Tag: opinion

Dear Colleague letter is lawless attack on DEI (opinion)

On Valentine’s Day, the Trump administration surprised schools and colleges with its newest attack on DEI and student body diversity. The U.S. Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights released a Dear Colleague letter that warned schools and colleges that they may lose federal funding if they discriminate on the basis of race.

This letter revealed novel, unsupported legal theories regarding the application of federal civil rights laws to schools and colleges. In fact, OCR’s letter sweeps so broadly that it claims to prohibit certain considerations of race that remain perfectly legal under well-established legal doctrine.

While the threat of losing federal funding has been a facet of Title VI of the Civil Rights Act since its passage in 1964, the letter specifically takes aim at DEI programming as well as the use of “race as a factor in admissions, financial aid, hiring, training, and other institutional programming.”

Although the letter includes some correct statements of nondiscrimination law, OCR makes assertions that are troubling and unsupported by sound legal reasoning. As part of the team that wrote OCR’s guidance on this very issue in the wake of the Supreme Court’s ruling in Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard, I am disturbed by how politics is driving policy guidance that will hurt educational institutions and students from kindergarten through college.

In describing the scope of SFFA, OCR’s latest guidance attempts to smuggle in a legal standard that appears nowhere in the court’s opinion. The letter states, “Relying on non-racial information as a proxy for race, and making decisions based on that information, violates the law … It would, for instance, be unlawful for an educational institution to eliminate standardized testing to achieve a desired racial balance or to increase racial diversity.”

Here, OCR baselessly claims that not only can colleges not consider race as a factor in admissions, they also cannot make race-neutral changes to admissions policies that help increase student body diversity—such as eliminating standardized testing. That claim falls firmly outside not only the bounds of SFFA but also the decades of Supreme Court case law that precede it.

In Grutter (2003), Justice Sandra Day O’Connor considers whether the University of Michigan Law School could use a lottery system for admissions. In Fisher (2016), Justice Anthony Kennedy implicitly approves of the Texas top 10 percent plan, perhaps the most well-known race-neutral strategy to increase racial diversity. And in SFFA (2023), the plaintiff’s briefs themselves include endorsements of possible race-neutral alternatives Harvard could have legally pursued such as adopting socioeconomic preferences in admissions.

Yet in its most recent letter, OCR attempts quite the head fake in its declaration that SFFA dictates that schools and colleges must abandon race-neutral strategies meant to increase student body diversity. While in reality SFFA says nothing about the permissibility of these race-neutral strategies, a separate line of cases tackles these legal questions head-on—and contradicts the Trump administration’s unfounded guidance.

In Coalition for TJ, Boston Parent Coalition and other recent cases, groups similar to Students for Fair Admissions have challenged changes to admissions policies of prestigious, selective high schools that were adopted in part to increase student body diversity. In some cases, the schools reconfigured weighting for standardized tests; in others, schools guaranteed that each feeding middle school gets a certain number of seats. In all of the cases, the school districts won. The position now advanced by OCR in its recent letter has failed to find footing in two courts of appeal. And just last year, the Supreme Court declined to further review the decisions in TJ and Boston.

What OCR attempts to do with its letter is extraordinary. It tries to advance a legal theory with support from a Supreme Court case that says nothing about the matter. At the same time, OCR ignores recent judicial opinions in cases that directly address this question.

Regardless of how legally infirm OCR’s proclamations are, schools and colleges will likely feel forced to comply. This could mean that the threat alone will lead schools and colleges to cut efforts to legally pursue racially diverse student bodies and racially inclusive campus environments. As a result, our nation’s classrooms and campuses will unfortunately look less like the communities that they sit in and serve, all because of shoddy policymaking and legal sleight of hand.

Ray Li is a civil rights attorney focusing on education policy. He recently left the Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights after serving as a career attorney from 2021 to 2025. In that role, he worked on more than a dozen policy documents for OCR, including guidance issued after the Supreme Court’s decision in SFFA. He also served as OCR’s lead staff attorney on appellate and Supreme Court litigation matters, including for the SFFA, Coalition for TJ and Boston Parent Coalition cases. Prior to joining OCR, he advised schools, colleges and universities on legal regulatory issues, including civil rights issues, at Hogan Lovells’ education practice.

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February 27, 2025
An argument against teaching demos (opinion)

I have always found the teaching demo portion of a faculty job candidate’s visit to be the least useful component of assessing that individual’s fit for the position. Think about it—for teaching-focused institutions, teaching demos are held in high regard and are often a mandatory component of candidate job-talk visits. The prevalent belief appears to be that without seeing an individual in action in front of a live classroom, one cannot assess their teaching ability.

To me, it seems rather like expecting an interviewing physician to come into an ongoing surgery and take over the operation for half an hour before retreating and handing the patient back to the original surgeon. This seems hardly fair to the visiting physician or the beleaguered patient.

A teaching demo often involves the job candidate having to go teach a portion of a lecture in an already existing and functioning course. Right off the bat, the entire premise of the teaching demo is unnatural and flawed. Neither the demo giver nor the demo receivers benefit, and the observers (i.e., the hapless search committee members), who are the ones most invested in the demo, gain nothing of value, either. Yes, maybe you can determine in 20 minutes how a candidate speaks in front of an audience, but that factoid can be gathered from a research or job talk presentation as well. In that job talk presentation, perhaps the candidate can also talk about his or her teaching philosophy. That to me seems more valuable and more useful information to gather.

One big issue for me about the teaching demo is that the students in attendance know it’s a demonstration and are probably not too fussed about paying too much attention, knowing that whatever the demonstration covers, the contents are unlikely to make it into the exams or quizzes given by their regular instructor. So it would not be surprising if they base their evaluations entirely on random criteria, such as one’s sense of sartorial style.

Essentially, the demo serves as a distraction for students—a way to let their minds wander from their regular programming. I would argue that this sort of demoing is disruptive for student learning and regular instructor teaching. We are taking away valuable time that students would have gotten their regular teaching in order to subject them to a teaching demo, which they know doesn’t matter in the long run.

And of course, this sort of demo interrupts the teaching plans of the regular instructor. Now that instructor has to hang around for the length of the time of the demo letting their attention wander, just like the students. And then the instructor has to go back to their regular class, out of which half an hour or longer has already been squandered.

Furthermore, whatever evaluations are garnered from the teaching demo are not exactly trustworthy. There is evidence that course evaluations (conducted after an entire semester) are biased against women and minority professors. And mind you, that’s after an entire semester—how on Earth can one expect a 25- to 35-minute demo evaluation to be unbiased? They most assuredly are not unbiased and are probably reflective of similar biases against minority and women candidates. I’ve been on and chaired several search committees, and have seen some really random comments listed on the demo evaluations. Needless to say, those comments were not germane to the actual situation, in that they provided no useful evidence about the candidate’s teaching ability.

