Women as Leaders in Education 2 volumes : Succeeding Despite Inequity, Discrimination, and Other Challenges (Women and Careers in Management)

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Women as Leaders in Education

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Women as Leaders in Education SUCCEEDING DESPITE INEQUITY, DISCRIMINATION, AND OTHER CHALLENGES VOLUME 1: WOMEN’S LEADERSHIP IN HIGHER EDUCATION

Jennifer L. Martin, Editor

Women and Careers in Management Michele A. Paludi, Series Editor

Copyright 2011 by ABC-CLIO, LLC All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Women as leaders in education : succeeding despite inequity, discrimination, and other challenges / Jennifer L. Martin, editor. p. cm. — (Women and careers in management) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978–0–313–39169–9 (hard copy : alk. paper) — ISBN 978–0–313–39170–5 (ebook) 1. Women school administrators—United States. 2. Women college administrators—United States. 3. Sex discrimination in higher education— United States. 4. Educational leadership—United States. I. Martin, Jennifer L. II. Title. III. Series. LC212.862.W64 2011 2011009216 378.10 2082—dc22 ISBN: 978–0–313–39169–9 EISBN: 978–0–313–39170–5 15 14 13 12 11 1 2 3 4 5 This book is also available on the World Wide Web as an eBook. Visit www.abc-clio.com for details. Praeger An Imprint of ABC-CLIO, LLC ABC-CLIO, LLC 130 Cremona Drive, P.O. Box 1911 Santa Barbara, California 93116-1911 This book is printed on acid-free paper Manufactured in the United States of America

Contents

Series Foreword, ix Acknowledgments, xi Introduction, xiii CHAPTER 1 Trials and Triumphs of Women Leaders in Higher Education, 1 Eugenia Proctor Gerdes CHAPTER 2 Historical Constructs of Gender and Work: Informing Access and Equity in U.S. Higher Education, 23 Amber L. Vlasnik CHAPTER 3 “Many Phantoms and Obstacles . . . Looming in Her Way”: Women Faculty in Academe, 45 Michele A. Paludi and Florence L. Denmark CHAPTER 4 Glass Ceilings and Sticky Floors: Women and Advancement in Higher Education, 79 Susan V. Iverson CHAPTER 5 Toxic to the Heart: Barriers to Tenure and Leadership for Women Faculty of Color, 107 Heipua Kaopua and Joanne Cooper v

vi Contents

CHAPTER 6 Joining Forces: Collaborative Resistance to Privilege and Patriarchal Forms of Leadership, 131 Patricia M. Amburgy, Wanda B. Knight, and Karen Keifer-Boyd CHAPTER 7 Navigating Gender at Thirty Thousand Feet: Women Directors of State Boards of Higher Education, 149 Rosemary F. Powers and Hannah Fisher-Arfer CHAPTER 8 Slaying Two Dragons: For Black Women Leaders in Education, Gender Equity Is Only Half the Battle, 179 M. Cookie Newsom CHAPTER 9 Academic Leaders with Disabilities: How Do We Know If We Are Winning When No One Is Keeping Score?, 201 Rhoda Olkin CHAPTER 10 Inclusive Leadership: Helping Women Negotiate the Labyrinth of Leadership in Higher Education, 219 Brenda L. Berkelaar, Katie Pope, Beverly Davenport Sypher, and Monica F. Cox CHAPTER 11 Relationship Building and Higher Education Women: Stories and Observations, 241 Penelope M. Earley, Jane H. Applegate, and Jill M. Tarule CHAPTER 12 Complexities of Female Leadership for the Novice Leader in Higher Education Settings, 263 Tanisca M. Wilson CHAPTER 13 The “Borderlands” Experience for Women of Color as Higher Education Leaders, 275 Patricia Arredondo

Contents vii

CHAPTER 14 Beyond Quid Pro Quo: Undergraduates and “Consensual” Sex with Professors, 299 Billie Wright Dziech About the Editor and Contributors, 323 Index, 337


Series Foreword

Ma muaka kite a muri Ma muri ka ora a mua (Those who lead give sight to those who follow, Those who follow give life to those who lead) —Pauline Tangiora

Welcome to the Women and Careers in Management Series at Praeger. This series examines the status of women in management and leadership and offers discussions of issues women managers and leaders face, including: Differences in leadership styles Traditional gender roles reinforcing women’s subordinate status in the workplace Obstacles to advancement and pay Benefit and resource inequity Discrimination and harassment Work/life imbalance This series acknowledges that gender is one of the fundamental factors influencing the ethics, values, and policies of workplaces and that the discrimination against women managers and leaders explains the pervasiveness of institutionalized inequality. This series also discusses interconnections among equality issues: sex, race, class, age, sexual orientation, religion, and disability. Thus, this series brings together a multidisciplinary and multicultural discussion of women, management, and leadership.

ix

x Series Foreword

Women and Careers in Management encourages all of us to think critically about women managers and leaders, to place value on cultural experiences, and to integrate empirical research and theoretical formulations with experiences of our family, friends, colleagues, and ourselves. It is my hope that the books in Women and Careers in Management serve as a “life raft” (Klonis, Endo, Crosby, & Worrell, 1997), especially for the Millennial and subsequent generations. I am honored to have Dr. Jennifer Martin’s two-volume set published in the Women and Careers in Management Series. Dr. Martin was instrumental in bringing together noted educators and scholars to address women as leaders in K–12 and in higher education. The volumes are essential reading for students preparing for a career in teaching and education administration, school and college administrators, and human resource personnel. Dr. Martin offers her readers a “paper mentor” in her edited volumes. As such, these volumes share Pauline Tangiora’s sentiment: Those who lead give sight to those who follow, Those who follow give life to those who lead. —Michele A. Paludi Series Editor

Reference Klonis, S., Endo, J., Crosby, F., & Worrell, J. (1997). Feminism as life raft. Psychology of Women Quarterly, 21, 333–45.

Acknowledgments

Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. —Muriel Strode

I dedicate this book set to veteran feminist leaders. I thank you for making the road a little less rocky for the women behind you. I honor your work and celebrate your strength. Your work informs and inspires mine and has led me to this point in my thinking about women and leadership. You have carved your own path; because of your work, mine is possible. It is with you in mind that I bring together this group of diverse voices. I have had the distinct pleasure of collaborating with colleagues, friends, students, and mentors on this project. I have also been given the unique opportunity to meet many feminist scholars who were interested in sharing their work. These new colleagues have taught me much from their writing and their scholarship. I thank you for your contributions to this book set. This process has been a true collaboration in the spirit of transformational leadership; all of the authors have brought much to the discussion on women and leadership and have assisted me greatly throughout this process. I thank my parents, John and Dolores Martin, and my sister Elizabeth Martin for their help and support throughout this process. Tremendous thanks go to my husband Peter Midtgard, my greatest sounding board, cheerleader, and provider of reassurance and support; no one believes in me as much as he. I acknowledge several special friends whose encouragement has been instrumental throughout this process: Annie James, Elizabeth Schuch, and Karissa Williams. Special thanks go to Alice Kondraciuk for xi

xii Acknowledgments

technological support without which this project would have been much more laborious, and Ken VanDerworp for his keen wordsmithing. I also thank the Women of Words writer’s group, especially Coralie Johnson and Karen Simpson, for allowing me to share my thoughts and providing me with guidance, feedback, friendship, and mentoring. My students continue to inspire me and make me strive to be a better person and educator. I thank my students from the Women and Gender Studies and Education Specialist programs at Oakland University and my high school students at Tinkham Alternative High School. My students have informed my praxis, my research, and my writing. I have been fortunate enough to have many mentors throughout my career. These inspiring people continue to help me and advise me in my work. I honor and thank Dr. Duane Moore, Dr. Heather Neff, Dr. Mary Otto, Dr. Dawn Pickard, Dr. Julia Smith, and especially Dr. Jo Reger and Dr. Dyanne Tracy. To my friends at Michigan NOW, thank you for your support and wisdom. Your feminist leadership continues to inspire me. I thank Brian Romer, Senior Acquisitions Editor at Praeger, for supporting my work and my vision for this project. His helpful guidance has been instrumental in the completion of this series. Finally, I give special thanks to my mentor and friend Dr. Michele Paludi, who always believed in my abilities as a scholar, teacher, and writer. She has provided me with tremendous opportunities to grow as a person and as a professional. Without her, this book set would not have been possible. —Jennifer L. Martin

