Tag: opinion

  • Three things to know about AI and the future of work (opinion)

    Three things to know about AI and the future of work (opinion)

    Since the public release of ChatGPT in late 2022, artificial intelligence has rocketed from relative obscurity to near ubiquity. The rate of adoption for generative AI tools has outpaced that of personal computers and the internet. There is widespread optimism that, on one hand, AI will generate economic growth, spur innovation and elevate the role of quintessential “human work.” On the other hand, there’s palpable anxiety that AI will disrupt the economy through workforce automation and exacerbate pre-existing inequities.

    History shows that education and training are key factors for weathering economic volatility. Yet, it is not entirely clear how postsecondary education providers can equip learners with the resources they need to thrive in an increasingly AI-driven workforce.

    Here at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville’s Education Research and Opportunity Center, we are leading a three-year study in partnership with the Tennessee Board of Regents, Advance CTE and the Association for Career and Technical Education to explore this very subject. So far, we have interviewed more than 20 experts in AI, labor economics, career and technical education (CTE), and workforce development. Here are three things you should know.

    1. Generative AI is the present, not the future.

    First, AI is not new. ChatGPT continues to captivate attention because of its striking ability to reason, write and speak like a human. Yet, the science of developing machines and systems to mimic human functions has existed for decades. Many people are hearing about machine learning for the first time, but it has powered their Netflix recommendations for years. That said, generative AI does represent a leap forward—a big one. Simple machine learning cannot compose a concerto, write and debug computer code, or generate a grocery list for your family. Generative AI can do all of these things and infinitely more. It certainly feels futuristic, but it is not; AI is the present. And the generative AI of the present is not the AI of tomorrow.

    Our interviews with experts have made clear that no one knows where AI will be in 15, 10 or even five years, but the consensus predicts the pace of change will be dramatic. How can students, education providers and employers keep up?

    First, we cannot get hung up on specific tools, applications or use cases. The solution is not simply to incorporate ChatGPT in the classroom, though this is a fine starting point. We are in a speeding vehicle; our focus out the window needs to be on the surrounding landscape, not the passing objects. We need education policies that promote organizational efficiency, incentivize innovation and strengthen public-private partnerships. We need educational leadership focused on the processes, infrastructure and resources required to rapidly deploy technologies, break down disciplinary silos and guarantee learner safeguards. We need systemic and sustained professional development and training for incumbent faculty, and we need to reimagine how we prepare and hire new faculty. In short, we need to focus on building more agile, more adaptable, less siloed and less reactive institutions and classrooms because generative AI as we know it is not the future; AI is a harbinger of what is to come.

    1. Focus on skills, not jobs.

    It is exceedingly difficult to predict which individual occupations will be impacted—positively or negatively—by AI. We simply cannot know for certain whether surgeons or meat slaughterers are at greatest risk of AI-driven automation. Not only is it guesswork, but it is also flawed thinking, rooted in a misunderstanding of how technology impacts work. Tasks constitute jobs, jobs constitute occupations and occupations constitute industries. Lessons from prior technological innovations tell us that technologies act on tasks directly, and occupations only indirectly. If, for example, the human skill required to complete a number of job-related tasks can be substituted by smart machines, the skill composition of the occupation will change. An entire occupation can be eliminated if a sufficiently high share of the skills can be automated by machines. That said, it is equally true (and likely) that new technologies can shift the skill composition of an occupation in a way that actually enhances the demand for human workers. Shifts in demands for skills within the labor market can even generate entirely new jobs. The point is that the traditional approach to thinking of education in terms of majors, courses and degrees does learners a disservice.

    By contrast, our focus needs to be on the skills learners acquire, regardless of discipline or degree pathway. A predictable response to the rise of AI is to funnel more learners into STEM and other supposed AI-ready majors. But our conversations, along with existing research, suggest learners can benefit equally from majoring in liberal studies or art history so long as they are equipped with in-demand skills that cannot (yet) be substituted by smart machines.

    We can no longer allow disciplines to “own” certain skills. Every student, across every area of study, must be equipped with both technical and transferable skills. Technical skills allow learners to perform occupation-specific tasks. Transferable skills—such as critical thinking, adaptability and creativity—transcend occupations and technologies and position learners for the “work of the future.” To nurture this transition, we need innovative approaches to packaging and delivering education and training. Institutional leaders can help by equipping faculty with professional development resources and incentives to break out of disciplinary silos. We also need to reconsider current approaches to institutional- and course-level assessment. Accreditors can help by pushing institutions to think beyond traditional metrics of institutional effectiveness.

    1. AI itself is a skill, and one you need to have.

    From our conversations with experts, one realization is apparent: There are few corners of the workforce that will be left untouched by AI. Sure, AI is not (yet) able to unclog a drain, take wedding photos, install or repair jet engines, trim trees, or create a nurturing kindergarten classroom environment. But AI will, if it has not already, change the ways in which these jobs are performed. For example, AI-powered software can analyze plumbing system data to predict problems, such as water leaks, before they happen. AI tools can similarly analyze aircraft systems, sensors and maintenance records to predict aircraft maintenance needs before they become hazardous, minimizing aircraft downtime. There is a viable AI use case for every industry now. The key factor for thriving in the AI economy is, therefore, the ability to use AI effectively and critically regardless of one’s occupation or industry.

    AI is good, but it is not yet perfect. Jobs still require human oversight. Discerning the quality of sources or synthesizing contradictory viewpoints to make meaningful judgments remain uniquely human skills that cut across all occupations and industries. To thrive in the present and future of work, we must embrace and nurture this skill set while effectively collaborating with AI technology. This effective collaboration itself is a skill.

    To usher in this paradigm shift, we need federal- and state-level policymakers to prioritize AI user privacy and safety so tools can be trusted and deployed rapidly to classrooms across the country. It is also imperative that we make a generational investment in applied research in human-AI interaction so we can identify and scale best practices. In the classroom, students need comprehensive exposure to and experience with AI at the beginnings and ends of their programs. It is a valuable skill to work well with others, and in a modern era, it is equally necessary to work well with machines. Paraphrasing Jensen Huang, the CEO of Nvidia: Students are not going to lose their jobs to AI; they will lose their jobs to someone who uses AI.

    Cameron Sublett is associate professor and director of the Education Research and Opportunity Center at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. Lauren Mason is a senior research associate within the Education Research and Opportunity Center.

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  • A call for more transparent college pricing (opinion)

    A call for more transparent college pricing (opinion)

    Despite frequent media reports about the high cost of college, many students pay much less than the eye-catching sticker price. Students enrolled at four-year institutions living away from their parents face the highest sticker prices. But only around a quarter or fewer of those enrolled at public institutions (for state residents) or private nonprofit four-year institutions pay that sticker price. The remainder receive financial aid. Even most high-income students receive merit-based aid. How are they supposed to know how much they will have to pay?