Also, these sorts of teaching demos are especially rough on candidates who have social anxiety or are introverted. Teaching involves building rapport with your students—20 minutes is hardly enough time to do that. It is entirely possible for a candidate to be unfairly assessed based on a tiny sliver of time. A great teacher could have a bad teaching demo, and a poor teacher could have a great teaching demo—how accurate is it to judge someone’s teaching abilities based on a short lecture? Wouldn’t it be more accurate to actually take the time to pore over the candidate’s teaching evaluations instead? Yes, they are prone to error, but it stands to reason they are not as prone to error as a teaching demo. Preferring a teaching demo over a more complete semester-long evaluation is akin to judging a movie from its trailer. A trailer can be great, but the movie may still be terrible. Ditto with teaching demos.

Alternatives to Teaching Demos

I propose some alternatives to teaching demos. The first is to include a small teaching portion in the job talk itself. Give the candidate the leeway to talk about his or her teaching philosophy and perhaps about their approach to pedagogy. That, when combined with actual semester teaching evaluations, would be far more useful than a 20- or 30-minute demo. Anyone can fake being nice and approachable for 20 or 30 minutes—doing that over the course of a semester is a lot more difficult. Even faculty members who are perceived as rude and unapproachable by their usual students can pass themselves off as wonderful and approachable for a 20-minute window. How they behave throughout the semester is far more useful and predictive information.

Another alternative to a live teaching demo could be to make it asynchronous. Have the candidate record a video lecture of themselves, and then have faculty and students watch the video to rate the candidate on their teaching performance. After all, the goal is to see how the candidate presents and teaches—why not take away the anxiety component of the live demo and instead make it a lot more equitable? Sure, recording a video could be anxiety-provoking in its own right, but it can’t be more anxiety-provoking than a live demo in front of a crowd, can it?

The third alternative to live teaching demos is to open up the candidate’s research presentation to students as well. Far too often, the research presentations are only attended by department faculty members (some of whom have to be reluctantly corralled from their offices by the search committee chair). Opening these presentations up to students would serve a dual purpose, both bolstering the audience numbers and giving the students attending a good idea of how the candidate communicates. This does much the same job that the teaching demo does, but more effectively and efficiently.

Conclusion

To conclude, I am suggesting that we do away with the teaching demos in faculty job candidates’ visits. It is high time that we eliminate useless rituals that we follow just because of tradition. Let’s send teaching demos the way of the dodo.

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February 26, 2025
Why grad students should prioritize friendships (opinion)
How important is friendship to you? According to a Pew Research Center study in 2023, 61 percent of U.S. adults said having close friends is extremely or very important for people to live a fulfilling life, which is much higher than the share who said the same about being married (23 percent), having children (26 percent) or having a lot of money (24 percent). Meanwhile, almost one in three Americans feel lonely every week.

In this context, perceptions of workplace friendships are evolving as the world of work transforms. Working professionals consider having a best friend at work to be even more important since the start of the pandemic and the dramatic increase in remote and hybrid work. Younger generations, such as millennials and Gen Zers, want to curate authenticity and set boundaries. They may prioritize job satisfaction and mental health over other traditional factors. How do those new priorities relate to friendship?

In addition to well-being benefits, having friends at work can contribute to an individual’s professional development and workplace performance. Working in an environment that fosters vulnerability, as friendships often do, enables individuals to challenge themselves in ways they may otherwise avoid.

The topic of friendship at work often focuses on the postgraduate workforce. We argue for the importance of applying the same principles to the graduate student and postdoctoral experience. We discuss ways in which graduate students and postdoctoral scholars can benefit from prioritizing friendships and essential interpersonal skills, which can lead to a more robust academic experience and support network.

Navigating Challenges and Life After Graduate School

Studies show that strong relationships at work are linked to a lower risk of burnout, better mental health and fewer traumatic experiences. Having peer friendships helps graduate students and postdoctoral scholars cope with the rigorous nature of their academic training. Although the demands of this training can make it difficult to prioritize one’s social life, intense work environments in group settings also provide many opportunities for like-minded individuals to get to know each other beyond the immediate tasks at hand.

Cultivating such relationships helps students and scholars to navigate the challenges of graduate school and/or their postdoctoral training and work with the benefit of a support system. Sometimes people struggle to comprehend the unique and specific nature of graduate training. Having peers in the same environment allows one to work through challenges and problems with someone who knows firsthand the context of what they are experiencing.

As graduate students and postdoctoral scholars face points of transition, either at the beginning or end of their training, many will leave their current support network and find themselves in need of building new connections. Yet, fulfilling friendships can take time and effort to build. Friendships formed in graduate school can provide an incredible form of support for any moment in life and can have lifelong implications for personal and professional careers. In fact, many of us in the workplace still talk to friends we made during our graduate school years and cherish the memories we built based on understanding and trust.

Strengthening Academic Research and Performance

A significant portion of the research on workplace friendships highlights the increase in performance and productivity that results from the presence of such relationships. Happiness leads to increased performance across the board. Developing friendships among peers can result in an increase in potential collaborators for opportunities such as co-authorships, conference presentations or interdisciplinary research. It can also happen the other way around—connections that begin as professional collaborations may turn into friendships.

The two of us writing this article are real examples of how developing friendships within the workplace can provide benefits to one’s career growth. We met as colleagues and quickly found commonalities in our personal interests and professional goals. While our jobs took us to different institutions, a robust co-writing dynamic emerged from the foundations of our friendship. Our story is similar to that of many scholars who write with their friends.

Developing Transferable Skills

Creating meaningful connections also helps graduate students and postdoctoral scholars strengthen key transferable skills that are relevant in preparing for diverse career paths. Consider three that come to mind:
- Communication: For many friendships, there is a sense of comfort that develops over time. This bond encourages an ease in conversations lacking in other types of interactions. Friends can be a sounding board when you are attempting to process your thoughts and put them into words for an external audience.
- Collaboration: Some graduate students and postdoctoral scholars may conduct solitary research with little opportunity to work within a team or group setting, especially in the humanities. Identifying opportunities to collaborate with friends helps to develop the ability to contextualize one’s responsibilities within a broader project. This cultivates a skill that employers often prioritize in the hiring process: collaboration or teamwork.
- Cultural competency: Another benefit to fostering workplace friendships is becoming more aware of different lived experiences from your own. While it is possible to do this through less personal interactions, friendships allow you to share life stories and perspectives and build deeper connections. Expanding your perspective will allow you to become a stronger scholar (during your time in graduate school or postdoctoral training) and professional (whatever your postgraduation plans may be) in an increasingly diverse world.
Implications for Career Development

Of course, there are some challenges to keep in mind with workplace friendships. These may include: trusting someone too soon and oversharing, participating in gossip and rumors, and in-group pressure to fit in, which ultimately leads to exclusion of some through group homogeneity and barriers to opportunities. Other challenges exist for individuals with marginalized backgrounds. The lack of diversity or representation in certain disciplines can further feelings of isolation and take a greater toll on one’s well-being.

Those of us working with this unique population can make an intentional effort to facilitate meaningful relationship-building and address the challenges above through educational programming. Professional development events for marginalized populations often provide a “third space” for individuals to connect in a critical mass, breathe and celebrate, and identify role models and peer collaborators. The University of Maryland system’s Alliance for Graduate Education and the Professoriate is a great example of community-building.