Introduction

How much are you prepared to risk of what is familiar, comfortable, safe, and perhaps working well for you, in the name of better education for others? —Roland Barth

Woman must write herself: must write about women and bring women to writing, from which they have been driven away as violently as from their bodies—for the same reasons, by the same law, with the same fatal goal. —Helene Cixoux

There is much to learn through the sharing of struggle. Both the reader and the writer can be moved, transformed, inspired to action. The process can be counter-hegemonic as well as instructive. This two-volume set provides a forum for such sharing with these goals in mind: to examine the challenges that women leaders in education experience and to unravel their successes despite a labyrinth of obstacles. Leadership as experienced by women in academe is unique; they face many challenges that men do not. White patriarchal hegemony affects women’s coming to voice, the percentage of women in positions of leadership, and the levels of success women experience within these positions. The essays in this volume, written by a diverse group of scholars who bring together an interdisciplinary approach, capture the difficulty of grappling with these issues. The contributors examine a variety of discourses through nondominant lenses including their own frequent marginalization within higher education. However, this is not a narrative of despair, but one of hope: a didactic account of the transition from margin to mainstream. xiii

xiv Introduction

Leadership has been defined and refined in American educational thought for centuries. One of the most enduring paradigms is the “great man” leading the organization to success. We feel the repercussions of this image today, for leaders who deviate from the reticent but aggressive solitary leader may be viewed negatively. For example, leaders who are more transformational tend to have more difficulty achieving authenticity. The personal qualities that are valued in a leader still stem from the “great man” paradigm: agency and assertiveness. When these qualities are exhibited by women, they are often viewed with disdain or mistrust. Additionally, many women scholars engaging in social justice work (those who strive for the inclusion of feminist and other nondominant discourses) can be marginalized within higher education based upon the perception that they are too controversial or political. Thus, feminist and social justice scholars are frequently bypassed for tenure and promotion or their research is ignored or trivialized because their work does not accord with hegemonic discourse. Women leaders in higher education face many challenges; perhaps the most prominent is that of representation. We know that women in academe have not yet reached equity with their male counterparts. According to the American Association of University Professors 2006 equity study, women hold only 24 pecent of full professor positions in the United States. Despite the gains women have made in higher education over the past few decades, they are underrepresented in tenure-track positions. In fact, women in higher education face more obstacles to career advancement than in the corporate world (West & Curtis, 2006). The areas with the fewest women in higher education are the most prestigious and most highly paid. Women make far less than men in higher education because they are more likely to hold positions at institutions that pay lower salaries and are less likely to gain senior rank. Women are also more likely to remain in the rank of instructor, a low-paid, low-prestige position. For those women who possess double minority status (based upon race, class, disability, sexuality, etc.), the disparities are even more pronounced. For example, women of color represent 14 percent of those attaining bachelor’s degrees, 13 percent of master’s degrees, and 9 percent of doctoral degree recipients, yet they account for only 6 percent of faculty; the problem of women’s representation is exacerbated when rank increases: women of color account for 10 percent of instructors, 9 percent of

Introduction xv

assistant professors, and 3 percent of professors (The White House Project Report, 2009). The trend of low representation for women in higher education is perhaps most striking in administrative positions. According to research conducted by the Association of Governing Boards of Universities and Colleges (AGB), less than one-third of board members with voting privileges and 4.4 percent of college presidents are women. These inequities are reflected in personal lives as well: only 63 percent of women college presidents are married and only 68 percent have children (89 percent of male college presidents are married and 91 percent have children; The White House Project Report, 2009). The decision of marriage and children is not a measure of a fulfilled life, but a choice; a choice that is simply easier for a man. Childbearing and rearing affect tenure and career advancement for many women and are issues that require advocacy and cultural change. “The average age that a woman gets a PhD is 34, which means the five to seven years of racing the tenure clock fall right in the middle of her peak reproductive and child-rearing years” (The White House Project Report, 2009, p. 26). Marriage for women can complicate or stall career goals by adding the additional stress of achieving work/life balance. Women are still responsible for the majority of the household chores and for kin keeping at work and in the home. Hochschild (2005) estimates that women in heterosexual relationships are responsible for 70 percent of household duties; this increases stress and disadvantages them in terms of career advancement. The choice of marriage itself is typically one that can only be contemplated within a heterosexual relationship, which illustrates further inequities, especially if universities do not offer partner benefits. The above statistics do not account for the discrimination that women and double-minority-status women face within higher education, making it difficult for them to perform the most basic obligations, let alone blossom and attain personal career fulfillment and satisfaction. Most higher education institutions are run based upon white male hegemony; issues such as racism, sexism, homophobia, sexual harassment, and microaggressions are real issues for women that may not affect men, particularly white men, as frequently. It is clear that more social justice work within the academy is required in general in order to bring issues disproportionately affecting women to light and to increase women’s representation at all levels.

xvi Introduction

This volume contains chapters describing the situation of women leaders in a variety of areas within higher education: in the teaching ranks, in administration, and on higher education boards. All of the chapters work in concert to present a detailed analysis of what women leaders in higher education face today. It is important for women to tell these truths, to have their voices heard in education. As Adrienne Rich once stated, we have to “claim an education.” We have to fight to have our voices included in the dialogues to create change within our institutions. We have to sound our voices, remain visible, and resist “the forces in society which say that women should be nice, play safe, have low professional expectations, drown in love and forget about work, live through others, and stay in the places assigned to us” (1979, p. 26). We must advocate for the inclusion of diverse voices in these dialogues, even if we feel they do not serve our direct interests. I began this writing with a quotation from Barth that sets the tone for this volume; he implores us to look beyond what is easy, what is comfortable, and engage in the difficult work that is a requirement of advancing equity. We must realize that our “direct interest” in education is in serving the needs of all. This is the true goal of feminist and social justice work. These are the voices that speak within this volume: those who have made it “on the page,” and those who remain “in the margins.” As Audre Lorde once stated (1984), “your silence will not protect you” (p. 41). It is in the spirit of Lorde that women, through our telling, can bridge our narratives and work toward advancing equity at all levels. This volume is but one of many steps in that journey, the journey of coming to voice. It takes bravery to tell these stories, stories that are fraught with marginalization, silencing, racism, and discrimination, “For we have been socialized to respect fear more than our own needs for language and definition” (Lorde, p. 44). It is my hope that this language will be transformed into action and that these words will inspire others to tell their stories and to advocate for the inclusion of nondominant discourses within higher education. The contributors to this volume implore us to examine our positions and to think critically about what it means to be a leader. It is my hope that readers will continue our work: to resist discourses of exclusion and to continue to share our struggles so that together we can work to put them to an end. —Jennifer L. Martin

Introduction xvii

References Cixous, H. (1981). The laugh of the medusa. In E. Marks & I. de Courtivron (Eds.), New French feminisms (pp. 245–264). New York: Schocken Books. Hochschild, A. R. (2005). The second shift. New York: Penguin Books. Lorde, A. (1984). The transformation of silence into language and action. In Sister outsider: Essays and speeches by Audre Lorde (pp. 40–44). Freedom, CA: Crossing Press. Rich, A. (2009/1979). Claiming an education. In S. Shaw & J. Lee (Eds.), Women’s voices, feminist visions: Classic and contemporary readings (4th ed.; pp. 25–27). Boston: McGraw Hill. West, M. S., & Curtis, J. W. (2006). AAUP faculty gender equity indicators 2006. Washington, DC: American Association of University Professors. The White House Project. (2009, November). The White House project report: Benchmarking women’s leadership. Retrieved February, 2, 2010, from http://www.thewhitehouseproject.org/documents/Report.pdf.