    Here is how colleges and universities could help. They can provide students with tools that lead them through a financial aid “information funnel.” Provide limited financial details (just family income?) and get an instant ballpark estimate at the top of the funnel. Provide a few more details, get a better, but still ballpark estimate. Keep going until you get an actual price. Extreme simplicity at the beginning of the process facilitates entry; the funnel should have a wide mouth. If the result is below sticker price, it can promote further investigation. Along the way, positive reinforcement through favorable results (if they occur) supports students continuing through the funnel.

    Courtesy of Phillip Levine

    This approach represents a significant advance over past practices, as I detail in a report newly released by the Aspen Economic Strategy Group (AESG). Historically, colleges provided no preliminary estimates. Students filed their financial aid forms (FAFSA and perhaps CSS Profile), applied to a college, and received their admissions decision and financial aid offer (if admitted) at the same time. Who knows how many students didn’t bother to apply because they believed they couldn’t afford it?

    This began to change in 2008. The Higher Education Act was amended at that time to require institutions to provide “net price calculators” by 2011 that were intended to provide early cost estimates. Unfortunately, the well-intended policy hasn’t been very effective because these tools often are not user-friendly. They may represent a useful step higher up the funnel relative to the ultimate financial aid offer, but they remain toward its bottom.

    Other steps have been taken along the way attempting to provide greater pricing information to prospective students. The government launched new webpages (the College Navigator and the College Scorecard), which provide college-specific details regarding the average “net price” (the amount students pay after factoring in financial aid). But the average net price mainly helps students with average finances determine their net price. Besides, using the median rather than the average would lessen the impact of outliers. It’s a much better statistic to capture the amount a typical student would pay in this context. Additional data on net prices within certain income bands are also available, but they still suffer from the biases introduced by using the average net price as well. What students really want and need is an accurate estimate of what college will cost them.

    The most recent advance in college price transparency is the creation of the College Cost Transparency Initiative. This effort represents the response of hundreds of participating institutions to a Government Accountability Office report detailing the inconsistency and lack of clarity in financial aid offer letters. To participate, institutions agreed to certain principles and standards in the offer letters they transmit. It is an improvement relative to past practice, but it also is a bottom-of-the-funnel improvement. It does not provide greater price transparency to prospective students prior to submitting an application.

    Institutions have also engaged in other marketing activities designed to facilitate communication of affordability messaging. Some institutions have begun to provide offers of free tuition to students with incomes below some threshold. The success of the Hail Scholarship (now repackaged as the Go Blue Guarantee) at the University of Michigan supports such an approach. Many of these offers, though, do not cover living expenses, which is a particular problem for students living away from their parents. In those instances, such offers may be more misleading than illuminating.

    In 2017, I founded MyinTuition Corp. as a nonprofit entity designed to provide pricing information higher up in the financial aid information funnel. Its original tool, now used by dozens of mainly highly endowed private institutions, requires users to provide basic financial inputs and receive a ballpark price estimate. More recently, MyinTuition introduced an instant net price estimator, which is currently operational at Washington University in St. Louis, based solely on family income. Given the limited financial details provided, those estimates include some imprecision; the tool also provides a range of estimates within which the actual price is likely to fall. These tools are an easy entry point into the process, which is what the top of the funnel is designed to accomplish. More such efforts are necessary.

    If we could do a better job communicating the availability of financial aid, it would also contribute to better-informed public discussions about college pricing and access. One recent survey found that only 19 percent of adults correctly recognized that lower-income students pay less to attend college than higher-income students. It is a legitimate question to ask whether the price those students pay is low enough. But we cannot even start the discussion with such limited public understanding of how much students across the income distribution pay now. Any step that colleges and universities can take to facilitate that understanding would be helpful. Improving the transparency in their own pricing certainly would be an important step they can take.

    Phillip Levine is the Katharine Coman and A. Barton Hepburn Professor of Economics at Wellesley College and the founder and CEO of MyinTuition Corp.

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  • The big chill for academic medical centers (opinion)

    The big chill for academic medical centers (opinion)

    Recent executive actions by President Trump, most notably a blanket freeze of federal grants and loans, sent chills through higher education. Even though the full funding stoppage was quickly rescinded and subjected to legal challenges, universities probably will continue to face partial pauses on federal funding, as well as questions over the impact of other recent executive actions, like ones aimed at DEI.

    While consequential for all of higher education, pending and potential moves by the Trump administration that implicate funding could especially affect what has become an increasingly dominant aspect of multiple universities in terms of budgets and focus—academic medical centers (AMCs). AMCs are major funding recipients from the National Institutes of Health, the National Science Foundation and other federal agencies. AMCs and their health enterprises also are deeply connected to patient care programs like Medicare and Medicaid.

    For some higher education institutions, AMCs have come to play a central role in campus life and identity, especially as more AMCs have expanded to become full-fledged health systems. While some raise concerns and others celebrate this trend, the fact remains that some research universities are increasingly shaped by their AMCs. Using our own institution, the University of Kentucky, as one example, its health-care enterprises now account for around $5 billion of an $8.4 billion budget.

    Media outlets covered the “confusion and chaos” that beset university presidents, medical center vice presidents, deans and researchers after the initial federal funding freeze. Now that the freeze has been temporarily rescinded, leaders of academic medical centers should move beyond confusion and chaos to focus on public presentations that emphasize their competence, compliance and cooperation with federal reviews. Now is an opportune time to pick up on President Trump’s recent emphasis on “merit” as the key to gaining federal support. University academic medical centers are well positioned to demonstrate and document their case.

    To showcase “merit,” for example, a university academic medical center could cite ratings and commentaries about its successful NIH grant proposals, illustrating the talent and competitive advantages of its principal investigators and research teams. And they should emphasize that the NIH-funded research projects are not isolated: They are inseparable from a cooperative network within university health centers and hospitals. Evaluating these complex applied research alliances helps answer external questions about efficiency, effectiveness and significance of projects. The same kinds of questions are continually monitored in analysis of existing and new university degree programs for the education of medical doctors, nurses, physician assistants, pharmacists, medical technicians and health-care administrators. In addition to evaluating the training and preparation of researchers and health-care practitioners, an AMC pays systematic attention to accountability and responsibility for patient care and treatment as part of its daily and annual operations. These stories need to be told.

    There are other sources that can be used to document AMC merit and performance. One can look at accreditation reports, specialized degree program reviews and financial balance sheets for the mosaic of health services and programs that are housed under the umbrella of an academic medical center. Institutional data can show that an academic medical center that aligns colleges of medicine and health care with such disciplines as biochemistry, physiology, bioengineering and statistics has evolved into a dynamic institution in which practice and advanced research are intertwined with providing professional services within a community.

    A few summary statistics indicate this presence. The top 20 university AMCs each brought in more than $400 million in NIH research grants in fiscal year 2023. Within this group, Johns Hopkins University is first, with $843 million, followed by the University of California, San Francisco, with $789 million, and in third place, the University of Pennsylvania with $703 million. These are the peak of a cluster of 220 university medical centers in which academic programs such as the college of medicine partner with university medical foundations.