Another viable option for educators and institutions to consider is to leverage the power of peer or near-peer mentoring. Research highlights the importance of mentoring constellations, which acknowledge the varying needs of a mentee and how mentoring relationships differ in structure or intensity. While a “vertical mentor” may be more senior in an organization and offer guidance to mentees based on career progression or life stages, a “horizontal mentor” refers to a peer at a similar career level who shares the mentee’s experiences and challenges. At the University of Maryland, College Park, the Graduate School has created a near-peer mentoring program that focuses on interdisciplinary knowledge-sharing between a doctoral student and a postdoctoral scholar over a year. This program promotes a culture of mentoring where both parties can develop self-awareness and build skills critical to their respective careers.

Finally, how can graduate students and postdoctoral scholars go about making friends at work? Begin by prioritizing relationships in the spaces you occupy, especially during moments of uncertainty. Then, attend and leverage university programming around well-being, professional development and mentoring, to meet people with similar interests and values. Next, look carefully within your high-touch professional relationships, and consider how proximity, similarity, and reciprocity can help you facilitate the initiation and development of a friendship.

Yi Hao is the program director of career and professional development at the Graduate School of the University of Maryland, College Park, and a member of the Graduate Career Consortium—an organization providing an international voice for graduate-level career and professional development leaders.

Mallory Neil is the director of industry partnerships for the College of Science at Clemson University.
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February 24, 2025
College English classrooms should be slow (opinion)

In a minorly famous letter to the duchess of Sutherland, Henry James advises that The Ambassadors should be read “very easily and gently,” specifying that his correspondent should ideally “read five pages a day.” At this pace, the duchess would have taken almost exactly 13 weeks to finish the book if she read every day of the week. One imagines that the novel would be tucked into otherwise inaccessibly glamorous, luxurious days for the duchess, days filled with, among other comforts, corresponding with James about how to read his latest novel.

Five pages a day is very slow reading, but most of us would love to approach our reading at a more leisurely pace, if not a pace determined so prescriptively. On the other side of the spectrum of reading experiences, one finds the average student in college English classes—both undergraduate and graduate. To use my experience as an example, I was at the nadir of my reading life as an undergraduate English major; as someone who naturally reads quite slowly, I spent many nights of my undergraduate career standing at my dresser so I wouldn’t fall asleep while reading. (I couldn’t afford, and doubt I had ever heard of, a standing desk at that point in my life, and my dresser was the tallest piece of furniture in my room.)

While doing this, I often took notes blindly in a notebook with my right hand while I held whatever book I was reading in my left. I would reread my notes the next morning to help me remember what I had read the night before. I loved the books I was reading, and I wanted to succeed in the classes I took, but I was also, by trying to read upward of 500 pages a week, making myself miserable.

I don’t blame the professors who assigned the reading—all of them were gifted pedagogues, and not all of them assigned too much reading. They, too, inhabited a culture in which they were expected to work quickly and fulfill numerous demanding institutional roles (years later, I still remember one of my undergraduate professors saying she worked around 70 hours a week).

Now that I’m on the other side of the academic experience, however, I’ve come to realize that each of us is responsible for resisting a culture that is, by all accounts, making students anxious, depressed and—dare I say it—unproductive at unprecedented rates. Students in undergraduate classes are primed to work quickly. Almost every part of their life—their experience on social media, their online shopping, their use of ChatGPT to complete assignments and their selection of a route on Apple Maps—is designed to help them reach tangible and intangible destinations as quickly as possible. Most students, meanwhile, are terrible at working slowly.

As academicians, we’re constricted, of course, by all the reasonable and unreasonable demands placed on us by work, family and the other important parts of life, and when we read—especially when we read for professional, critical purposes—we read and work as quickly as possible, that “possible” being an ever-nebulous boundary toward which we strain and suffer while still trying to produce quality work. As professors, if we read books like The Ambassadors, we’re likely to read them in bursts and chunks—butcherly words that sound as unappealing as the process of reading a dense, beautiful novel in such a manner actually is.

While we cannot, in the immediate future, totally alter the institutional structures of postsecondary liberal arts education, there are still things that English professors can do to resist the pressure for speed. Chief among them is to design a classroom that encourages our students to go slow.

In their 2016 book, The Slow Professor, Maggie Berg and Barbara K. Seeber challenged the culture of speed in academia by advising faculty to work more slowly, a laudable goal, but one that critics pointed out was a luxury that untenured faculty simply couldn’t enjoy. The problem, of course, is that the people who design a job decide how much work ought to be accomplished in a given time frame, and untenured faculty have little control over the amount of work they are expected to produce to attain job security. However, what almost all professors, regardless of contract status, do have control over is how much work we require within a given time frame from the students we teach. In other words, we should design classes that treat our students in a way that we’d like our institutions to treat us.

As English professors, our job is not to encourage quick thinking but to foster thorough, imaginative and critical thinking. To do this, we must design our courses to foster and prompt slow work that breaks students out of the habits of expediency they have developed throughout their time in school. Designing classes that foster intentional slowness takes effort, but it also means that we can craft the kinds of spaces that make literature enjoyable and show students the value and beauty of literary texts when they are encountered in an environment suitable for literary consumption.

A slow classroom can take several forms. In the slow classes I’ve taught, it means requiring students to purchase paper copies of the texts we read and to keep a real, physical journal in which they respond to prompts weekly outside of class. I also do something in these classes that I wish someone had done for me when I was a student: I make it clear that they should spend a certain amount of time on work for my class outside the classroom but that they should also give themselves a cutoff time, especially when it comes to reading for class. I tell them that I take around two or three minutes to read a page of a novel well, sometimes more if the prose is dense, and that they should plan for each page of reading to take three to four minutes. I also tell them that if they make time to read and don’t finish, they shouldn’t panic; they should move on with their day and enjoy the nonacademic parts of their life.

Most importantly, I assign less reading. Of course, I’d love to live in a world where my students have thoroughly read the English literary canon (whatever that means), but more than anything, I want them to have read something and to have read it well. To this end, I try to assign between 20 and 30 pages of reading per class meeting, which amounts to around 10 to 15 pages per day, not too far from James’s edict. Rather than just assigning this reading and hoping for the best, I explain to my students about why I assign this number of pages, talk to them about creating and choosing a time and space to read in their daily lives, and describe the process of reading in my class as one they should understand as a reprieve from the time-pressured demands of other courses.

In class, I designate much of our time together as technology-free in order to make space for the rich and meaningful conversations that occur most fruitfully when we aren’t distracted by notifications from our phones and laptops. Students engage in small group and classwide discussions, and I challenge them with daily questions that push them out of their comfort zones. I task them with coming up with steel man arguments in support of cultural and fictional villains, I ask them to articulate what makes a good life by finding evidence for and theories of good lives in their reading, and I frequently make them dwell with a given scene until we’ve extracted every last bit of sense (and often a bit of senselessness) from it.

We tackle around one question a day, if we’re lucky. But the answers and questions we walk away with are finer and fuller than the formulaic answers that students give when they’re in a hurry. In return for designing my class in a way that allows students to work slowly, I expect around the same amount of essayistic output in terms of page numbers, but I design essays to be completed slowly, too, by scaffolding the work and requiring creative responses to prompts to encourage the slow, critical thinking and writing that English professors long to read and rarely encounter. I’ve received work that was thoughtful and occasionally even beautiful, work that couldn’t have been written by AI.