1 Trials and Triumphs of Women Leaders in Higher Education Eugenia Proctor Gerdes

The 1970s as a Turning Point Women who began academic careers in the early 1970s experienced a transformation in American higher education. Women’s representation in the faculty had reached 28 percent by the end of the 1930s, then actually dipped through the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s, and only began to rise again in the 1970s (NCES, 1998). From 1976 to 2007, women’s representation increased from 25 percent to 42 percent of full-time faculty members and, likewise, from 26 percent to 53 percent of full-time executive-administrativemanagerial positions (NCES, 2010). This turnaround in numbers was related to other crucial developments in the early 1970s. Legislation enacted in 1972 extended affirmative action as well as protection from discrimination to women in higher education (Astin & Snyder, 1982; Glazer-Raymo, 1999, 2008). Women’s collective action supported passage and implementation of this legislation; on many campuses, commissions on the status of women appeared in the late 1960s and 1970s and allowed feminist activists to address inequities (Glazer-Raymo, 1999, 2008). And the first official women’s studies programs were founded in 1970, with increasing numbers of women faculty thereafter fostering development of the new discipline as well as feminist perspectives within traditional disciplines (Boxer, 1998). Whether we women who entered academe in the early 1970s realized it or not, we were present at a crucial juncture. Moreover, we not only 1

2 Women as Leaders in Education

experienced dramatic changes in the academic environment; we were responsible for many of them. Thus, our careers provide valuable narratives for understanding women’s progress in higher education. When my institution’s Women’s Resource Center sponsored a panel of women who had arrived in the 1970s as part of its 1996 tenth anniversary celebration, panel members emphasized contrasts between our situations as senior administrators and professors and the beginnings of our careers. Younger women in our audience were surprised that many of us had no women professors in our own education and most of us had no courses on women’s issues, that we developed our intentions to become professors out of confidence based partly on naı¨vete´ regarding barriers to women, and that we described our hiring as resulting from affirmative action rather than purely from our own qualifications. They would have been even more surprised to hear the negative incidents from our early careers that we felt unable to share in this public setting. Our context also limited our discussion of barriers remaining for women. I began to imagine collecting a fuller version of career stories from a broader sample of women, before those women who entered higher education in the 1970s began to retire.

Survey of Senior Academic Women In the spring of 1997, I began to ask a broad sample of senior academic women to describe their careers and their perceptions of changes in higher education over their careers. Consistent with feminist scholarship’s emphasis on hearing women’s voices, I developed an open-ended, qualitative survey so that women could answer in their own words (see Kitzinger, 2004; Marshall & Rossman, 2006). I e-mailed a letter of explanation and open-ended questionnaire to women identified through acquaintances and listservs, soliciting confidential responses from faculty and administrators who had begun their careers with faculty positions in the 1970s or a few years earlier. Using snowball sampling (Gobo, 2004; Patton, 2002), I also asked recipients to forward my request to other academic women who might meet these requirements. Of the ninety-eight respondents, eleven were current or recent presidents or chancellors; forty were academic deans, vice presidents for academic affairs/provosts, or their associates working in academic or faculty affairs; nine were other administrators; and thirty-eight were faculty members. Respondents’

Trials and Triumphs of Women Leaders 3

disciplinary backgrounds spanned the humanities, social sciences, and natural sciences including medicine. They were located across the country (plus several in Canada) and at institutions that represented every Carnegie classification and that included some women’s colleges. (For details of the sample, see Gerdes, 2003a, 2006.) Except when categories were predetermined by the question and were mutually exclusive and exhaustive (e.g., better, worse, neither, or both), an inductive form of qualitative content analysis was used to form categories that were distinct and internally consistent (Marshall & Rossman, 2006; Patton, 2002). After skimming the answers to each question to determine preliminary categories, new categories were added when elements of an answer did not fit any existing categories; and categories were combined when elements appeared to fit either of two categories. Each respondent was counted in each of the categories she mentioned; the percentage of respondents who fit each category could be calculated by dividing the number of respondents represented in that category by the total number of respondents answering the question. (The percentages of all categories do not sum to 100% for questions where respondents could give multiple answers; category percentages do sum to 100%, except as a result of rounding, where categories are mutually exclusive and exhaustive.) The synopsis below includes the most frequent responses from the content analyses and those that link the analyses together; further information is available in the cited sources.

Early Career The first two questions on the survey asked respondents to consider the beginning of their academic careers: whether they were treated differently than men in comparable positions and whether there were shortcomings in their preparation or incidents, expectations, policies, treatment, or specific people that caused difficulties for them as women. Respondents did not distinguish these two questions, so they were analyzed together. A few women (7%) believed that they were treated better than men due to their department’s or institution’s need to recruit and retain women, and some (17%) did not believe any difficulties they experienced were due to gender or felt they were treated the same as men in the same position. In contrast, 76 percent described negative treatment, policies, or incidents that disadvantaged them in their early careers. Common themes were poor


mentoring in graduate school, less help getting a job, lower pay, worse teaching assignments, being isolated as the first or one of few women, being left out of men’s activities, paternalistic expectations, lack of respect, being explicitly told they would not succeed or were not wanted, lack of maternity leave and expectations that they would quit when they got married or became pregnant, being the brunt of jokes or rumors, and sexual harassment. Most women noted multiple differences between male colleagues’ situations and their own. It is important to share some of these early experiences because the beginning of their careers provides the starting point for these senior women’s other answers dealing with later experiences and perceptions of changes. Typical examples of early-career difficulties, some mild and some severe, were reported by five women who made clear the psychological effects of their treatment: There was occasional skepticism (usually from people who did not know me well) that someone could handle a demanding academic position as well as responsibilities of having a small (two-year-old) child. Male colleagues also seemed to think of me as capable of doing departmental and committee “scut work” or willing to assume inconvenient class schedules that they avoided. There was a very sorry episode of providing me with a condescending nickname that I continually said I hated and that only male colleagues thought endearing. It took repeated and increasingly angry responses to wipe it out, and my blood still boils at the recollection! There were assumptions that my income was disposable (when I actually was the primary breadwinner) and I was treated accordingly. I continually pointed out the true nature of my situation and that I was being treated unfairly, and most issues were resolved quickly once folks were aware. An example is that when I became pregnant with my second child, I was told that I could only work into the 5th month—I informed my supervisor that I couldn’t quit, that this was silly and discriminatory, and he got the policy changed. . . . Some polices caused difficulty, although the biggest problem I have always faced is general treatment: being patronized, excellence in performance not acknowledged, ideas appropriated, doors closed (or never opened to me). Perhaps the most insidious problem was that these men never considered that the door should be opened, which made me continually question whether it should be myself—a significant problem for a young woman.