    The fusion represents a new academic model in which the medical and health programs typically constitute about 60 percent or more of the total university budget. At universities with this structure, the AMC typically is home to a majority of the university faculty positions and student enrollments. The AMC also becomes a major economic force and employer in metropolitan areas and regional communities.

    The academic health and medical complexes are economic engines. They often are the largest employer in the metropolitan area or even in the state, such as is the case for the University of Alabama at Birmingham and its health system. Universities in this category are the major provider of health services to large constituencies of patients. This academic health organization includes partnerships with Medicare, Medicaid and private insurance companies. Federal grants for research and service to the university often stimulate state financial support in terms of program grants and capital funding from state legislatures and governors and major gifts from foundations and private donors.

    The message for “merit” is that these universities represent a new type of American organization—what might be termed the academic health business model. An abundance of quantitative and qualitative data makes external evaluation and detailed analysis of accountability possible. Sound policy evaluation from several constituencies—the executive branch, Congress, federal and state agencies, university leaders, and patient advocacy groups—calls for thoughtful, informed analysis to review and perhaps renew what has evolved as a distinctive academic enterprise.

    A lively dialogue about the promises and benefits of AMCs that includes consideration of recent executive actions and potential future decisions, such as funding levels for Medicaid, is timely. The events of the last two weeks provide a much-needed moment for academic constituencies to reflect on what the expansion of AMCs means for individual research universities and higher education broadly in the future. If a funding freeze causes a chill for AMCs and their health enterprises, does the rest of the campus catch a cold, or even worse?

    Recent presidential actions from Washington, D.C., have highlighted how much the budgets and identities of some research universities are more and more defined by their AMCs. In addition to helping AMCs continue to sustain and enhance their vital missions, all higher education groups need to contemplate the implications for universities whose mission and purposes are increasingly characterized and shaped by their academic medical centers.

    John R. Thelin is University Research Professor Emeritus at the University of Kentucky. He is the author of several books on the history of higher education.

    Neal H. Hutchens is a professor in the Department of Educational Policy Studies and Evaluation at the University of Kentucky. His research focuses on the intersection of higher education law, policy and practice.

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  • The left should reclaim free speech mantle (opinion)

    The left should reclaim free speech mantle (opinion)

    If progressive or even not-so-progressive Jewish students invited comedian Sacha Baron Cohen to their university to perform his riotous parody “In My Country There Is Problem,” with its call-and-pogrom chorus “throw the Jew down the well / so my country can be free,” would Cohen be allowed on campus? If the song were indeed sung, and a few humorless, unthinking listeners were distressed by the lyrics, or at least claimed to be, would the Jewish students face discrimination and harassment charges under the university’s disciplinary code?

    Today, probably. Would they be found responsible for discrimination and harassment based on national origin? Again, probably. And what if a student band wished to parody the parody with a song titled something like, “Throw Chris Rufo Down the Well So My University Can Be Free”? Could the song be sung against the backdrop of students’ sensitivities and the reciprocated rage of today’s young conservative white men?

    In her recently published opinion essay for Inside Higher Ed, Joan W. Scott skewered the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression and its vice president for campus advocacy, Alex Morey, for condemning the American Association of University Professors. Scott’s criticism of Morey’s criticism goes like this: Morey lambasted AAUP president Todd Wolfson’s expression of “disappointment” over Donald Trump’s re-election, arguing that Wolfson’s explicit partisanship betrays the AAUP’s purported commitment to academic freedom. Scott countered that FIRE is a libertarian wolf donning academic freedom drag. FIRE, explains Scott, is “dedicated to the absolutist principle of individual free speech,” a principle that is “not,” Scott italicizes, synonymous with academic freedom. In turn, Scott elaborates on academic freedom as “individual and collective rights of faculty as they pursue the mission of higher education in a democracy.”

    We agree with Scott that FIRE—with its many right-wing funding sources as Scott lists them—is unlikely to have our backs if and when the federal government comes to shut down diversity, equity and inclusion programs and cultural studies departments on campus (i.e., queer and Black studies). We respect, too, that Scott knows more about the history and purpose of academic freedom than we do.

    And yet, we worry that the line she draws between free speech and academic freedom—the former ideological and libertarian, the latter true and good—cedes too much. Indeed, her distinction hands “free speech” over to the conservative groups championing their anti-educational causes under its banner, and her dismissal of free speech defenses as apologia for racism lets stand, unnuanced, the left-originating but now right-appropriated proposition that combative, controversial speech is necessarily harmful in an egalitarian university environment. It is the quick conversion of (at times highly provocative) political speech into hate speech that allows “from the river to the sea” to be branded as categorically harassing antisemitism—a conversion that would so quickly ban Jews from sending up antisemitism (“throw the Jew down the well”), ban musicians from joking about drowning Rufo or prohibit, for that matter, marginalized groups from reappropriating slurs to divest them of their injurious force.

    In short, we think there is still good reason—several good reasons—for the academic left to defend speech, both as elemental to academic freedom and as a democratic value unto itself.

    We and nearly every colleague we know have stories of students hastily claiming talk—talk of sex, Israel, Palestine and criticism of affirmative action—as intimidating, harassing or discriminating. It seems to us that a robust defense of academic freedom must include healthy skepticism, but not outright cynicism, of the proposition that words injure. Skepticism, not cynicism, because words may hurt people, further subordinate marginalized groups and erode democratic ideals. David Beaver’s and Jason Stanley’s recently published The Politics of Language draws on critical race and feminist theory to show how some speech acts—affective, nondeliberative and/or racist dog whistles—function to polarize and degrade.

    But we also know, especially in the wake of spurious discrimination claims against campus activists and academics protesting Israel’s military campaigns, that conservative stakeholders are weaponizing the idea of words as weapons, alleging atmospheres of harassment to chill political speech—a project, we must concede, that the left paved the way for.

    Indeed, around 2013, as trigger warnings gained traction on college campuses, the right repackaged “free speech” as the inalienable freedom of anyone to speak on any topic without consequence, especially if that consequence is the loss of a platform. Instead of drawing on the left’s history of free speech advocacy, scholars of “identity knowledges” centered attention on the moral wrongness of offensive speech and the intolerability of feeling unsafe. This shift left progressives defending feelings rather than ideas, collapsing political discord with dehumanization—or, as Sarah Schulman argues, conflict with abuse. Now, with free speech reduced to melodrama, even the Christian right claims to protect its constituents against “harm”—whether from critical race theory or drag shows—rendering the issue a conceit of the culture wars.

    In his much-ridiculed op-ed for The New York Times published last year, linguist John McWhorter lamented that he and his students were unable to listen to John Cage’s silent “4:33” during class, as the silence would have been interrupted by the sound of student protests. The irony that McWhorter chided the protesters for impeding his students from appreciating Cage’s invitation to listen to “the surrounding noise” of the environs was not lost on McWhorter’s critics.