In many ways, my experience of earnestly trying to read around 500 pages of fiction a week as an undergraduate might seem anachronistic. Professors across disciplines have noted the apparent inability of students to engage with any extended reading, whether this means they’re not reading at all or that they just ask ChatGPT to do the “reading” for them. The irony of worrying—as many academics seem to be doing these days—that students will use artificial intelligence to read or write for them is that many undergraduate classes require students to work like machines, to read and write at a breakneck pace, a demand that prompts the ridiculous phenomenon of classes on speed reading, which many universities advertise and which are also available online (the one I’ve linked here is accompanied by the terrifying motto “Reading at the Speed of Thought™”).

In a discipline for which the core method is close reading, the idea of students reading a novel as quickly as possible ought to make English professors shudder, and while it’s not necessary to dedicate an entire semester to a single novel, we ought to see course design as part of the solution to students rushing through their work. In an age that privileges fast work, near-constant availability and answers on demand, the slow English classroom is a reprieve, a space where deep, creative and inspired thought is given the time it needs to blossom.

While our students will likely never occupy the rarefied spaces that the duchess of Sutherland enjoyed when James wrote to her in 1903, with our guidance and course design, they can experience the joy, power and, yes, the luxury of reading and writing slowly. We just have to give them the time.

Luke Vines is a sixth-year Ph.D. candidate in the Department of English at Vanderbilt University. He recently began serving as the assistant director for academic support at Berry College.

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February 21, 2025
Lawsuit slaps heart of academic freedom (opinion)

A lawsuit filed in July against the Columbia University chapter of the American Association of University Professors, along with 20 other organizations and individuals, alleged that our public statements in support of antiwar and pro-Palestinian student protests last spring harmed other students by contributing to the campus shutdown that followed. Unraveling the cynical logic of this claim is for the courts. But what is clear from this lawsuit is that the purpose of such recourse to legal theater is not to ameliorate harm. It is to silence public and academic speech.

This effort is part and parcel of a broader attack on higher education, one characterized by legislative attacks on diversity, equity and inclusion; instruction; and tenure; and an epidemic of jawboning by public officials meddling into curricula, campus programming and even the careers of individual faculty members. Following a series of executive orders from President Donald Trump, colleges and universities across the country now find themselves in the crosshairs.

The tactic used against us is what is known as a strategic lawsuit against public participation (SLAPP). These suits are brought principally not to win in court but to harass and intimidate individuals or groups into curtailing speech. By entangling defendants in costly and invasive litigation—or even just threatening to do so—plaintiffs can frighten those with whom they disagree into silence. In the context of higher education, this comes at an incalculable cost.

On its own, this lawsuit certainly threatens the speech of Columbia-AAUP. But in the current climate, it also opens a front in the widespread attack on universities as sanctuaries of critical inquiry and reasoned debate. In their mere filing, lawsuits like this one aim especially to chill dissenting speech, including speech that takes place at the intersection of the classroom and the public square. Such legal instruments are a dangerous cudgel that could be used to threaten broad swaths of political and academic speech on American campuses.

Our chapter has precisely sought to combat this hostile environment in the speech over which we are being sued. In multiple public statements made during the height of the campus protests last spring, we condemned partisan congressional meddling in Columbia’s affairs, arguing that this “undermine[s] the traditions of shared governance and academic freedom.” We called for a vote of no confidence in university leadership, who we believe “failed utterly to defend faculty and students” and “colluded in political interference.” And we affirmed the Columbia Faculty of Arts and Sciences’ subsequent vote of no confidence in our then-president for her “failure to resist politically motivated attacks on higher education,” whereby she endangered students and undermined our rights as faculty.

In challenging our statements in support of faculty and students, this particular SLAPP targets both our constitutionally protected public speech and our academic freedom. We are fortunate enough to be represented by the American Civil Liberties Union and civil rights firm Wang Hecker LLP, who have filed a motion to dismiss on our behalf that utilizes New York State’s anti-SLAPP law, one of the 35 state-level anti-SLAPP laws on the books across the United States. But the outcome of a SLAPP shouldn’t depend on your counsel, or the state in which you live. Unfortunately, for many faculty and students faced with a SLAPP, the only available option may well be to self-censor.

Interests committed to the mainstream political consensus have found pro-Palestinian political advocacy on American campuses to be unacceptable. To silence dissent, they have shown themselves willing to use every instrument at their disposal in a manner that recalls the red scares of the early and mid-20th century, when character assassination and blacklists were employed in industry and civil society, including academia. This SLAPP revives such measures, as do the theatrical congressional grillings of college presidents, including our own, and the wave of censorship that has swept over higher education during the course of the past year. In this context, attacks on public speech are also attacks on academic freedom.

Academic freedom depends essentially upon a social contract that remains under perpetual debate both inside and outside the academy. SLAPPs like this one aim at the very heart of that contract, which accords to academics relative autonomy to explore difficult and often uncomfortable truths on the assumption that those truths will ultimately benefit society. Although the classroom, the laboratory and the library are classic sites for the practice and protection of this freedom, the truths pursued there translate to worlds outside the campus gates. Bullying faculty and students into self-censorship in the public square, SLAPPs seek to further silence and constrain the pursuit of uncomfortable truths in the classroom.

Scholarly knowledge consists of truth claims, not dicta. Whether exercised in the classroom or in the public square, academic freedom is therefore the freedom to make and to contest such claims. This goes for all sides in a debate, including the debates still quietly raging on our campuses. However, a stark reality disclosed by SLAPPs is that political force is now poised to govern the contest over truth in place of enlightened reason and democratic deliberation.

If such high-minded concepts as truth claims, enlightened reason and democratic debate seem too lofty for the dirty realism of the day, it is important to remember that these still lie at the core of any academic freedom worthy of the name. Academic freedom is not a narrowly academic matter; it is a matter of determining whether something is or is not true. SLAPPs are designed to decide such questions in advance, in favor of those who can afford the attorneys, or on whose behalf politically motivated law firms work. It is time for us to exercise our freedoms and responsibilities as academics, in defense of our right and that of our students to speak.

Reinhold Martin is president of the American Association of University Professors chapter at Columbia University, on whose behalf he wrote this piece, and a professor of architecture.

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February 20, 2025
Closing a college with dignity, part 1 (opinion)
Founded in 1957, Cabrini University, a small, tuition-driven Roman Catholic liberal arts institution located outside of Philadelphia, closed last June after providing a year’s notice of its impending closure. One of at least 14 nonprofit four-year colleges that announced closures in 2023, Cabrini announced a memorandum of understanding with Villanova University in June 2023, signed a definitive agreement in November 2023 and closed the transaction in June 2024.

Through this transaction, Cabrini was afforded a final year of operation prior to closure. Villanova acquired Cabrini’s assets, including a 112-acre property, and committed to preserving the legacy of Cabrini through commitments like naming its new campus Villanova University Cabrini Campus, providing Cabrini representatives two seats on the Villanova board for up to two successive five-year terms, stewarding the Mother Cabrini special collections and planning events for Cabrini alumni.

