I am a failed academic. It took me about nine years to reach this conclusion. I must qualify this in a few ways. First, I am a failed academic, not a failed person. I am gainfully employed in a job that I enjoy, that is (for the most part) intellectually stimulating, and that helps people. The distinction between a failed person and a failed academic is one that is all-too-often ignored. One of the lingering fallacies sometimes propagated by professors is that a Ph.D is “Academia or bust.” I hope to be a standing refutation of that. Second, the opinions put forth in this blogpost are mine and mine alone. My experience in academia was neither bad, nor good, but rather just is. I know many who would be quick to counter everything that I’m about to say, and others that would concur, perhaps more forcefully than I. Third, I am still in the academic job market. I’ve been so for a year and a half now, so I’ve not lost hope of finding a permanent academic position. However, if I am fortunate enough to land something, I’m not sure that it would alter anything I have to say here. What follows is a critique, neither from the point of an embittered reject, nor from a neutral Archimedian point, but rather a seasoned veteran.

I’d like to think that I experienced the what most folks in the business would count as the finer points of my discipline. I’ve stayed up until 4AM so enthralled by a piece that I was unable to stop until I’d finished reading. I loved and appreciated every single seminar I took, almost always read everything that was assigned, and actively engaged in class discussions. I’ve made friendships that will endure for years, cultivated in a manner similar to brothers or sisters in arms. I have no regrets about completing my Ph.D. However, for all there is to recommend academia, it has many dark sides. Academia is an institution that prides itself on being inclusive, egalitarian, and free. Instead, at its worst, it is one of the most exclusive, rigidly heirarchical, and stifling institutions one can imagine.

One of the first things you learn as a newly-minted graduate student is that social system in academia is tantamount to a miniature feudal heirarhcy. There is a proliferation of distinctions that constitute you as a person and dictate how you act towards others. Not only are you separated by rank (1st year, 2nd year, 3rd year and so on) but also status (have you passed comps? your prospectus defense?) funding package (if you’re lucky enough to have funding) prior institution, etc. Sure, these are not necessarily set in stone, nor are they intentional, but instead they naturally occur. The 1st years, in need of guidance, turn to the 2nd years, who are in-turn, need of validation. Then of course, there is the institution from whence you came. Given University of Florida’s status as barely-a-top-50, students that arrive here with MAs from more prestigous institutions are looked upon with awe. Often times, these students’ previous education affords them a familiarity with the subject matter that others are lacking, it allows them to “speak the language.” Often their training is more academic, and therefore they can speak to professors more as equals. They have the confidence to go to office hours, have a discussion, and collaborate with professors in ways that sometimes denied to students with different backgrounds. Sometimes it’s just a matter of being more vocal and outgoing. These distinctions are, of course, amplified by differences in race, gender, and socio-economic background.

I have, sadly, fallen prey to the hero worship of professors that is so prevelant among graduate students. Professors dole out guidance, knowledge, and most importantly, validation. Graduate students are machines that run on the fuel of professorial validation. I was hesitant to challenge the word of any of my professors well into my fourth or fifth year, and still will do so only reluctantly. While this isn’t necessarily a bad thing all the time, it speaks to the inconsistencies inherent in academia. Academia is supposed to be a place where ideas trump status. However, in seminar, graduate students are encouraged to debate professors only to a point. Transgress that line and, well, “cave discipulus!” To be fair, a goodly portion of new graduate students can be arrogant and insufferable, and actually try to argue with a professor simply for the sake of arguing. I have no sympathy in those cases. Rather, it’s the more subtle cases, wherein a student may have a good point – one with which the professor disagrees – and, rather than be encouraged to pursue that line of argument, is shut down.

This is especially true for students that come from diverse ideological backgrounds. I am by my own admission a pristine social democratic lefty. There are many like me. When you do find that rare exception, someone from the right of the aisle, their voice is rarely heard nor is their viewpoint taken seriously. If the overwheming weight of opinion among the graduate students in a seminar is not enough to shut down any dissent, the professor will often do so. Again, this is not true in all cases, but is true in far too many cases.

One of Tocqueville’s critique of American society was that a stifling equality would transfer tyranny from the political to the societal realm, that a conformity of opinion. Full political independence combined with relative equality and material comfort, on Tocqueville’s account, made for a society that stifled independent thought. This is, in many ways, in evidence in academia. There are two corollaries to this analogy. First, academia is indeed at a formal institutional level, a place where freedom of speech and thought is prized. However, at the level of the social, there is little freedom. Individuals with genuine differences of opinion are cast as reactionaries, racists, sexists, or the like. This is not to say that racism and sexism do not exist in the academy. They most certainly do. However, it smacks of intellectual dishonesty and laziness to fail to engage someone’s ideas, and instead label them as an ideological enemy. It breeds an environment of bland conformity, where everyone is too afraid to say what they believe, lest the consequences be disapproval from one’s peers, or worse, one’s superior.

Perhaps the one “ism” that, though rampant, is ignored most in academia is classism. Much like the 1830s America of which Tocqueville wrote, class exists in academia, although it is quietly brushed over. The stifling mediocrity and conformity of opinion about which Tocqueville wrote, on his account, was rooted in material equality.

How many academics interact with people who’ve never finished high school, single mothers on government assistance, or homeless people? During 2011, at the height of the 99% protests, I attended our local demonstrations here in Gainvesville. Though that it isn’t my particular subfield, I was hoping to find some other political science Ph.Ds. To my dismay, there were none. Perhaps by its nature academia is the pursuit of middle to upper class people…those who grew up in relative comfort, and therefore have the luxury of pursuing a field of study that isn’t very lucrative. They have families who, if not well-off, at least have the means to sustain themselves. They are unburdened by the memory of poverty, and free to pursue a life of the mind. Academics are are the post-materialist minority in a country that’s reverting back to a time when fewer of us had such a luxury. This is a bit troubling, though. Academics purport to speak for the oppressed, and to identify as such when possible. How many have experience true poverty? Similarly, for those that study revolutions in other countries, how many of them have to deal with the ramifications of them?