When I applied to graduate school in the 1967–68 academic year, I was asked questions that no graduate school would dare ask today. [Ivy League institution] wanted to know what my husband was going to do if I came and [another Ivy League institution] wanted to know if I was on the pill! I was the first person ever hired by the . . . department at the [large public institution], starting in the fall 1973. At least half the department didn’t want me there and made it abundantly clear to me. The experience sent me to [another institution] to study [a different discipline]. I was the first woman hired as faculty in two different [science] departments. Until other women were hired, I was a constant “spectacle” and source of jokes, innuendos, etc., especially at faculty meetings. The response of the male faculty indicated an extreme degree of nervousness and discomfort. I was the target of unwanted sexual advances by my Chair. I was not included in get-togethers and lunches with the boys. Probably the most destructive was the perception that I was the “mistress of the Chair.” . . . The most destructive aspect of this was the hostile response of other faculty who were certain I received preferential treatment in terms of workload, pay, promotion, etc. Consequently, other faculty shunned and responded negatively to me for about three years. Another difficulty was at the national, international as well as local level where I was put on different committees as a “token female.” In many cases I had no idea what the committee was about or what the expectations were for being on this committee. In the process, I felt inadequate, alone, alienated and incompetent. Only much later did I realize that many of the men on these committees had extensive knowledge and preparation and had networked in advance. This made them seem much more competent. I discovered that newly minted male Assistant Professors had been hired at $1000 more than the females. . . . The male department chair to whom I addressed my inquiry about the salary differential explained that men needed more money to support families. He was deaf to further discussion. I was sufficiently angry to find immediately another Assistant Professor position . . . , which I consequently deferred to accept an endowed one-year chair. . . . Ironically, I got the chair by virtue of being a woman . . . but the professor who selected (and supervised) the chair turned out to be the most blatant sexual


harasser I have ever encountered. So much for my pride in blazing gender trails: it was the year from hell. At the risk of understatement, such experiences obviously disadvantaged entry-level women and required extra effort—and courage—on their part as they struggled to establish their careers. In response to a third question, more than two-thirds (70%) of respondents reported that there were no policies early in their careers that helped them deal with such issues or helped them in general. Of the few helpful policies mentioned, the most frequent were affirmative action or the institution’s attempts to achieve gender balance or salary equity, reported by 19 percent of respondents. In response to whether being a woman helped, hurt, or both as their career developed, 8 percent responded that there were no differences due to gender as their careers developed; 26 percent mentioned only ways in which they were disadvantaged; 19 percent mentioned only ways in which they were advantaged; and 46 percent mentioned both advantages and disadvantages. Most of the stated advantages involved higher visibility as the only or one of few women in their situation or being sought for affirmative action or to improve gender balance, or for positions at women’s colleges. In fact, most of the advantages arose from programs or practices to remediate past inequities, whereas the disadvantages were continued biases in expectations or treatment. Two administrators expressed common versions of being both helped and hurt: I was recruited and hired . . . by men seeking a woman administrator for their team. But I hit the glass ceiling as vp, and watched as about half a dozen similarly placed men moved up . . . but not a single woman. I have been asked to be on/nominated for lots of things because of my gender, especially as a woman in science. I have often felt like a token presence in such situations, and have dealt with that feeling by being as professional as I can and ignoring the gender vibrations. Sometimes that has been easy, sometimes, when facing overt hostility or distain, very difficult and painful. But I have felt it was important to face and deal with this, for me, and for women who come after me. I have taken great pleasure and pride in being the dissertation sponsor of four women Ph.D. students, and have tried to be a role model woman scientist/wife/ mother/administrator (crazy person). So in answer to whether it helped


or hurt, I was there when they needed women bodies and that gave me opportunities I might not have had—it helped. But I still had to deal with a very male-dominated, variably hostile environment. Other women reported being helped by their networks or expectations of women, but also reported experiencing less consideration or power than men. In the words of two deans: I found women’s networks immensely helpful, had wonderful friends, found support from regional and national women’s studies associations and from women’s caucuses within organizations . . . received grants and fellowships associated with women’s studies . . . ; but mostly it was the friendships and networks! . . . Men still find it hard to listen to women and sometimes to take them as seriously as they take themselves. [I]n academic administration, gender helped in the appointment and subsequent promotions. It also helped in projecting a sense of integrity in my dealings with constituents. The last few years brought significant changes at the highest levels—all male, and very power oriented. These men were unable to share institutional power with administrators below their level—most certainly not when these administrators were female. Lack of true gender neutrality was expressed by all the women who cited disadvantages, including this social science faculty member: Even at [large university], I was for a long time “the most senior woman.” Being alone is hard. Most practices were officially gender neutral but in fact favored males (e.g., it’s male to count publications, there’s a male way to flaunt your achievements and show someone else is flawed). As a woman, I’m still added to some committees for balance. As a woman, I’m still treated as shrill when I object to various actions.

Changes and Constancies over the Career Going beyond the respondents’ personal experiences of inequities, I solicited their observations concerning how the overall situation of women in higher education had changed and how it had not changed over the


course of their careers (Gerdes, 2006). All of the respondents who answered these two questions noted some positive changes. Identifying several changes, an associate dean stated: The changes for women have been significant. Affirmative Action in the academy has had an effect. A more open and democratic process of evaluation and review also has changed things significantly. Having more women in professional positions has halted the “token woman” issues at least in the Arts and Sciences. There seems to be more support and understanding of family issues. The majority (53%) of respondents cited increased numbers of women or increased access to positions and leadership opportunities. Changes in sensitivity, perceptions, or acceptance regarding women in higher education, including women’s own beliefs, were cited by 43 percent. Overt, observable changes in institutions’ policies or individuals’ behavior were cited by 42 percent. Many women stated interrelationships among these types of changes (e.g., increased numbers yielding greater acceptance); and the belief that women have helped themselves was implicit in many answers. For example, one president included numbers of women, perceptions of women’s situation, and affirmative action, as well as emphasizing women’s own influence: Most obviously, there are many more mentors for women these days and much more has been studied and written about the experience of women in academe. It’s hard to emerge from graduate school, in particular, without a keen understanding of the challenges ahead and also the resources available. More women occupy senior roles and provide models for others as well as the ability to change institutional cultures. The importance of women’s studies is established. Affirmative Action had much to do with this positive evolution. Descriptions of positive changes often included qualifications. Mixed feelings by one faculty member were expressed as, “More women are being hired, more women are being asked to compromise themselves for success, more women are resisting.” Addressing leadership, one president stated, “Women are more frequently (but not THAT much more frequently) in positions of leadership.” An associate provost provided another less-than-enthusiastic example: “Many more institutions now consider women as appropriate candidates for


senior positions; in some cases, women are treated equitably. My current institution is on the low end of the equitable continuum.” Consistent with such qualifications, more than two-thirds (69%) of the respondents cited remaining bias against women in addressing the separate question on factors that had not changed. Aside from the most commonly mentioned bias, salary inequities (mentioned by 15% of respondents), most of the biases described were not overt discrimination but less obvious biases intrinsic to higher education as a traditionally masculine enterprise. Examples of phrases used by several women follow: subtle or underground discrimination; male rules, male standards, or male hierarchy; glass ceiling; having to work harder or be better in order to succeed; and tenure, promotion, or advancement being harder to achieve. In addition, almost half (46%) of the respondents cited unchanged family issues, such as balancing career with family or personal demands, childcare problems, lack of family-friendly policies, conflict of the tenure clock with prime childbearing years, and two-career problems. Many discussed conflict between work and family roles as irresolvable given real time constraints; others pointed to traditional expectations that make this role conflict worse for women than men. Some also looked to institutions for changes in their expectations, such as this science faculty member, who stated: Child care is still an issue . . . It is still not acceptable for fathers to be the primary care-givers or even to be active sharing care-givers—this is not an issue for women per se but for families. Institutions have not changed their expectations of faculty, which may have been more appropriate when women were unmarried or men had full-time wives at home, but are now unrealistic. In addition to the two major constancies reported, remaining bias and family issues, 24 percent of women pointed out greater underrepresentation of women in nontraditional disciplinary areas, in leadership positions, or for non-white and lesbian women.