In this three-part essay, we—Cabrini’s former interim president, Helen Drinan, and former members of the academic leadership team—describe our decision to seek a strategic partner, the planning that went into a dignified closure and the ways we supported employees and students through a mission-driven plan to help them transition in terms of their careers and academic studies.

It was a dignified closing for an institution that began the 2022–23 academic year facing significant obstacles to its survival. As the university welcomed a new interim president, Cabrini’s profile reflected five metrics used to identify rising pressure on nonprofit higher education institutions with fewer than 5,000 students.
- High acceptance rate: It increased from 72 percent in 2018 to 79 percent in 2022.
- Low yield on offers of admission: It declined from 17 percent in 2018 to 11 percent in 2022.
- Falling enrollment: 29.3 percent decline between 2018 (2,283) and 2022 (1,613).
- Rising institutional aid: Institutional aid awards increased by about 38 percent from 2018 to 2022 ($10,595 per student in 2018 to $14,638 per student in 2022), outpacing small increases in tuition. In 2022–23, 39 percent of Cabrini’s undergraduate students were receiving Pell Grants and 99 percent received institutional grant or scholarship aid.
- Persistent operating losses: Eight years of operating losses from 2015 to 2022, ranging between $1.9 million and $10 million, topped off by a fiscal year 2023 budget awaiting approval that included its highest-ever multimillion-dollar operating loss.
Enrollment and financial operating data of course tell only part of the story of a troubled institution. Many leadership decisions made over time cumulatively result in these kinds of outcomes. At least three common practices have emerged as critical leadership traps in higher education: nonstrategic launches of initiatives intended to increase revenues or decrease costs, consistent drawdowns of the endowment to cover annual losses and accumulation of deferred maintenance. All three of these institution-threatening practices were occurring at Cabrini over the eight years leading to the summer of 2022, when we realized time was running out.

The Road to Closure

Sound strategic planning for a tuition-dependent, modestly endowed, indebted institution like Cabrini depends on choosing opportunities that expand on existing expertise, require minimal capital outlays and are tested for success within a three-year time frame. At Cabrini, too many new initiatives, well beyond historic areas of expertise, were launched in the eight years prior to closure, resulting in a laundry list of only loosely related activities: a targeted international student recruitment program, graduate online education, revived adult degree completion offerings, new doctoral programs, a new residence hall and parking garage, efforts to qualify as a Hispanic-serving institution, and the start-up of a new undergraduate nursing program. All this occurred while the university took on additional debt for construction activity and used federal pandemic relief funding to fill revenue gaps, pushing the institution to the point where it faced its largest-ever annual deficit and rapidly declining cash on hand going into fiscal year 2023.

In summer 2022, Cabrini’s Board of Trustees approved a four-month budget delay, and the senior leadership team sought to identify $10 million in revenue and expense improvements. In September, the senior leadership team presented the board with two alternative paths: 1) a plan to operate for three-plus years to assess the financial feasibility of staying independent or 2) a plan to find the best possible partner to help support the institution financially. Past strategies such as voluntary separation programs, involuntary separations and the hiring of external consultants all yielded unsuccessful results and negatively impacted employee morale. The best opportunities for maintaining independence involved growing revenues, reducing costs (with the understanding that previous attempts to do so were insufficient), capitalizing on real estate and seeking nontraditional revenue streams.

The Penultimate Year

Prior to the decision to close, while institutional leaders remained focused on staying viable, senior leadership offered an exclusive interview to The Philadelphia Inquirer in the spirit of transparency, announcing very aggressive organizational changes and plans for new programs and publicly expressing an interest in partnerships. Such an approach, we realized, would raise further questions about the future of the institution: The truth is that once an institution acknowledges difficulties, questions will proliferate, and it is best to be transparent and open when responding.

As fall 2022 moved into winter, our leadership team became aware of three negative trends: 1) efforts to recruit the new first-year class were falling short of enrollment targets, 2) new program launches took longer than expected, creating a lag in new revenue, attributable in large part to reduced marketing resources, and 3) partnership conversations yielded few opportunities serious enough to pursue. Two institutions were seriously considering partnering with us, allowing for academic and possibly athletic continuity. However, in both cases, potential partner boards determined they were “unable to buy Cabrini’s problems” because of its declining cash and indebtedness.

Given the direction of these conversations, we concluded that the institution was not financially viable. We determined that the best opportunity to preserve Cabrini’s legacy and ensure students, faculty and staff would experience a full academic year prior to closure was to readily agree to the MOU with Villanova, the initial step toward an asset purchase agreement and a graceful closure.

Villanova’s strategic direction proved key to the partnership decision. Villanova’s strength as an Augustinian institution in the Catholic tradition aligned beautifully with Cabrini’s heritage, and the missions of both institutions made for wonderful integration opportunities in such areas as immigration, leadership and services for marginalized populations. Cabrini’s real estate offered the expansion opportunities Villanova desired in close proximity to its beautifully built-out campus. And Villanova’s financial resources enabled Cabrini to deliver a robust final year to all its students, faculty and staff, the value of which is beyond measure.

The university graduated a senior class in May 2024, offered placements to every student interested in continuing their education and supported its workforce with a combination of job-seeking resources, retention payments and severance, none of which would have been possible without Villanova’s remarkable engagement. (Part 2 of this series provides further detail about Cabrini’s final year and transition planning.)

Part of why we think the partnership worked was because we, as the institutional leadership team, effectively checked our egos at the door. We knew our focus had to be on what was best for the institution, not our own personal outcomes, to credibly lead the university through closure. A key lesson for other institutions exploring acquisitions or mergers is that the future expectations of the sitting president as well as of board members in a new organization should be clarified early in partner conversations; otherwise, personal expectations could present an obstacle to the transaction’s success.

Another lesson for any struggling institution is to think critically about the kinds of partner institutions that would find you attractive, how much leverage you might have and how much you can do to minimize your downsides. This is not typically work you can do as you face the threat of immediate closure. For institutions that may be financially stable but are experiencing some of the indicators of risk and stress mentioned at the start of this essay, the task of thoughtfully identifying potential partners could be an important activity for trustees and senior leadership teams to pursue.

Editor’s note: The second and third installments of the series will be published on the next two Wednesdays.

Helen Drinan served as interim president of Cabrini University. Previously, she served as president of Simmons University.

Michelle Filling-Brown is associate vice provost for integrated student experience and a teaching professor in the Department of English at Villanova University. She formerly served as chief academic officer/dean for academic affairs at Cabrini University, where she also served as a faculty member for 16 years.

Richie Gebauer is dean of student success at Bryn Mawr College. He formerly served as assistant dean of retention and student success at Cabrini University.

Erin McLaughlin is the interim dean of the College of Arts, Education and Humanities at DeSales University. She formerly served as associate dean for the School of Business, Education and Professional Studies at Cabrini University, where she also served as a faculty member for 16 years.

Kimberly Boyd is assistant professor of biology and anatomy and physiology at Delaware County Community College. She formerly served as dean of retention and student success at Cabrini University, where she also served as a faculty member for 25 years.

Missy Terlecki is dean of the School of Professional and Applied Psychology at Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine. She formerly served as associate dean for the School of Arts and Sciences at Cabrini University, where she also served as a faculty member for 19 years.