    What was not commented on, though, was McWhorter’s contention that if a group of students had been shouting “DEI has got to die” with the same fervor with which they were shouting for Palestine’s self-determination, then the protests “would have lasted roughly five minutes before masses of students shouted them down and drove them off the campus. Chants like that would have been condemned as a grave rupture of civilized exchange, heralded as threatening resegregation and branded as a form of violence.”

    Whether correct or not, McWhorter’s speculation is not baseless. We want to insist, though, that there are left, not just libertarian, grounds to defend, for example, a student protest against DEI initiatives. They include: respecting and celebrating the university as a space of open dialogue and debate; the possibility that you might learn something from someone with whom you disagree; the opportunity to lampoon, parody or otherwise countermand whatever worse-than-foolish statement the opposition is making; the opportunity, as John Stuart Mill taught us, to strengthen your own ideas and arguments alongside and against the ideas of others; and finally, avoiding the inevitable backlash of “the cancel,” whereby censored conservatives rebrand themselves as truth-telling victims of the “woke.”

    Granted, some of these grounds for defending speech tilt more liberal or libertarian than pure left, whatever that means, but we nonetheless maintain that it is self-defeating for us to carry the banner for “academic freedom” while consigning “free speech” to the province of white grievance. This is especially true for those of us teaching queer and critical sexuality studies, where classrooms and related spaces of activism and dialogue are increasingly circumscribed, the harm principle ever more unprincipled. Consider the case of Aneil Rallin, who in 2022 was accused by Soka University of America of teaching “triggering” sexual materials to his students in a course called Writing the Body, and whose case—while taken up by FIRE—was met with little alarm from the academic left.

    It also applies to those of us who still recognize satire, irony and social commentary in an age of breathtaking literalism. In 2011, the Dire Straits song “Money for Nothing” (1985) was temporarily banned from Canadian radio for its use of the f-slur, even though the term was intended as a commentary on working-class homophobia. The drive to censor and demonize without regard for social context has arguably gotten stronger in the years since.

    From the recent historical record, it seems to us that the enforcement of bureaucratic speech restrictions often damages campus culture and democratic norms more than the speech acts themselves. Indeed, the better question than is X speech act harmful is, to crib from Wendy Brown, when—if ever and at what costs—are speech restrictions the remedy for injury?

    Debating DEI programs, myths of meritocracy and so on is the stuff of academic freedom. A speech act like “DEI must die” is provocative, abrasive and worth publicly disparaging, but it is not the same as hate speech. Song parodies will not save us from the dark years ahead for public education, academic freedom and egalitarian pedagogies of all kinds. But our battle preparations demand standing up for, not surrendering, free speech.

    Joseph J. Fischel is an associate professor of women’s, gender and sexuality studies at Yale University.

    Kyler Chittick is a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of Political Science at the University of Alberta.

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  • As DEI is scapegoated, silence is complicity (opinion)

    As DEI is scapegoated, silence is complicity (opinion)

    President Trump has used diversity, equity and inclusion to explain failures in education, the economy and national security, so you might think we’d be inured to his strategies by now. When he blamed the tragic plane crash in Washington, D.C., on DEI, he reached a new nadir of callousness. The victims of the crash had not even been recovered and he was blaming DEI policies for “lower” standards. When pressed by reporters, he couldn’t even articulate the object of his complaint or any specifics related to last week’s crash. His instinct, though, reveals a deeper, more troubling current.

    By tacking immediately to DEI in the wake of a tragedy, he seeks to create an association in the minds of Americans: People of color are underqualified and incompetent. As a woman of color who earned a Ph.D. and is also the president of a university, I know these narratives are baseless. I know how many talented, innovative people of color there are in our country. I know that their leadership, research and intelligence have produced countless benefits to our society. I also know that we have spent the last century undoing the psychological and practical damage of systemic racism in our nation. We have spent precious capital in our country recreating equality of opportunity, and programs of diversity, equity and inclusion have been essential to this transformation.

    When a president of the United States has the audacity to pose DEI as a corruption tool he is combating, I cannot be silent. It is an affront to those who sacrificed in the multiple civil rights struggles of the 20th century and helped position our nation as a place with more equality of opportunity than ever in our history. Education has been a central part of that architecture.

    As a student of language and culture, I also know that when a president and his narrow-minded minions repeat a paradigm ad nauseam, people start to believe it. The forerunner of exclusion and violence across history has been gradual dehumanization. Let us not be complicit with our silence.

    DeRionne P. Pollard is president of Nevada State University. The views expressed here are her own and do not represent the views of Nevada State University or the Nevada System of Higher Education.

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  • What is the antidote to ‘wage theft’ in universities? – Opinion

    What is the antidote to ‘wage theft’ in universities? – Opinion

    Australia’s universities are some of the most prestigious and highly-ranked in the OECD. Yet the sector is arguably in crisis.

    It narrowly escaped a potentially devastating hit to the $47.8 billion in annual revenue generated by international education, with proposed international students caps only just scuppered in parliament’s last sitting fortnight of the year. 

    But it is again being rocked by headlines around “wage theft” and millions of dollars wasted on consulting fees by some of our biggest universities.

    A damning report by the National Tertiary Education Union has labelled this a “crisis of governance” constituting “reckless spending’’ by “the overpaid executive class”.

    Ouch.

    Yet Australia’s education system is strong by global standards, ranking third globally, and is home to several prestigious universities that consistently rank among the best in the world. 

    It is unlikely that a sector built on advancing human potential has solely reached this point by maliciously setting out to hurt its own backbone – its faculty.

    Rather, systemic problems often indicate structural sectoral flaws, and ineffective means to address them. And Australia’s university system is not immune by any means.

    A legacy issue of systemic complexity

    We cannot know with certainty if there are indeed some bad actors in this story. Possibly.

    But what is undeniably evident are the range of sectoral factors contributing to the sector’s longstanding history of poor record-keeping, including the challenges posed by its complex workforce structure.

    Payroll compliance in universities is highly complex due to the combination of intricate awards, unique enterprise agreements, and a history of poor record-keeping. 

    For instance, universities rely heavily on casual staff, working under often-opaque arrangements. Compensable tasks such as marking essays or tutorial attendance are governed by intricate rules or piece-rate agreements, complicating the tracking of hours and payment. 

    These layers of complexity create incomplete and inaccurate timesheet data, making it nearly impossible for a human to verify when employees worked and whether they were paid correctly.  

    And so the resulting payroll errors aren’t just mistakes – they represent a systemic failing with devastating consequences all round. 

    Underpaid employees face reduced morale, a loss of trust in their employers, and financial stress that often disproportionately affects the most vulnerable. Menwhile, the underpaying universities risk potentially enormous fines and suffer from deep reputational damage, as has been demonstrated recently.

    Worse still, is the fact that attempts at resolving these issues are also failing, because they represent nothing more than curative and labour-intensive bandaid “solutions”.

    For instance, many universities, after spending millions on consultants to recalculate and backpay impacted employees, have now shifted to hiring large internal teams to manage ongoing compliance efforts. 