Personal Challenges Positive changes and remaining barriers in higher education together constituted the general background for these women as they progressed through their own unique careers. Additional questions (Gerdes, 2003b)


dealt with each woman’s experience of difficulties in her own career. One question asked whether factors in the respondent’s personal life, such as family, made it easier or harder for her to succeed in her career. A related question asked whether the career had made it necessary to give up or compromise other goals in the respondent’s life. On the first question, answers were split: 37 percent harder, 31 percent easier, and 33 percent neither or both harder and easier. The fairly even split obscures the overwhelmingly negative effect on careers reported for children, in spite of the many women who carefully stated that their lives overall were better due to their children. Negative effects of having children on their careers or advantages of being childless were mentioned by almost two-thirds (65%), who cited delay in the career, lower mobility, less time devoted to career, and lower productivity. A dean’s answer exemplifies some of these perceptions: Having children definitely made it harder for me to go “up the ladder” in my career. It took me longer to complete the work to get to the rank of full professor. I postponed going into administration until my children were older. Nevertheless, I have no regrets. My role as a mother is crucially important to me, and to this day, my children would come before my job if I were forced to choose. Fortunately, I feel that I have been able to combine career and motherhood. Having a supportive spouse has been tremendously helpful, but despite his support, the major responsibility for child-rearing was definitely mine. Anticipated difficulties generally did not prevent women who wanted children from having them; being a mother was mentioned in answering these two questions by 66 percent of the women, and only 14 percent of those answering the question on sacrificing other goals for the career mentioned not having children or having only one child as a consequence of their careers. Although the survey did not specifically ask whether respondents had a spouse or partner, various answers indicated that at least 85 percent and possibly as many as 93 percent of respondents had at some point been married or had domestic partners. Negative effects on the career, such as lack of mobility, antinepotism rules, commuting or moving to follow a spouse/ partner, or time or attention needed by the partner, were cited by 20 percent of the respondents. On the other hand, 39 percent reported that their spouse’s


or partner’s support facilitated their success. Only 11 percent of the respondents described divorce or loss of a long-term relationship or difficulty forming committed relationships as a sacrifice due to their careers. Overall, 67 percent of the women who answered the question on sacrifices reported that they had given up or compromised other goals due to their careers; 29 percent believed that they had not done so; and the rest were uncertain. Notwithstanding the life-altering problems of maintaining committed relationships and limitations on having children, the most commonly reported sacrifices were simply reduced time for other life goals: for family (spouse/ partner, children, or both), reported by 26 percent, and for personal interests and social life, reported by 18 percent. One faculty member emphatically addressed both: I’ve had to deal nervously with my kids. [“Hurry Up!!”] My male colleagues have wives, if they have children; their wives either handle, or organize, home and family. I also have missed out on developing friendships. NO TIME! [I WANT A WIFE!] Respondents were asked to rate the degree of stress in their current positions (which generally constituted their highest level of advancement and leadership) from very low to very high. Administrators reported extremely high stress, averaging 4.2 (between high and very high). Faculty members reported considerable but significantly lower stress, averaging 3.6 (between moderate and high), although it should be noted that several mentioned that their stress had been higher earlier in their careers when their jobs were less secure and career and childrearing demands overlapped. Of those reporting sources of stress, 56 percent of faculty members and 48 percent of administrators mentioned time/workload pressures. Specifically, faculty members emphasized difficulty balancing teaching, research, service, and occasional administrative commitments; whereas administrators described the simple but severe situation of too much work for the time available. Another large category of stressors for administrators was responsibilities to others and for others, others’ expectations, and interpersonal conflict, reported by 56 percent of administrators as compared to 31 percent of faculty members. Examples of both time pressure and interpersonal stress are illustrated by this provost’s answer:


Sources of stress, include, in random order: responsibility for faculty with problems both inside and outside the classroom, that are resistant to solution but need to be solved; too much work and too little staff support; no time to do things carefully or right; negative personnel decisions; e-mail. In answering another question about their greatest sources of dissatisfaction or disappointment in their careers (Gerdes, 2010), 30 percent of these senior women returned to the issue of time: time pressure, workload, lack of time to do everything well or to have a balanced life. The other large category of dissatisfaction/disappointment was lack of support for themselves or their agendas on the personal level, the institutional level, or the level of higher education or society (such as lack of respect for women or women’s issues in academe, too few senior women, society’s negative opinion of discipline or academe, backlash against affirmative action), reported by 31 percent. This was the most frequent source of dissatisfaction identified by the least satisfied women—those who rated their overall satisfaction with their careers as moderate, low, or very low.

Accomplishments Although the barriers remaining in higher education and the challenges faced over the span of these women’s careers must not be forgotten, their successes overcoming those negative factors moved them into positions of influence and moved higher education in the direction of equity for women (Gerdes, 2010). In spite of high stress and willingness to identify some dissatisfactions, these women leaders expressed high overall satisfaction with their careers, averaging between high and very high (4.3) on a scale from very low to very high. In fact, 86 percent of these women rated their satisfaction with their careers as either high or very high. When asked to list their accomplishments, the answers of current faculty members and administrators naturally diverged. Excellent teaching, including mentoring, or scholarly achievements were mentioned by 87 percent of faculty members and 44 percent of administrators. Many answers made clear that these were innovations rather than traditional academic successes. One faculty member’s answer is a good example of teaching and


research innovations as well as a programmatic accomplishment (a new conference): I have done major writing on feminist practice in [applied discipline], on rethinking research practices, and on looking more closely at curricular issues related to race and gender. I have founded (with others) a major national conference, am editor of a book series, and have established a national reputation in my field as a feminist. Programmatic accomplishments, such as success in completing institutional projects, their role in improving their institution or the quality of education delivered, institutional or national programs that they had developed or fostered, or being effective administrators, were mentioned by 85 percent of administrators and 50 percent of faculty women. Another important category included 49 percent of administrators and 21 percent of faculty women who described their skills and style as integral to their achievements, most often using descriptors such as nurturant, cooperative, empowering others, building consensus. Looking over all the categories of accomplishments, 39 percent of women described successes in advancing women’s issues or equity or diversity more broadly. These accomplished women also were asked whether their contributions would have been made by a man in the same position. The belief that some of their accomplishments might not have been made by a man was expressed explicitly or implicitly by 69 percent of the respondents; only 13 percent stated explicitly that they did not know, could not or would not compare or generalize, or that men’s accomplishments were equivalent. One provost’s answer illustrates a programmatic accomplishment, the dependence of this accomplishment on interpersonal skills and style, and the belief that a man would not have achieved the same result: One of my accomplishments, perhaps not major, as an administrator has been to repair some damaged relations between academic and administrative “branches” of the college; I suspect this was partly possible because as a woman I am less interested in fighting battles, taking stands, more willing to compromise and seek consensus, and more able to work with admittedly difficult personalities.