Lynda Buzzard is associate vice president and controller at Villanova University. Previously, she served as the vice president of finance and administration at Cabrini University in its final year.
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February 19, 2025
Why are campuses quiet as democracy is in crisis? (opinion)

A close friend who works at a nearby college asked me why, in 2025, there haven’t been student protests of the kind that we saw during the Vietnam War and after the killing of George Floyd.

She questioned why campuses seem eerily quiescent as events in Washington, D.C., threaten values essential to the health of higher education, values like diversity, freedom of speech and a commitment to the greater good. We also wondered why most higher education leaders are choosing silence over speech.

Deans and presidents seem more invested in strategizing about how to respond to executive orders and developing contingency plans to cope with funding cuts than in exerting moral leadership and mounting public criticism of attacks on democratic norms and higher education.

My students have their own list s of preoccupations. Some are directly threatened and live in fear; some see nothing special about the present moment. “It is just more of the same,” one of them told me.

And many faculty feel especially vulnerable because of who they are or what they teach. They, too, are staying on the sidelines.

All of us may be tempted by what a student quoted by the Yale Daily News calls “a quiet acceptance and a quiet grief.” None of us may see a clear path forward; after all, the president won a plurality of the votes in November. How can we save democracy from and for the people themselves?

I do not mean to judge the goodwill or integrity of anyone in our colleges and universities. There, as elsewhere, people are trying their best to figure out how to live and work under suddenly changed circumstances.

No choice will be right for everyone, and we need empathy for those who decide to stay out of the fray. But if all of us stay on the sidelines, the collective silence of higher education at a time when democracy is in crisis will not be judged kindly when the history of our era is written.

Let’s start by considering the role of college and university presidents in times of national crisis. In the past, some have seen themselves as leaders not just of their institutions but, like the clergy and presidents of philanthropic foundations, of civil society.

Channeling Alexis de Tocqueville, Yale’s Jeffrey Sonnenfeld explains that “the voice of leaders in civil society help[s] certify truth,” creating “priceless ‘social capital’ or community trust.” He asks, “If college presidents get a pass, then why shouldn’t all institutional leaders in democratic society shirk their duties?”

In the 1960s and ’70s, some prominent college presidents refused to take a pass. The University of Notre Dame’s Theodore Hesburgh became a leading voice in the Black civil rights struggle. Amherst College president John William Ward not only spoke out publicly against the Vietnam War, he even undertook an act of civil disobedience to protest it.

A half century earlier, another Amherst president, Alexander Meiklejohn, embraced the opportunity afforded by his position to speak to a nation trying to recover from World War I and figure out how to deal with mass immigration and the arrival of new ethnic groups.

At a time of national turmoil, he asked Americans some hard questions: “Are we determined to exalt our culture, to make it sovereign over others, to keep them down, to have them in control? Or will we let our culture take its chance on equal terms … Which shall it be—an Anglo-Saxon aristocracy of culture or a Democracy?”

Those questions have special resonance in the present moment.

But, especially after Oct. 7, college presidents have embraced institutional neutrality on controversial social and political issues. That makes sense.

Yet institutional neutrality does not mean they need to be silent “on the issues of the day when they are relevant to the core mission of our institutions,” to quote Wesleyan University president Michael S. Roth. And, as Sonnenfeld notes, even the University of Chicago’s justly famous 1967 Kalven report, which first urged institutional neutrality, “actually encouraged institutional voice to address situations which ‘threaten the very mission of the university and its values of free inquiry.’”

Do attacks on diversity, on international students and faculty, and on the rule of law and democracy itself “threaten the very mission of the university”? If they don’t, I do not know what would.

As Wesleyan’s Roth reminds his colleagues, “College presidents are not just neutral bureaucrats or referees among competing protesters, faculty and donors.” Roth urges them to speak out.

But, so far, few others have done so, preferring to keep a low profile.

The silence of college leaders is matched by the absence of student protests on most of their campuses. Recall that in 2016, when President Trump was first elected, “On many campuses, protests exploded late into election night and lasted several days.”

Nothing like that is occurring now, even as the Trump administration is carrying out mass deportations, threatening people who protest on college campuses, attacking DEI, calling for ethnic cleansing in Gaza, ending life-saving foreign aid programs and trampling the norms of constitutional democracy.

Mass protests on campuses can be traced back to 1936, when, as Patricia Smith explains, “college students from coast to coast refused to attend classes to express their opposition to the rise of fascism in Europe and to advocate against the U.S. involvement in foreign wars.”

They were followed by the University of California at Berkeley’s free speech movement in the 1960s and protests against the Vietnam War, including those that occurred after fatal shootings of student protesters at Kent State University by the Ohio National Guard. There were anti-apartheid protests in the 1980s, and, more recently, students across the country organized protests against police brutality and racism after George Floyd’s death and against Israel’s military actions in Gaza in response to Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, attack.

Though there have been small protests on a few college campuses, nothing like what occurred in response to those events has transpired in 2025.

Students may have learned a bitter lesson from the crackdowns on protesters engaged in pro-Palestinian activism. And many of them are deeply disillusioned with our democratic institutions. They care more about social justice than preserving democracy and the rule of law.

Students may not be following events in the nation’s capital or grasping the significance of those events and what they mean for them and their futures.

It is the job of those of us who teach at colleges and universities to help them see what is happening. This is no time for business as usual. Our students need to understand why democracy matters and how their lives and the lives of their families will be changed if American democracy dies.

Ultimately, we should remember that the costs of silence may be as great as the costs of speaking out.

M. Gessen gets it right when they say, “A couple of weeks into Trump’s second term, it can feel as if we are already living in an irreversibly changed country.” Perhaps we are, but Gessen warns that there is worse to come: “Once an autocracy gains power, it will come for many of the people who quite rationally tried to safeguard themselves.”

Gessen asks us to remember that “The autocracies of the 20th century relied on mass terror. Those of the 21st often don’t need to; their subjects comply willingly.”

At present, college and university presidents, students and faculty must care about more than protecting ourselves and our institutions. We must speak out and bear witness to what Gessen describes and warn our fellow citizens against compliance.

This will not be easy at a time when higher education has lost some luster in the public’s eyes. But we have no choice. We have to try.

Austin Sarat is the William Nelson Cromwell Professor of Jurisprudence and Political Science at Amherst College.

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February 17, 2025
Advice on cultivating an interdisciplinary mindset (opinion)
Graduate students often begin their programs immediately after earning an undergraduate degree. Your excitement over a field—whether it was kindled by reading great books, paying attention to current events, the charisma of inspiring faculty members or attraction to the ideas presented in a course—gets you started on a career track that leads through graduate school. It may therefore feel a little late to start thinking about what you would like to do with your life midway through your graduate program. But in fact, it is an excellent time.

People are attracted to research for many reasons, including a fascination with problem-solving, puzzles and ideas; a desire to change the future of some problem impacting the human condition; interest in creating and running a research team; or simply an attraction to Sciencia gratia scientiae—knowledge for knowledge’s sake.

As a Ph.D. student, your research may be focused on the discovery of new principles, or you may focus on the application of existing ideas to solve practical problems. For example, you might focus on influencing policy around polyfactorial problems like poverty or climate impact, designing and testing public health interventions, or defining and implementing best practices in a given field or occupation.