    These teams are tasked with monitoring timesheet accuracy, tracking errors, and managing ongoing remediation efforts, seemingly indefinitely, as if fixing this problem should somehow just be “business as usual”.

    Yet treatments should never be “business as usual”, because this is to accept that the problem will never be resolved. 

    Instead, systemic problems like this one require systemic solutions that assume eliminating the problem is indeed possible. 

    Fixing the system, not the symptoms

    For this to occur, Australia’s tertiary education sector must urgently stop outdated and cumbersome legacy practices and instead embrace preventative long-term solutions that rebuild trust, and support fair and accurate pay for all employees.

    In practice, this would involve the adoption of advanced compliance tools and technologies that enable payroll teams to efficiently and accurately monitor payroll end-to-end. This allows teams to rapidly identify errors before, not after, a pay run, and drastically reduce the need for constant manual interventions.

    Introducing independent oversight by risk and compliance teams will also help to reduce the risk of a “marking your own homework” approach by human resources and payroll teams, bringing a fresh perspective to compliance checks.

    Regular training to keep payroll and compliance teams up to date on changes in legislation, award conditions, and enterprise agreements are also a must in industries like education where payroll practices are complex and dynamic.

    And, finally, all of these processes should be consistent across all schools and faculties to avoid disparities and confusion, and reduce errors caused by varying practices.

    Any university with the courage to break from centuries of backwards-looking remediation practices and instead embrace a forward-looking, technology-based approach would not only demonstrate bold and refreshing leadership. 

    It would also help to create enormous goodwill for a sector in desperate need of positive news and, critically, potentially save millions in the process.

    Fred van er Tang is chief executive of payroll compliance technology company PaidRight.

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  • College leaders in the foxhole (opinion)

    College leaders in the foxhole (opinion)

    The second Trump administration has begun with a cacophony of executive orders, memos from the Office of Management and Budget, and the disconcerting disappearance—and some reappearance—of research grants and programs. This has led to fear of the loss of important federal data, threats to the livelihoods of researchers and students, and the end of critical programs that have enabled greater participation in science. Many of these actions are being litigated in the courts, and while some judges have helped stop the worst actions, the whiplash leads to more drama and uncertainty. The research community on college campuses has been left in a state of anxiety and confusion.

    The public response from college presidents has been mostly muted so far. While this is causing even more distress in some quarters, there are reasons for it. The administration has suggested that on top of the current actions, there are prospects for increasing the tax on large university endowments, cutting indirect cost recovery on federal grants, investigating students and institutions for antisemitism, and more. It’s no surprise that university presidents, general counsels, communications professionals and federal relations officials want to play it safe. Many of these leaders probably also feel constrained by their commitments to institutional neutrality and don’t want to be seen as taking a political position against the administration’s actions.

    And so higher education is in yet another crisis. This one affects the whole country, just like the 2008 financial crisis and the pandemic. Former Tulane University president Scott Cowen faced a unique local crisis after Hurricane Katrina and also navigated the pandemic as interim president at Case Western Reserve University. He has been justifiably praised as an outstanding crisis manager, bringing Tulane through an event that easily could have permanently devastated the institution. He said on this site that—both after Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans and during COVID-19 in Cleveland—frequent, emotionally transparent communication was crucial to lower anxiety and provide updated information.

    “Crises are bound to happen,” he said, “impacting a few people or everyone. How we lead through them depends in large part on the nature of the crisis. And when one strikes, a leader should first understand how that particular crisis makes them feel” (emphasis mine).

    We don’t need to wonder about how people feel this time. The current crisis is definitely making people on campuses anxious and afraid. A few presidents have heeded Cowen’s advice and made public statements, including Christina Paxson at Brown University, Maurie McInnis at Yale University and Kevin Guskiewicz at Michigan State University. These statements have all acknowledged the pain and anxiety on the campuses. All three of these presidents are quite experienced: Paxson has been in office at Brown for 12 years, and McInnis and Guskiewicz are both in their second executive positions.

    Paxson perhaps went the farthest in taking a stand. “We always follow the law,” she said. “But we are also prepared to exercise our legal right to advocate against laws, regulations or other actions that compromise Brown’s mission.” That would be a difficult statement to make at a public university in a red state—and is still quite a courageous one at a private one in Rhode Island.

    Other presidents have made similar statements, and as the situation grinds on, more will continue to do so, particularly as it becomes apparent that this is not something to be waited out but rather to be managed and adapted to. Nearly every college president cares first and foremost about their campus; when they don’t show it, it’s usually because they think doing so would cause more damage in the long run. My heart goes out to all of the officials who for two weeks—and for many weeks to come—have had long early-morning and late-night meetings trying to figure out what they can and cannot do or say. Being in the foxhole late at night with your team and college town takeout can be energizing at first, but as it continues, it gets very difficult, especially as the days start to blur and it’s hard to remember whether you’ve already decided something or not.

    I went through two crises myself as chancellor of University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. I followed Cowen’s advice on the first one, the 2008 financial crisis; I had seen him present on what he did at Tulane at my first presidents’ meeting. I sent out frequent emails to the campus with the help of a very sharp communications colleague who helped me craft my voice for such times. I went to employee meetings and answered all the questions I could. I hugged people when appropriate and let them share their emotions. As an autistic person, I don’t always know when emotions are in the air, but this was a dire enough situation that I didn’t need to do a lot of interpreting. We got through it, and I felt even more connected to the campus when we did.

    In the second crisis, which was a local scandal involving UNC athletics, I started off on the right foot by famously apologizing to “everyone who loves this university” at the first press conference. It seemed a logical continuation of what had gotten me through my first crisis, and it was consistent with what I had learned from Cowen. But the reaction was very different. While much of the campus appreciated it, the sports fans ridiculed me for being apologetic and not having a “stiffer spine” when it came to fighting for athletics. To my literal brain, this meant they wanted me to say it was acceptable that we cheated. I should have ignored that, because it caused me to lose my voice for a year or more, during which I just looked tongue-tied and indecisive while the scandal grew. As with the current situation, I was worried that saying anything would lead to more investigations and penalties for the Tar Heels. Finally, a wise adviser told me that I needed to decide who my people were. The people on the campus—the students, staff and faculty—those were my people. The sports fans were not; I can’t make a layup to save my life. “Stick to your people,” he said. I eventually got my voice back and happily went off to a Division III university.

    As the current crop of presidents goes through this same process, they’ll begin sticking with their people, too. Like me, many of them will end up wishing they did it sooner, but that’s to be expected given the stress and tension. In the long run, we need leaders who can lead the academic community to the other side of this. And that doesn’t always mean overt “resistance” as we often hear calls for, although as Paxson said in her letter, it certainly does mean standing up for the academic freedom of the individuals on the campus. It also means understanding the situation, caring for the people under their charge who are affected, helping them grieve for what is being lost and leading a conversation about how higher education is going to adapt to the new realities without sacrificing our values. I believe those leaders will emerge.

