed her program and the campus child development center with little support.
What distinguishes these exceptional academic citizens from martyrs? The focus of their work was something bigger than themselves: the program, the students, the institution. The work did not define them. They saw themselves as part of something important. In contrast, the martyr does the work for himself/herself. While a faculty member may not set out to be a martyr, something happens along the way to direct that path. Perhaps the individual struggled with his or her research identity and shifted more and more emphasis (and thus value) on service. I recall a coordinator of a doctoral program at an institution years ago. He refused to let others teach in the program – teaching most of the courses himself. He also advised most of the dissertations. As more and more faculty came to the department, students began seeking out others as dissertation chairs. As he saw the new faculty members as threats, he tried to exert even greater control over the program. He would lash out at faculty during committee meetings, and he worked to discredit the new faculty. The tighter he grasped at what he’d seen for years as “his” program, the more his efforts began to unravel. Ultimately, he became a caricature of himself, and he retired with little fanfare or recognition for his service.
That image stayed with me as I moved to other institutions. My anger toward this faculty member turned to sympathy. He spent decades letting the institution define him – years devoting his professional efforts to one program, and the institution did not reciprocate in kind. He left with little notice, and, likely, muted celebration by colleagues – happy that he was finally gone. With this in mind, I’ve often advised new faculty to never let an institution define them – for that is the first step toward martyrdom.