This brings me back to my original point. I am a (provisionally) failed academic. I am ready to admit this, but why? What could I have done differently? I could have been more assertive, more sedulous. I could have went to more conferences. I could have hunted down my professors to speak with them during office hours. Maybe I could have been more attuned to what being a PhD involves. I could have done more, yes. However, keep in mind what I said previously. I came to UF for a Ph.D from a small state school, with little notion of what getting a PhD meant. I sought advice from two people at my school, both of which told me to go to UF for graduate school because it was the best in the state. They themselves received their Ph.D from schools similar to UF, and their knowledge of the field was relatively limited. Going into UF I had little idea of the politics of choosing committees, choosing a line of research, nevermind the intellectual contours of the field itself. A PhD in international relations was not what I imagined it to be. To be fair, I enjoyed it, but it’s not what I thought I was signing up for. This put me at a disadvantage right out of the gate as compared to a person who, for example, came here with a Masters degree from Duke.

This also means I lacked the confidence to go up to my professors and speak with them. I just assumed they would laugh at me. As far as conferences go, even if I did have the money to go to them, I never felt as though I belonged there. I was intimidated by the name-droppers and tag-lookers (perky graduate students with their attention fixated on peoples’ nametags, the hopes of whom are to spot a famous scholar) that pervaded these events. I consistently lived with the fear that I didn’t belong, and that others who had the education, the pedigree, did. It means I was reticent to send in papers for publication. I was reluctant to discuss and show my work to others. I fell prey to imposter syndrome.

So what’s to be done?

Graduate students: first, make an effort to be inclusive. If you are going to talk about your own projects, do so in a manner that’s accessible to all. There is no virtue is being obscurantist, and all it usually means is that you are unclear about your own work…and that’s ok too, but just be honest about it. Second, quit the persistent name and/or concept dropping. Again, often that’s just a cover for your own lack of clarity or fear of not belonging. Third, make an effort to be helpful to others about their work, and try to be encouraging if at all possible. Listen to what their project is, don’t just wait for your turn to speak about your own work. Again, do so genuinely, not in a manner that implies that you are intellectually superior or more “in the know.”

Professors: first, recognize that students are different. Some are more vocal in classes, some are better writers, and most likely, all are somewhat unsure of themselves. Second, be encouraging at conferences or when a graduate student is presenting work. This doesn’t mean not to hold them to rigorous standards, or not critique work, but do so in a manner that’s helpful. I’ll give a short example from my own experience. As a 2nd year graduate student I did a short presentation for our department’s weekly Brown Bag series. These were usually reserved for higher level graduate students (ABDs mostly) or professors, but being unaware of that fact, I presented a project I was working on. I was nervous and unprepared, and frankly, I flopped. One of the more colorful comments at the end of my presentation, made by a tenured professor was, “well, at least your powerpoint was pretty.” Other professors’ comments were about as encouraging. However, one professor, rather than jumping on the pile, suggested I look into the work of a particular scholar, and attempted to work through some of the problems with me. Not only did that preserve my dignity, but it emboldened me, and improved the chances that I would want to give talks in the future. Third, recognize that students have different goals, even within academia. Not all students want to end up at an R1 research university, and many students may come to realize that academia isn’t necessarily for them. I once overheard a professor scold a graduate student, informing them that if they wanted to pursue the line of research they were considering, that they may as well prepare themselves for a career as a cab driver. Most Ph.D. students learn skills that are extremely marketable during their studies. While this doesn’t necessarily guarantee a non-academic job, it makes us Ph.Ds more attractive to employers that many professors (many of which never having a job outside of academia) would let on. Try to understand that many of your students won’t be able to finish the Ph.D, and even if they do, may not be able to find jobs in academia. Don’t increase the already astronomic stress levels among Ph.D students by offering these false dichotomies.

Even if my early Ph.D career took a different turn, it’s not clear that I would have been more successful. Even if I had gone to more conferences, been more sedulous, or had sought out more connections, I may still not have found an academic job. And to be clear, I am still publishing, and still looking for academic jobs. However, as time progresses, I begin to wonder if I’m really cut out for it. As I am becoming more desocialized, I’m starting to wonder why I would want a job that doesn’t pay that well, can be extremely stressful, and doesn’t necessarily make more of a difference in the world than some other professions. The more I think about it, the more I believe that when you are socialized into academia, you are socialized to want an academic job. This becomes a mark of success, even if it involves making about what a school teacher makes in a small town out in the Midwest (no offense to school teachers or midwesterners.) As I become desocialized and settle into a non-acadmic job, begin to have a larger of proportion of non-academic friends, I find myself less and less desirous of an academic job. I still love teaching, and love doing research. However, going forward, when I search for a job in academia, I will do so selectively, with the knowledge that there are other professions that would be glad to have me. To all my newly-minted PhD friends with academic jobs, congratulations! You’ve earned it, and it’s wonderful that your hard work has culminated in you finding a position. To my friends who are still searching, take heart. Don’t let others bring you down, especially those fellow embittered graduate students who delight in finding others to share their misery. They, just like you, are operating from a place of insecurity. Recognize that your life is not coterminous with your academic life, and even if you do not find that tenure track at Northwestern that you so covet, you are still of value, both professionally and personally. Maybe I am a (provisionally) failed academic, maybe not. But I’ve come to realize that I’m find with either.