    As McInnis said at Yale, “Our mission is to create, share and preserve knowledge; to educate and inspire students; and to apply our discoveries to address the world’s greatest challenges. We are committed to navigating these times with a steadfast focus on advancing that mission and on supporting members of our community.” Most of the college leaders who read this and don’t think they can say something like it are wishing they could. In the coming weeks, more will.

    In the meantime, the academic community needs to stick together and try not to get overwhelmed by responding to everything that comes along while also acknowledging the fear, loss and pain many are experiencing. Teaching, patient care, research, justice and opportunity have defined American higher education for a century. And, somehow, they will continue.

    Holden Thorp is the editor in chief of the Science family of journals. He previously served as the chancellor of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and the provost of Washington University in St. Louis.

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  • How to prepare proactively for a postdoc (opinion)

    How to prepare proactively for a postdoc (opinion)

    During my five years working in postdoctoral affairs at two higher education institutions, current postdoctoral associates have often shared their frustrations with me.

    Some feel they aren’t getting the credit they deserve in their research group. Others share they feel pressured to work long hours. And in terms of relationships with their mentors, some sense a lack of feedback and support from their faculty supervisor, while others feel they are micromanaged and lack autonomy.

    When I hear these things, it strengthens my belief that many of the problems that emerge during the postdoctoral experience could be reduced by more proactive communication prior to an individual accepting a position. Talking through personality, leadership and communication styles can help both postdocs and mentors better understand the relational dynamics, as well as the expectations and needs each bring to the partnership.

    So, while earlier “Carpe Careers” pieces have focused on the pragmatics of a postdoc job search and discovering postdoc opportunities, including those outside the traditional academic postdoc, I want to share the thought process late-stage Ph.D. students should be working their way through prior to and during a postdoc search, as well as advice on navigating the start of a postdoc position. My hope is that by carefully considering their own values and needs, graduate students can better understand if a postdoc position is the best career path for them, and if so, which postdoc position might be the right fit.

    The Right People and the Right Questions

    The first piece of advice I would give any prospective postdoc is that you must take ownership of your postdoc search. This includes talking to the right people and asking the right questions, which begins with asking yourself the most critical one: Why am I considering a postdoc position?

    People pursue postdocs for a variety of reasons. None are necessarily more appropriate than others, but your motivations for engaging in a postdoc should be clear to you. Some motivations might include:

    • To gain training and increase metrics of scholarly productivity in order to be a more competitive candidate for positions at research-intensive universities.
    • To learn new skills or techniques that will increase marketability, perhaps outside academia.
    • For international trainees, a postdoc path may allow for continued work in the United States while pursuing a green card and citizenship.
    • To increase time to think about career paths.
    • To explore a geographic location that might seem ideal for one’s career prospects.

    There is nothing wrong with any of these reasons, but understanding your reason will help you find the postdoc position that best fits your academic and professional journeys.

    Understanding Expectations

    Even if your goal is not to pursue an academic career and you don’t believe you will be in a postdoc position longer than a year, it is critical to take the postdoc experience seriously as professional experience, and accept and understand its responsibilities and deliverables.

    I fully acknowledge that the postdoc role can be nuanced and, ideally, it is some hybrid of employment, extended training and apprenticeship under a more senior faculty member. In nearly all cases, however, an individual is hired into a postdoc role to help make progress on a funded research project. This may involve funding from federal agencies such as the National Institutes of Health or National Science Foundation, a nonprofit foundation, or the institution itself. Regardless, a postdoc is hired to help deliver important outputs associated with a project that’s being paid for. From this perspective, the postdoc’s job is to help move the project forward and ultimately produce data and findings for further dissemination. Successful postdocs understand what these deliverables are and their importance to their faculty mentor.

    Of course, this does not mean postdocs should devote 100 percent of their time to producing research products. In fact, many years ago, the Office of Management and Budget made clear to federally funded U.S. agencies supporting graduate students and postdocs that such roles have dual functions of employee and trainee. The notice specifically states that postdocs “are expected to be actively engaged in their training and career development under their research appointments.” Additionally, the NIH is seeking to explicitly specify the percentage of time a postdoc should be devoting to their career and professional development through recommendations from a Working Group on Re-envisioning NIH-Supported Postdoctoral Training. In a report published in December 2023, the group suggests postdocs should have a minimum of 10 percent of their effort devoted to career and professional development activities.

    It’s clear that the job of a postdoc is to both deliver on research products and invest in one’s own training and professional development. Given the need to effectively balance these two activities, it is critical that prospective postdocs seek to understand how the group they might work in, or the faculty member they might work with, understands the position. And likewise, it is important for the candidate to convey their expectations to the same parties.

    A proactive conversation can be intimidating for some, but the Institute for Broadening Participation has created a list of questions taken from a National Academies report on enhancing the postdoc experience to get you started.

    Exploring the Landscape

    Potential postdocs should also consider speaking to current and/or past postdocs with experiences in groups and with people with whom they are interested in working. Past postdocs can often more freely enlighten others as to faculty members’ working and communications styles and their willingness to provide support.

    Another important factor prospective postdocs should consider is the support and resources institutions provide. This can range from employee benefits and postdoc compensation to career and professional development opportunities.

    A critical resource to help you understand the current institutional landscape for postdoc support in the United States is the National Postdoctoral Association’s Institutional Policy Report and Database. You can leverage this data by benchmarking the benefits of institutions you are considering for your postdoc. For example, in the most recently published report from 2023, 52 percent of responding U.S. institutions reported offering matching retirement benefits to their employee postdocs.

    Considering the entire package around a postdoc position is yet another important step in evaluating if a potential position aligns with your academic, professional and personal goals.

    Putting Together a Plan

    Once you have decided to accept a postdoc position, I advise communicating proactively with your new faculty supervisor to ensure all expectations are aligned. A great document to help with framing your potential responsibilities is the Compact Between Postdoctoral Appointees and Their Mentors from the Association of American Medical Colleges.

    Finally, I highly encourage any new postdoc to create an individual development plan to outline their project completion, skill development and career advancement goals. This can be shared with the supervisor to ensure both parties’ project completion goals match and the postdoc’s other goals will be supported. If faculty supervisors could benefit from additional resources that stress the importance of IDPs, I suggest this piece published in Molecular Cell and this Inside Higher Ed essay.

    Deciding whether to pursue a postdoc position, and how to pursue one proactively, is important to maximize your future prospects as a Ph.D. holder. Leveraging this advice, plus that of other online resources— such as the Strategic Postdoc online course from the Science Communication Lab and the Postdoc Academy’s Succeeding as a Postdoc online course and mentoring resources—will help you to choose a position with intention and engage in deliberate discussions prior to accepting it. This will increase the likelihood that your postdoc experience will align with your needs and help successfully launch the next stage in your career.

    Chris Smith is Virginia Tech’s postdoctoral affairs program administrator. He serves on the National Postdoctoral Association’s Board of Directors and is a member of the Graduate Career Consortium—an organization providing a national voice for graduate-level career and professional development leaders.