As you move through graduate school, the real-world problems you are most enthusiastic about may begin to feel out of reach. Research that focuses your thinking on application of existing knowledge to bigger-picture problems may leave you disappointed that you are not out on the frontiers, developing new knowledge. At the same time, your peers who have committed to studying the tiny details of an aspect of a problem may wish they could have more of a personal stake in solving its macroscopic elements, making human lives better and influencing policy makers’ decisions.

Free Your Mind

All this raises an intriguing question: How do you build yourself into a scholar who understands a problem at many levels, from atomic to planetary, from femtosecond to geological time scales? Is it even possible—or seemly—for a graduate student to try? Of course it is! You do not have to do every type of work that touches your interests, but it is rewarding to learn about how others are thinking about the things you think about.

To understand this, try this exercise with your own work. What do we not know about your problem of interest? It does not matter if you work on malaria, Jane Austen or the root causes of poverty. The question works no matter where your interests lie. If you start jotting down answers to that question, you should be able to fill a page with unknowns in less time than it takes you to read this week’s “Carpe Careers” in Inside Higher Ed.

Stow your list away for a while, for any duration from lunchtime to a month. Later, take it out and reconsider it. Make a page with three sections and separate the mysteries into:
- Things that you don’t know but believe you can reason your way to a useful hypothesis about;
- Things that you don’t know, but that are probably in your field’s literature;
- Things that you don’t know and suspect nobody knows.
All three of these are interesting lists. You should keep the first one close to you so that you can think about it often. Treat this list like a game. When you would otherwise be playing with your phone, pull out an interesting question and spend a few minutes thinking about how you might solve it, whether with an elegant experiment, brute force or clever analogy. It does not matter much whether you actually pursue any of the ideas that come from list one. Finding ways to solve problems is a core part of your graduate training. Building confidence that many different problems are within your scholarly grasp is invaluable.

Take your second list to the library or a quiet corner and poke at your field’s literature, and then at the broader literature to see what other people have done. Be expansive as you look. If you work on, say, how vibrio bacteria sense the environment, you already keep up with the cholera literature. But what can you learn about how climate impacts the vibrios by looking for cholera in literature? How many novels have cholera as a plot element? When were they written and who was their audience? What does that literature tell you about who was affected by the disease, and where, and when, and why? What does history tell you about the times the books were written and the times that they portray? What was plumbing like in those times and places, or public sanitation? Do you have enough coffee to think deeper about your interests? Do you have enough time? It is well worth the effort, and helps you get to the fun part: list three.

Enter the Matrix

You do not have to be an expert in everything connected to your work. You can gain immeasurably more by becoming part of the vast interconnected thinking that surrounds us all. “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together,” says the poorly sourced refrigerator magnet quote. To develop traveling companions, develop connections with people who, like you, have interests connected to what you study.

Promoting interdisciplinary research is important to those who take on complex problems ranging from climate change to human psychology. The logistics of stimulating interdisciplinary research are tough because different fields use different languages to describe problems that they may have in common. Those who think about connected ideas are often not only in different disciplines but in different places, whether that means in different colleges, schools and centers within a university or in different types of institutions beyond academe. Try to count the fields that are interested in poverty, from anthropology to architecture. Think of where people practice those fields: in universities, governments, civil society, international organizations, religious groups and more.

As a graduate student, you may not have time to find all those whose insights might be valuable to you. But interdisciplinarity is increasingly important to academic institutions. Yours likely has a number of interdisciplinary centers. Find a list of them and take an afternoon to look them up. If there are several centers near you, it is likely that at least one crosses into your area of interest. Sign up for their Listserv and go to their seminars. Put the limits of your field and your position aside. You are not just a grad student or just a relatively new scholar in your discipline. You are a big thinker interested in big problems. Go forward as an equal and make some new connections. It might change your scholarly life.

Victoria McGovern is the chief strategy officer of the Burroughs Wellcome Fund, a nonprofit funder with a mission to nurture a diverse group of leaders in biomedical sciences to improve human health through education and research. Victoria is a member of the Graduate Career Consortium, an organization providing an international voice for graduate-level career and professional development leaders.
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February 17, 2025
An opportunity to reframe the DEI debate (opinion)

The U.S. Department of Education’s Office for Civil Rights issued a Dear Colleague letter on Friday that instructs college leaders to eliminate any campus activities that directly or indirectly treat students differentially on the basis of race. Others will rightly push back on the logic of the department’s stated justifications, the absurdity of its timing and the accuracy of its examples, but I want to suggest that campus leaders can also take this as an opportunity to enact real change on behalf of all students.

This is a moment for campus leaders to reframe the terms of the current debate over the legitimacy of special diversity, equity and inclusion programs by doing the long-needed work of truly decentering whiteness as the normative identity and experience within so many campus curricula and co-curricular programs.

If we are to truly serve our students regardless of race, and if—as the department’s letter states—we have to put an end to even the subtle ways racial preferences and privileges are attached to seemingly race-blind policies, then watch out. Most campuses have a lot of work to do, and much of it is not going to be to the liking of those who believe that it is DEI programs that make an otherwise level playing field an unfair one.

What the Dear Colleague letter fails to mention is that the proliferation of DEI activities on campuses came about as a more or less conservative compromise position as the population grew more diverse and as students demanded greater access. In treating Black and other minoritized students as “special,” such programs meet the needs of these students in supplementary ways rather than by ensuring that the core curriculum and student life experience are equally useful, meaningful and available to all. If the department insists that we put an end to all DEI programming, then it will also have to support efforts to ensure that whiteness is not smuggled in as the norm or standard.

Early in my teaching career, I saw the ways that DEI programs could be used to reinforce white centrality rather than challenge it. Student demands for a more representative and accurate curriculum were met with resistance by senior faculty uninterested in expanding their own spheres of knowledge. Special courses in “women’s history” or “Black studies” became the compromise position. Rather than revising the canon to reflect the needs of a curious student body, rather than incorporating new scholarship into the university’s core, rather than interrogating the biases and histories of the curriculum, new courses and departments were created while the original ones were left intact. This détente (you teach yours and I teach mine) became the model.

Many of the special programs that the Dear Colleague letter seems to have in mind follow this pattern. They keep in place a curriculum and campus culture firmly centered around the interests and perspectives of white students while offering alternatives on the side. If compromise via DEI activities is no longer an option, then a better solution will have to be found. The diversity of the student body is a fact that will still require a reckoning. Decades of scholarship reveal the many ways whiteness is encoded in supposedly neutral policies and programs, and this will not be magically erased. For many colleges, achieving a campus where white students are not unintentionally given extra opportunities based on their race will require radical change.

My guess is that the department knows this on some level. Otherwise, why is race rather than sex or religion targeted? A sex-neutral campus would have to do away with single-sex housing and sex-segregated sororities and fraternities. A religiously neutral campus could no longer privilege Christian holidays or values.