These senior women were also asked to consider what had motivated them over their careers, whether their goals and priorities had been any different from men on similar career paths, and whether women’s issues had been a priority. Their motivations corresponded closely to their reported sources of satisfaction, which will not be reported separately. The most frequently mentioned category of motivations was the desire to make a difference, to be a change agent, to solve problems, to be of service, or to help others, reported by 57 percent of respondents. Nine (82%) of the presidents as well as 63 percent of the academic vice presidents and deans reported this motivation. One president made a keen distinction, “My goals have been more to make a difference than to make a reputation.” Another president explained: I think I got into administration out of some desire to serve and some desire to build things. My motivations have been to create things and to see change and improvements. I am now heavily motivated by how much of a difference I can make to the institution and energized by seeing the changes I have been able to make. More than half (53%) of these senior women mentioned their own intrinsic traits or characteristics as motivating their careers, for example, love of ideas, learning, knowledge, challenges, or desire to use talents. Another, more specific, intrinsic motivation involved love of one’s discipline, teaching, and/or research, reported by 19 percent of respondents, primarily faculty members. Surprisingly, only 13 percent expressed extrinsic motivations such as ambition or desire for rewards such as money, power, status, success, or recognition. Almost three-quarters (72%) of the women who addressed whether their motivations were different from men’s did report a difference, with the majority (55%) of those who reported a difference giving the opinion that men tended to be more self-interested or competitive. This difference between men and women was described in two ways: (1) men being more motivated by power, advancement, status, recognition, or money or less motivated to help others or solve problems, or (2) men having a style that is more authoritarian, competitive, or confrontational or less likely to nurture others or work collaboratively. The only answer that used both explanations provides good examples of each:


I think my teaching and research have been very much influenced by my gender and by my gradually increasing consciousness of gender issues. I think my teaching style and my interactions with students have always been, if you like, more nurturing than confrontational. . . . Fame and scholarly recognition have never been a big value for me; for some reason (I suspect gender-related) I just don’t seem to have the same kind of ambition my male contemporaries have. Moreover, almost all (93%) of the women who addressed whether women’s issues had been a priority stated that such issues were a priority, an interest, important, or present in their careers.

Advice Given their own success and perceptions of improvements for women, on the one hand, combined with their stresses and sacrifices and perceptions of remaining barriers, on the other hand, were these women leaders optimistic or pessimistic about the future? As well as assessing their own careers as of the late 1990s, they were asked to look toward the future: to report what we should be teaching women students about the situation of women in institutions of higher education and what advice they would give to women beginning their careers in higher education (Gerdes, 2003a). Most women answered these questions together and gave several pieces of advice, and many gave both optimistic and pessimistic advice. The most pessimistic advice was represented by either cautions or unpleasant facts of life; almost half (47%) of respondents gave such advice. For example, women were explicitly warned to “Be wary of everyone, everything,” “Be aware of negative, hidden attitudes about women in academe,” or against more specific “dangers” such as getting dragged into service activities that would not count in evaluations. Facts of life were more subtle reminders of the situation for women, with descriptions of specific barriers or the inherent bias of higher education toward male issues and interests. An even higher percentage (63%) of respondents acknowledged downsides yet advised women to adopt strategies for coping with ongoing gender disadvantages or to make life choices that would facilitate success. Advice on life choices was given by 21 percent of respondents, including the 15 percent of respondents giving advice concerning marriage and family. Aside from


advice about life choices, a majority (51%) of these successful women gave instrumental advice for coping with gender disadvantages, giving 73 separate pieces of advice. Most striking, given the open-ended opportunity to offer any type of advice, 35 percent of respondents mentioned mentoring and/or networking as a strategy to cope with gender disadvantages. Other coping advice from multiple respondents could be classified as follows: not thinking too much about discrimination, avoiding either being too strident a feminist/woman or emulating men, adapting to the situation in the short run to change it in the long run, and standing up for oneself. In the most optimistic answers, 53 percent of respondents proclaimed good news about higher education or offered personal wisdom. Some good news was unqualified, such as “It’s a great profession,” and, more fully: “There is much less of a ‘glass ceiling’ in academe than in almost any other profession, and more accommodation to women’s special needs than in most other professions, and relatively more acknowledgement that ‘women’s problems’ are ‘people’s problems.’ ” Other good news was qualified but still more positive than facts of life, such as: “Excellent women can usually do about as well as excellent men in academia.” Advice categorized as personal wisdom was more proscriptive and motivational than pronouncements of good news (and less strategic than coping with gender disadvantages) and included these subtypes: do what is good for oneself, identify one’s own values and follow them, do what one loves, have high aspirations, work hard and excel, help others, and have fun and a sense of humor. In considering optimistic advice, it must be remembered that these respondents were successful senior women; surveying women who had left academe due to unsatisfactory experiences certainly would have changed the balance of discouraging and encouraging advice. And, as noted previously, few answers gave only optimistic advice. Advice spanning several categories and combining acknowledgement of barriers with optimism about the potential for success if those barriers are addressed was common. Such complex yet coherent advice is illustrated by two academic administrators, who advised: Rely on your instincts, follow your natural style, develop a strong network of other women (and men), follow the literature on leadership and gender differences, be introspective, learn to deal with situations of conflict, expect others to expect more of you.


Assume you can do it, and if you are lucky you can. Pick the right husband, if you want a husband. Try to ignore the criticism, or at least don’t take it too seriously. Find women friends, listen to other women’s stories, both inside and outside academe. Do what you have to do to get tenure; find a problem you love to work on and work very hard on it. Don’t try to change things until you are in a position of strength; if you get to such a position, try to remember what it is like not to have power. The idea that women should not simply adapt to the traditionally masculine environment or measure their success by traditional male standards was implicit in many answers, such as the above, and explicit in some answers, such as these statements by two faculty members indicating their reluctance to urge women to be self-serving: If women were advised to pick the most successful male colleagues as role models, they would in general see very self-centered individuals who do little or nothing for their departments or institution, who dump service and teaching on females and junior faculty, and who have achieved top ranks and pay based on bringing in money and receiving national recognition for scholarly activity. I think there is a general difficulty here, in that the kinds of enthusiastic commitments to teaching and service that women often show are really valuable, and also are needed for the healthy functioning of the university. To encourage women to be more prudently self-concerned about their research is, in a way, to urge them not to be so devoted to these other aspects of university life. This perspective on the traditional male model of success and its inappropriateness for academic women is not surprising. Recall that the majority of these women reported their own career motivation as serving, helping, or producing positive change, and the majority of women who believed men’s motivations to be different described men as more selfinterested or competitive than women. It is not clear, however, whether these senior women believe it will be as necessary for their successors to work to advance women’s issues as it was for their own cohort; in spite of their concerns about remaining inequities and the fact that almost all


of them made women’s issues a priority, very few explicitly urged younger women to work on women’s issues.

Moving Forward These women leaders overcame differential treatment and incidents in their early careers that included hostile sexism and overt discrimination as well as benevolent sexism and insensitivity (see Cikara & Fiske, 2009). Most continued to experience some disadvantages as women as their careers progressed. They were aware of the tremendous changes for women over their careers; but, unlike observers who are falsely reassured by comparisons with the past (see Schmitt, Spoor, Danaher, & Branscombe, 2009), they remained quite aware of continuing problems, particularly subtle biases and family issues. They described their own careers as balancing acts. Family demands compromised career goals, and career demands required sacrificing time for family and personal life. Dissatisfaction with time pressure/workload and with support over their careers was common. High stress levels were reported, especially by those in administrative positions; and time/workload pressures were significant for both administrators and faculty. Although their descriptions of higher education included the environmental constraints and structural barriers emphasized by many authors (e.g., Eagly & Carli, 2007; Glazer-Raymo, 1999; see also Ward & Wolf-Wendel, 2008), they described their own paths in terms of choices in their careers and personal lives. Much of their advice for the next generation of women in higher education was instrumental, including cautions about the remaining barriers but also strategies for overcoming problems as well as emphatic optimism about current prospects for women if appropriate strategies were followed. Perhaps most importantly for the future of women in higher education, these senior women’s assessment of their achievements fit more with their sense of agency and optimism concerning women’s progress than with their high stress and the cautionary aspect of their perceptions of higher education. A majority of them cited the desire to serve or make a difference and sought personal fulfillment in their work; most saw men’s motivations as dissimilar, typically as more self-interested and competitive in seeking external rewards or recognition. Overall, these women described themselves as successful, and they did not describe themselves as having assimilated to the masculine expectations of their workplace (see Martin, 1997, 2000). Many mentioned helping