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  • Essay on the panopticon (opinion)

    Essay on the panopticon (opinion)

    Not quite a household word (beyond academia, anyway), “panopticon” nonetheless turns up in news stories with surprising frequency—here and here, for example, and here and here. The Greek roots in its name point to something “all seeing,” and in occasional journalistic usage it almost always functions as a synonym for what’s more routinely called “the surveillance society”: the near ubiquity of video cameras in public (and often private) space, combined with our every click and keystroke online being tracked, stored, analyzed and aggregated by Big Data.

    Originally, though, the panopticon was what the British political philosopher Jeremy Bentham proposed as a new model of prison architecture at the end of the 18th century. The design was ingenious. It also embodied a paranoid’s nightmare. And at some point, it came to seem normal.

    Picture a cylindrical building, each floor consisting of a ring of cells, with a watchtower of sorts at the center. From here, prison staff have an unobstructed view of all the cells, which at night are backlit with lamps. At the same time, inmates are prevented from seeing who is in the tower or what they are watching, thanks to a system of one-way screens.

    Prisoners could never be certain whether or not their actions were under observation. The constant potential for exposure to the authorities’ unblinking gaze would presumably reinforce the prisoner’s conscience— or install one, if need be.

    The panoptic enclosure was also to be a workhouse. Besides building good character, labor would earn prisoners a small income (to be managed in their best interest by the authorities), while generating revenue to cover the expense of food and housing. Bentham expected the enterprise to turn a profit.

    He had similar plans for making productive citizens out of the indigent. The panoptic poorhouse would, in his phrase, “grind rogues honest.” The education of schoolchildren might go better if conducted along panoptic lines; likewise with care for the insane. Bentham’s philanthropic ambitions were nothing if not grand, albeit somewhat ruthless.

    The goal of establishing perfect surveillance sometimes ran up against the technological limitations of Bentham’s era. (I find it hard to picture how the screens would work, for instance.) But he was dogged in promoting the idea, which did elicit interest from various quarters. Elements of the panopticon were incorporated into penitentiaries during Bentham’s lifetime—for one, Eastern State Penitentiary in Pennsylvania, opened in 1829—but never to his full satisfaction. He was constantly tinkering with the blueprints, to make the design more comprehensive and self-contained. He worked out a suitable plumbing system. He thought of everything, or tried.

    Only in the late 20th century did the panopticon elicit discussion outside the ranks of penologists and Bentham scholars. Even the specialists tended to neglect this side of his work, as the American historian Gertrude Himmelfarb complained in a book from 1968. “Not only historians and biographers,” she wrote, “but even legal and penal commentators seem to be unfamiliar with some of the most important features of Bentham’s plan.” They tended to pass it by with a few words of admiration or disdain.

    The leap into wider circulation came in the wake of Michel Foucault’s Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison (1975). Besides acknowledging the panopticon’s significance in the history of prison design, Foucault treated it as prototypical of a new social dynamic: the emergence of institutions and disciplines seeking to accumulate knowledge about (and exercise power over) large populations. Panopticism sought to govern a population as smoothly, productively and efficiently as possible, with the smallest feasible cadre of managers.

    This was, in effect, the technocratic underside of Bentham’s utilitarianism, which defined an optimal social arrangement as one creating the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people. Bentham applied cost-benefit analysis to social institutions and human behavior to determine how they could be reshaped along more rational lines.

    To Foucault, the panopticon offered more than an effort at social reform, however grandiose. Its aim, he writes, “is to strengthen the social forces—to increase production, to develop the economy, spread education, raise the level of public morality; to increase and multiply.”

    If Bentham’s innovation is adaptable to a variety of uses, that is because it promises to impose order on group behavior by reprogramming the individual.

    From a technocrat’s perspective, the most dysfunctional part of society is the raw material from which it’s built. The panopticon is a tool for fashioning humans suitable for modern use.

    The prisoner, beggar or student dropped into the panopticon is, Foucault writes, “securely confined to a cell from which he is seen from the front by the supervisor; but the side walls prevent him from coming into contact with his companions.” Hundreds if not thousands of people surround him in all directions. The population is a crowd (something worrisome to anyone with authority, especially with the French Revolution still vividly in mind), but incapable of acting as one.

    As if to remind himself of his own humanitarian intentions, Bentham proposes that people from the outside world be allowed to visit the observation deck of the panopticon. Foucault explains, with dry irony, that this will preclude any danger “that the increase of power created by the panoptic machine may degenerate into tyranny …” For the panopticon would be under democratic control, of a sort.

    “Any member of society,” Foucault notes, had “the right to come and see with his own eyes how the schools, hospitals, factories, prisons function.” Besides ensuring a degree of public accountability, their very presence would contribute to the panopticon’s operations. Visitors would not meet the prisoners (or students, etc.) but observe them from the control and surveillance center. They would bring that many more eyes to the task of watching the cells for bad behavior.

    As indicated at the beginning of this piece, nonscholarly references to the panopticon in the 21st century typically appear as commentary on the norms of life online. This undoubtedly follows from Discipline and Punish being on the syllabus, in a variety of fields, for two or three generations now.

    Bentham was confident that his work would be appreciated in centuries to come, but he would probably be perplexed by this repurposing of his idea. He designed the panopticon to “grind rogues honest” through anonymous and continuous surveillance, which the digital panopticon exercises as well—but without a deterrent effect, to put it mildly.

    Bentham’s effort to impose inhibition on unwilling subjects seems to have been hacked; the panoptic technology of the present is programmed to generate exhibitionism and voyeurism. A couple of decades ago, the arrival of each new piece of digital technology was hailed as a tool for self-fashioning, self-optimization or some other emancipatory ambition. For all its limitations, the analogy to Bentham’s panopticon fits in one respect: Escape is hard even to imagine.

    Scott McLemee is Inside Higher Ed’s “Intellectual Affairs” columnist. He was a contributing editor at Lingua Franca magazine and a senior writer at The Chronicle of Higher Education before joining Inside Higher Ed in 2005.

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  • Ideas for navigating editor-reviewer relationships (opinion)

    Ideas for navigating editor-reviewer relationships (opinion)

    An editor or reviewer can have an outsize impact on the career of a scholar, particularly in the early stages. The stakes can be high for an author. A negative review or edit can set back a research plan by months and harm a scholar’s chances for tenure or promotion. This reality creates a power imbalance between an editor or reviewer and an author that can be abused.

    Graduate schools offer few pointers on how to navigate editor and reviewer relationships. Our goal in this essay is to debunk the process and offer suggestions and observations for editors/reviewers and authors on how to approach the task in a more thoughtful and efficient way.

    Understanding the Reviewer and Editor Roles

    First, it is important to note that while reviewers and editors take part in a similar process—assessing the work of an author—the tasks are different. The editor is rarely an expert in the specific subject of an article and necessarily needs to rely on impartial reviewers to place the work in context. Nevertheless, the editor—and, at times, an editorial board—is the decision-maker in this equation. Having a clear and transparent line of communication between the author and the editor is critical.