We should absolutely fight against the many overt inaccuracies of the Dear Colleague letter. And we should fight against both overt and covert expressions of racism and white supremacy. But we need not fight on behalf of compromise solutions to the very real problems that inspired our current DEI campus environment. Instead, we can use this unexpected opportunity to pick up where we left off and ensure that every program, every aspect of the curriculum, every student service is designed with the needs of our very diverse student body in mind. We can stop treating the experiences and needs of white students as the default or the neutral.

What would our institutions look like if normative whiteness were no longer at the center and the need for many of the special DEI alternatives were made moot? Let’s find out.

Marjorie Hass is president of the Council of Independent Colleges.

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February 17, 2025
AI frees us to teach citation styles differently (opinion)

Receiving 15 student inquiries about citations in two weeks drives me to despair.

The technicalities of citation style have emerged for students as a prime concern: Students require reassurance and instruction on where to put a period or a quotation mark, how to cite a quote within an interview within a book, or the amount of margin space appropriate for a heading.

I do not blame them for their concern. I do blame the way we teach style guides, whether MLA or APA or Turabian or otherwise: as a collection of at-times maddeningly opaque rules that, to students, seem solely designed to satisfy the whims of the academy.

But we don’t have to continue in this manner. AI can provide not only a way out, but also an opportunity to reconceptualize the way we teach citation style more generally.

Defined by the Modern Language Association as “a set of standards for writing and documentation used by writers to find and evaluate information,” style guides promise consistency and structure, a coherent orientation to research. Yet as a general rule, students experience style as a practice of bewildering inconsistency.

Consider in-text citations in MLA and American Psychological Association style. MLA citations follow an author-page format; APA follows author-date. Reference pages, headers and even title pages require different formatting between style systems. And even within a single style guide, new editions introduce iterative changes over time.

For students switching citation styles between courses or even trying to remain within one style system, keeping track of the mechanics can prove frustrating. In the introduction to the APA seventh edition in 2019, students were encouraged to contact their institution or professor about which version of the style guide to use, with dual use of the sixth and seventh editions in place from 2019 through 2021. Students using RefWorks to create a bibliography can currently choose from among 15 bewildering versions of APA style and 10 for MLA—almost assuredly without fully understanding the iterative differences between each.

Little wonder that the Purdue Online Writing Lab—that bastion of style sanity both for the beleaguered professoriate and overwhelmed students—remains one of the most-used educational sites in the world, with its citation style pages receiving the most visits. And yet in spite of this resource and a slew of others, including websites like Citation Machine that promise easy style formatting, students continue to struggle.

In this milieu, style guides can begin to seem a bit silly. Inconsequential, even: an exercise in mechanics and parentheticals, or a game in which scholarship, as Aimée Morrison writes in Composition Studies, becomes perceived as nothing more valuable than “an error-free response to a prompt.”

This is dangerous thinking.

Academic integrity matters. Entering the scholarly conversation and attributing work properly matters. Style serves as more than a mechanical exercise. At its best, style facilitates a way of thinking and being in scholarship, supporting scholars to orient themselves within the broader academy.

In a long-ago literature class that I taught at Ohio University, one of my students asked a question that has remained with me ever since: “What even is the MLA?”

Having paid my substantive dues, both literal and figurative, to that organization for the bulk of my professional career, it never occurred to me that students might not know. But the majority of them were astonished to realize the MLA and the APA were actual organizations made of real human beings, with missions and philosophies informing the style rules that governed their essays.

This revelation transformed the students’ relationship to citation style. They stopped focusing on the mechanical trivia and instead peppered me with questions, including one that opened up a week’s worth of class discussions: Why does APA focus on year of research while MLA focuses on author?

That wasn’t the only inquiry. They wanted to know why Chicago used so many footnotes, how citation styles impacted readability, why MLA doesn’t require a title page and what these styles expressed about expectations in their field.

In short: Everyone makes us cite our work, but on what principles do these expectations operate?

The resulting discussions established an unexpected understanding among my students of how citation style should function and how all those seemingly random mechanics of various style systems actually emerge from deep, intentional thinking about research and the scholarly record. The practice of viewing citation style as a matter of scholarly identity and orientation, rather than as a series of mythological labors in the name of Real Scholarship, made a critical difference to their approach.

I was pleased to see that my undergraduate students emerged from that term with far better papers. They cited their research well and with enthusiasm; they evaluated and integrated sources with mastery; their postpaper reflections evidenced a scholarly joy that I see all too rarely in the classroom. I had the sense that, for the first time, many of them understood why they were doing what they were doing.

Yes, I still had to correct the periods in their parentheticals and the lack of italics in bibliographies at the end of the term. But that experience led me to realize that mechanics aren’t the critical aspects of style that students need to understand—and that AI can serve as a great remedy for these errors.

If citation style is about more than arbitrary mechanics, if it is about more than jumping through grammatical and technical hoops to prove mastery, then allowing AI to pinch-hit frees students to shift their focus from granular details to the intricacies of evaluating sources, thinking through if and how to cite a work, and embedding their own research and voice in a broader scholarly tradition.

Indeed, students already rely on websites and applications to mechanically format their bibliographic citations. An AI editor can surely serve as a similar supplement to adjust minor mechanics where needed: a period here, a missing parenthesis there, the addition or deletion of italics, indentations.

This neither releases students from the burden of expertise nor opens a Pandora’s box of AI use. Gating AI use in this way emphasizes the value of the writing and revising process, as well as offering students the opportunity to engage AI as thoughtful scholars. As a benefit, students learn in a low-stakes way to engage AI thoughtfully, a critical skill in the workforce.

Most importantly, students and professors with this safety net can breathe a little easier. Freed from the panic of formatting citations, students can focus on the issues that matter the most and polish a final project to a high standard. Revision transforms, too, from “a checklist of corrections that must be taken in” to useful, in-depth prompts that promote writing craft and deep inquiry. And faculty can offer high-quality feedback on content, tone and the scholarly approach rather than spend hours correcting the fine details of a bibliography.

At their best, style guides serve as a reflection of scholarly value. To write in APA style, MLA or Chicago, or even the dreaded “house style” used by some journals or publications, makes a statement about what a discipline or a publication prioritizes: what they deem worthy of inclusion or neglect, what constitutes readability and what matters to the academic record.

To focus only on minutiae runs the risk of dismissing those rich and complex concepts. Better by far to invite students into this academic conversation, elaborating on the distinctions and philosophies of practice inherent in the way we cite literature, than to represent citation style as an arbitrary practice of rote and meaningless work. AI can expedite this process and facilitate this work in a way that is of great value both to students and to faculty.

So please, bookmark the Purdue Owl website. Dog-ear the relevant pages in the necessary handbook or style guide of choice. Feel free to inculcate a style pet peeve, or to long for the earlier style guide edition now lost to time. But if institutional approach permits, take advantage of the relative freedom that AI can offer to break away from the granular focus on details to a broader and more integrated view of how and why citation style matters—even, and especially, when we can’t remember where the period goes.

Brandy Bagar-Fraley is program chair for the master of science in advanced professional studies program and doctoral lead faculty at Franklin University, where she oversees doctoral writing courses. She serves as a member of the Modern Language Association’s Committee on Contingent Labor in the Profession, and her current research seeks to integrate student perceptions of generative AI into AI-focused pedagogy and departmental approaches.

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February 14, 2025