women; many mentioned a collaborative, nurturing style as integral to their success and as different from their typical male colleagues. In short, they described their motivations and accomplishments in terms more consistent with the advantages of transformational models of leadership than with more stereotypically masculine models of leadership (see Eagly, 2005; Eagly & Carli, 2003, 2007). Indeed, these women leaders, who now have either retired or are near the end of their careers, transformed the terrain of higher education. Their sacrifices and unselfish motivations should be a reminder to women rising to leadership positions in higher education today. However, caution still is appropriate. Although women working in higher education have come a long way toward equity since the 1970s, a stubborn gender gap remains. The improvement in women’s representation in faculty and administrative positions, although forced by affirmative action in the 1970s, was facilitated by dramatic expansion in professional positions in American higher education—full-time equivalent professional positions increased 63 percent between 1976 and 1997, when responses were collected for this study, and increased another 41 percent between 1997 and 2007 (NCES, 2010). In comparison, the percentages of full-time faculty and administrators who were women increased less than 1 percent per year, on average, over the same period. And it can be argued that progress has been slowing relative to the increasing number of women in the higher education pipeline. That is, women have been the majority of undergraduate students since 1978 and the majority of post-baccalaureate students since 1988; most relevant to academic positions, the proportion of doctoral degrees awarded to women has increased steadily, surpassing the number awarded to men in 2006–2007 (NCES, 2010). Notwithstanding improvement in the pipeline, women still lag in advancement and leadership. Women are most underrepresented in full-time positions, tenure-track and tenured positions, higher faculty ranks, higher administrative positions, traditionally male fields in the faculty or administration, and more prestigious institutions; and women earn less than men in comparable positions (Glazer-Raymo, 1999, 2008; NCES, 2010). In the absence of the compensatory mechanisms of earlier times, women will have trouble climbing out of the bottom of the distribution onto the leadership track in this era of retrenchment. Women are held back by institutions’ increasing reliance on part-time and temporary positions to reduce expenses and by other aspects of commercialization, or academic capitalism, that favor traditionally male fields and market-driven


decisions (Glazer-Raymo, 2008; Metcalfe & Slaughter, 2008). Wise women predicted such problems in 1997: “I am troubled by how fast and to what extent society’s support for affirmative action has shifted—and what this may mean in terms of few opportunities for women and minorities.” “But it could go bad, with retrenchment—no hiring and the over-reliance on lecturers.” “Individual situations may be better, . . . but collectively we still fight the same battles.” Nevertheless, general lack of awareness of current inequities is suggested not only by the backlash against affirmative action and other remedial measures (Glazer-Raymo, 2008) but also by lack of attention to women’s issues in the major higher education journals (Hart, 2006). It is much easier to believe that the playing field is now level and women’s problems in higher education have been successfully resolved. Fortunately, projects such as the current volume can reveal continuing disadvantages for women and additional paths to leadership as well as drawing attention to women’s impressive accomplishments.

References Astin, H. S., & Snyder, M. B. (1982). Affirmative action 1972–1982: A decade of response. Change, 14(5), 26–31, 59. Boxer, M. J. (1998). When women ask the questions: Creating women’s studies in America. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins. Cikara, M., & Fiske, S. T. (2009). Warmth, competence, and ambivalent sexism: Vertical assault and collateral damage. In M. Barreto, M. K. Ryan, & M. T. Schmitt (Eds.), The glass ceiling in the 21st century: Understanding barriers to gender equality (pp. 73–96). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Eagly, A. H. (2005). Achieving relational authenticity: Does gender matter? Leadership Quarterly, 16, 459–74. Eagly, A. H., & Carli, L. L. (2003). The female leadership advantage: An evaluation of the evidence. Leadership Quarterly, 14, 807–34. Eagly, A. H., & Carli, L. L. (2007). Through the labyrinth: The truth about how women become leaders. Boston: Harvard Business School. Gerdes, E. P. (2003a). Do it your way: Advice from senior academic women. Innovative Higher Education, 27, 253–76.


Gerdes, E. P. (2003b, Spring). The price of success: Senior academic women’s stress and life choices. Advancing Women in Leadership Journal. Retrieved June 1, 2010 from http://www.advancingwomen.com/ awl/spring2003/GERDES%7E1.HTML. Gerdes, E. P. (2006, Summer). Women in higher education since 1970: The more things change, the more they stay the same. Advancing Women in Leadership Journal. Retrieved June 2, 2010 from http:// www.advancingwomen.com/awl/summer2006/Gerdes.html. Gerdes, E. P. (2010). We did it our way: Motivations, satisfactions, and accomplishments of senior academic women. Advancing Women in Leadership Journa, 30 (21). Retrieved November 23, 2010 from http:// advancingwomen.com/awl/awl_wordpress/. Glazer-Raymo, J. (1999). Shattering the myths: Women in academe. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins. Glazer-Raymo, J. (2008). The feminist agenda: A work in progress. In J. Glazer-Raymo (Ed.), Unfinished agendas: New and continuing challenges in higher education (pp. 1–34). Baltimore: Johns Hopkins. Gobo, G. (2004). Sampling, representativeness, and generalizability. In C. Seale, G. Gobo, J. F. Gubrium, & D. Silverman (Eds.), Qualitative research practice (pp. 435–56). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Hart, J. (2006). Women and feminism in higher education scholarship: An analysis of three core journals. Journal of Higher Education, 77, 40–61. Kitzinger, C. (2004). Feminist approaches. In C. Seale, G. Gobo, J. F. Gubrium, & D. Silverman (Eds.), Qualitative research practice (pp. 125–40). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Marshall, K., & Rossman, G. B. (2006). Designing qualitative research (4th ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Martin, J. R. (1997). Bound for the promised land: The gendered character of higher education. Duke Journal of Gender Law & Policy, 4(3), 3–26. Martin, J. R. (2000). Coming of age in academe: Rekindling women’s hopes and reforming the academy. New York: Routledge. Metcalfe, A. S., & Slaughter, S. (2008). The differential effects of academic capitalism on women in the academy. In J. Glazer-Raymo (Ed.),


Unfinished agendas: New and continuing challenges in higher education (pp. 80–111). Baltimore: Johns Hopkins. National Center for Education Statistics. (1998). E. D. tabs: Fall staff in postsecondary institutions, 1995, NCES 98-228, by S. Roey & R. Rak. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Education. Retrieved July 26, 2010 from http://nces.ed.gov/pubs98/98228.pdf. National Center for Education Statistics. (2010). Digest of education statistics 2009, NCES 2010-013, by T. D. Snyder & S. A. Dillow. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Education. Retrieved July 26, 2010 from http:// nces.ed.gov/pubs2010/2010013.pdf. Patton, M. Q. (2002). Qualitative research and evaluation methods (3rd ed.). Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Schmitt, M. T., Spoor, J. R., Danaher, K., & Branscombe, N. R. (2009). Rose-colored glasses: How tokenism and comparisons with the past reduce the visibility of gender inequality. In M. Barreto, M. K. Ryan, & M. T. Schmitt (Eds.), The glass ceiling in the 21st century: Understanding barriers to gender equality (pp. 49–72). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Ward, K., & Wolf-Wendel, L. (2008). Choice and discourse in faculty careers: Feminist perspectives on work and family. In J. GlazerRaymo (Ed.), Unfinished agendas: New and continuing challenges in higher education (pp. 253–72). Baltimore: Johns Hopkins.