    The task of the reviewer is to place the work in its scholarly context and to weigh its merit. Is the work breaking new ground? Is it challenging a long-held interpretation within the academy? Are the sources contemporary and the most relevant? Does the work fit the subject area of the journal or press? Can it be revised to make it suitable for publication?

    It is our strong belief that reviewers need to meet the authors where they are—that is, to understand the goal of the author, determine whether the work is suitable for the journal or press in question and, if so, help them reach the promised land of publication. Simply put: The reviewer should weigh the author’s case against the author’s intent.

    Unfortunately, this does not always happen: It is sometimes the case that reviewers stray from this path and insert suggestions that they would like to see addressed but that are not central to the submitted work. The dreaded “reviewer number 2” has become the bane of many an author’s existence. In this sort of review, the reviewer raises so many questions and objections that an author is left to ponder whether the two are reading the same text. And, it must be said, just as on social media, anonymity can at times lead to incivility. Instead of being helpful, sometimes a reviewer is unkind and cruel.

    The role of the editor is to referee between the goals of the author and the desires of the reviewer. Egos and politics often come into play in this process because reviewers in many cases are colleagues of the editor and contributors to the publication in question. Our experience suggests there are two major types of editors. Authors will need to adjust their approach based on which of these two types best describes their editor:

    • Sympathetic editor: This is the ideal. This editor will work with an author to publish a submission if the research is strong and will allow them to keep their own voice. They do not seek to impose their vision on the book or article. They do not allow their personal politics to influence the decision-making process. They are driven by one central question: Does the author accomplish what they set out to do? This type of editor tries to determine whether a reviewer is acting out of hubris by suggesting tangential and substantial changes or whether they are addressing core issues. On the opposite end of the spectrum, they are alert to the two-paragraph, lackadaisical reviewer who read the work over lunch while answering emails.
    • Visionary editor: It may sound counterintuitive, but an editor with their own vision for someone else’s work can mean frustration and ultimately rejection for an author. This type of editor sees someone else’s work as an opportunity to explore an aspect of a topic that interests them. They impose their own vision on someone else’s work rather than determining whether the author has achieved the goal they set for themselves. This typically takes the form of a lengthy response asking an author to fundamentally rethink their piece. The response contains so many critiques that to adhere to the suggestions would amount to writing a completely different piece of scholarship. This editor also tends to extend and even impede the process almost endlessly.

    As an example, upon the death of Fidel Castro in November 2016, the Latin American historian of this writing duo (Argote-Freyre) was asked by a journal editorial board member to author an article comparing the career of Castro with that of the prior dictator of Cuba, Fulgencio Batista. The resulting piece concluded that the two political figures shared more similarities than differences. The editor, although agreeing to the concept, was unhappy with the conclusions reached by the essay. The editor struck out paragraph after paragraph; a lecture on tone and thesis ensued.

    The editor suggested a piece analyzing the revisionist historiography on Batista—a subject outside the contours of the original assignment and one that would take many months to complete. The author made a rookie mistake in assuming that a member of the editorial board was vested with the authority to make assignments. In retrospect, it seems as if the assignment was foisted upon the working editor, who then wanted to steer the piece in a completely different direction. The author withdrew the piece; the only positive was that only a few months were lost in the process.

    The visionary editor is the type who is never satisfied. They forget that the piece is the author’s, not theirs. Yes, the editor is a gatekeeper for the journal or press, but if it is not a good fit, they should say so and move on. This picky editor sends a revision back to a new third (or fourth) reviewer, who is likely to ask for another, different round of revisions. This is nothing other than moving the goalposts. One of us had this occur with an editor who said, “As you know, we often send articles to several rounds of reviewers.” Well, we did not know, because the journal’s website did not say that. Such a process could go on forever and, to our eyes, makes no sense. The editor should decide on his or her own whether the author has revised sufficiently: It is clear from the reader reports what needed to be done, so just check and see. The editor needs to be decisive.

    At the point a work is about to be sent to an additional set of reviewers, an author needs to withdraw the article or book from consideration. Run as fast as you can in search of another editor and publication. Do not let someone waste your time, especially if your clock is ticking for tenure and promotion.

    How to Make Relationships Work— and When to Walk Away

    The author-editor relationship should be a dance, not a duel. An author is not at the mercy of the process; you are a partner. If you are not clicking with the editor, walk away. A bad first date rarely turns into a good second date. This is particularly true when working on a book project, given the many steps and long timeline involved.

    For a revise-and-resubmit, we suggest strongly that you be professionally assertive. Ask about the review of the resubmission before you do it. If the editor says it will go to new readers, withdraw the piece. This never goes well. Editors should be transparent about the steps involved. It is our experience that some editors are hesitant to divulge their process. If that is the case, the author needs to reassess the integrity of that process.

    Being fully transparent allows you to ask for transparency in return, whether you are an editor or an author. If, as we have experienced, two peer reviews come in that are quite opposed, the editor should get a third before returning to the author. If there are two or three reviews, the editor should synthesize them with a memo attached to the reports. The summary should go something like: “All reviewers agree chapter four needs to be revised with this material, but there is disagreement about chapter six.” There is also nothing wrong with asking the author to make the tough call on a contested point of interpretation. Once again, it is the author’s scholarship, not the editor’s, the journal’s or the press’s.

    For authors: Have a conversation with the editor. If it’s a call, follow up with a written summary. When responding to reader reports, especially when they disagree, say what you will and will not do. Do not say you will revise when you disagree—but don’t be stubborn. Give a little to get what you won’t compromise. If you disagree with a reviewer’s suggestion, say why, and ask the editor for approval not to make a specific change suggested in one of the reader reports. Get that approval. If the editor says the revision will go back to one or both original readers instead of making the final call himself, politely insist that the written exchange between the author and editor be sent along, too.

    It may not always work. Recently, one of us did just what we described and the editor said the plan sounded good, only to have the journal reject the revision. The editorial board said a specific change was not made even though the editor agreed that change would not be necessary. Poor communication and coordination between an editor and an editorial board should not penalize an author.

    Finally, we’d like to briefly weigh in on the argument that professors should reject peer reviewing because it is an unpaid task. If you do not want to do it, don’t—but there are compelling reasons to write responsible peer reviews. First, unpaid labor is not without merit. Even if your tenure and promotion committees might not value the task, that does not mean it is not worthwhile. You’re not paid to volunteer at your local food pantry, but you still do it. Second, people do this for you; it is time to be generous in return. Third, reviewing provides insights into the process for your own work. Peer reviewing keeps you current on trends in the field. Editing and peer reviewing make you a better writer and produce better scholarship. Isn’t that what we all want?

    Frank Argote-Freyre and Christopher M. Bellitto are professors of history at Kean University in Union, N.J., with extensive experience with peer review on both sides of the process. Argote-Freyre, a scholar of Latin American history, serves as a frequent peer reviewer and content editor on various book and article projects. Bellitto, a medievalist, is the series editor of Brill’s Companions to the Christian Tradition and academic editor at large of Paulist Press.

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