2 Historical Constructs of Gender and Work: Informing Access and Equity in U.S. Higher Education Amber L. Vlasnik

In recent years, administrators, the press, scholars, and the public have paid increased attention to women’s changing demographics in U.S. higher education. Now the majority of two-year and four-year college students, women have moved in large numbers into almost all sectors of higher education since the 1970s (Snyder, Dillow, & Hoffman, 2009). They have also moved in greater numbers into the workforce, with 59.5 percent of all women working in 2008 (U.S. Department of Labor, 2009); of these women laborers aged 25 to 64, 36 percent have college degrees, a percentage that has more than tripled from 11 percent in 1970 (U.S. Department of Labor, 2009). Women have clearly gained momentum both in college enrollment and the postgraduation labor force since the 1970s, and institutions of higher education have been deeply affected by their presence. In the words of Wilkerson (1989): On one hand, colleges and universities, unprepared for this radical change [majority women], have felt beleaguered by a staggering range of new demands, from curriculum reform to child care, while on the other hand, women—claiming a subtle form of gender apartheid—often find themselves treated as a minority, despite their greater numbers. (p. 27) 23


The higher education literature has explored the various experiences of women and men and the implications for their shifting demographics in the academy (e.g., Allen, Dean, & Bracken, 2008; Pearson, Shavlik, & Touchton, 1989; Sax, 2008); however, institutional responses to changing student demographics have ranged widely. While some campuses have enacted few or no changes in how students are taught, served, or supported, others have become concerned with how to better provide programs and services for men, who find themselves in the minority on most college campuses. Through my work in campus-based women’s centers, I participate in conversations that cover this range of reactions, during which I typically express concern for continued gender inequity despite women’s growing numbers. In these discussions, I generally raise three points: First, we must identify which women and men we are discussing and attend to how intersecting identities change access and equity in higher education; second, the quantity of women in higher education is a different discussion than the quality of their experiences, and; third, the many histories of women’s access to higher education are critical to understanding their current status, opportunities, and challenges. This final point is the central focus of this chapter, which evolves from my interest in understanding higher education’s shifting demographics as part of an ongoing journey for women and men. While much attention has been given to the result—women becoming the numerical majority—I want to focus on the historical contexts that continue to inform and shape women’s experiences in higher education today as well as the social and historical dialogues about women and work that affect their lives. I believe that this understanding is critical for higher education administrators dedicated to women’s success, particularly as administrators who witnessed firsthand and often advocated for the great changes in women’s higher education since the 1970s are retiring and younger professionals are filling their roles. As younger women dedicated to careers in higher education, we must understand the histories, complexities, and contexts for the higher education structures, policies, and practices we are inheriting, particularly as they relate to our diverse women students. In order to pursue this understanding, this chapter will examine how arguments about gender and labor roles have determined U.S. women’s exclusion from or acceptance to the academy in the twentieth century. Feminist theory helps provide a framework for understanding this history;

Historical Constructs of Gender and Work 25

specifically, I employ materialist feminist theory as an analytical lens through which to recognize and understand the roles of gender and work in determining possibilities for women’s participation in higher education in the twentieth century. The chapter begins with a discussion of the three most common structural means of educating women in the 1900s— women’s colleges, annexes, and coeducation—as well as how legislation changed educational opportunities for women. The chapter continues with exploration of period arguments about women and work, as well as how these arguments influenced access and experiences in higher education. The chapter concludes with implications for current practice as it relates to serving women, our new majority in higher education. As a final note, I continue my commitment to being explicit about “which women” by focusing this chapter on the experiences of and arguments surrounding educational opportunities for black and white women. Regularly compared in contemporary higher education, black and white women represent demographic groups that experienced wide gaps in labor and educational opportunities for most of United States history due to slavery, racism, discrimination, and the institutionalization of white privilege. I focus on these two groups of women knowing that I cannot do justice to their incredible diversity of class, age, sexual orientation, ability, and leadership styles in this chapter. However, my goal is to complicate and interrupt current discussions about women in higher education, which often ignore women’s immense diversity and their many intersecting identities, as well as their sometimes drastically different histories in the academy.

Women, Education, and Work in the Twentieth Century Women’s Colleges, Annexes, and Coeducation: Strategies for the Education of Women In an essay posthumously published in a volume with her husband (Palmer & Palmer, 1908), Alice Freeman Palmer wrote about the options for women’s higher education at the beginning of the twentieth century: These, then—coeducation, the woman’s college, and the annex—are the three great types of college in which the long agitation in behalf of women’s education has thus far issued. Of course they are but types—that


is, they do not always exist distinct and entire; they are rather the central forms to which many varieties approximate. (Palmer, 1908, p. 319) Palmer’s viewpoint for her naming and analysis of these three forms of women’s education is unique, for she was intimately acquainted with these three forms of women’s education. One of the first women graduates of the University of Michigan in 1876, Palmer’s own college years were coeducational. She taught at and later became the second president of Wellesley College from 1881–1887 (Wellesley College, 2009), a women’s college. After her marriage to Harvard professor George Herbert Palmer—through which she became acquainted with the Harvard Annex (Palmer, 1908)— Palmer was heavily pursued by University of Chicago president William Rainey Harper to become Dean of Women (Schwartz, 1997). She accepted the post in 1892 after negotiating an arrangement in which she would work part time and commute between Chicago and Boston, becoming “the first significant appointment of a woman to be a dean of women” (Schwartz, 1997, p. 506). Her unusual career as a professor and administrator who advocated for the education of women is often forgotten in the history books, but her words, at the beginning of the twentieth century, remain largely accurate descriptions of the higher educational opportunities for women during the past 100 years. These three options for structuring the education of women are the focus of this section, which will explore them in turn. Women’s Colleges While few colleges for women were in operation before the Civil War, by 1900 there were an estimated 150 women’s colleges (Rudolph, 1962); in 1960, women’s colleges peaked at an estimated 300 institutions (WolfWendel, 2003). This leap in educational opportunity was in part due to increased encouragement for women to earn a college degree. However, women’s colleges also benefited from generous donors. In the rising philanthropic atmosphere of higher education in the late 1800s, women’s colleges such as Vassar secured founding donations, and many others received sizeable gifts (Thelin, 2004). Westward expansion also accounted for the founding of many women’s colleges in the Midwest and West. The first generation of graduates from women’s colleges finished their studies in the 1880s. As undergraduates, students at women’s colleges:


. . . played aggressive team sports, organized meetings, politicked among classmates, handled budgets, solicited advertisements. For men, such elements of college life confirmed patterns of socialization that led to the world of business; for women, learning the routes of power contrasted with feminine upbringing and led to no known future. (Horowitz, 1987, p. 197) As a result of the skills practiced through their undergraduate opportunities, many of the women college graduates participated in public life. Jane Addams, founder of the Hull House in Chicago and Nobel Peace Prize winner, was an 1881 Rockford College graduate. An 1880 Vassar graduate, Julia Lathrop, became Chief of the Children’s Bureau at the U.S. Department of Education. Sophonisba Breckinridge, an 1888 Wellesley College alumna, was Vice President of the National American Woman’s Suffrage Association and president of several social workers’ organizations. Even if subsequent generations of graduates might not have exhibited the same social agenda (Gordon, 1990), these women and other women’s college alumnae led the first generation of women’s college graduates in fighting for social justice and women’s rights (Harwarth, Maline, & DeBra, 1997). The first classes of women graduates, in particular, saw falling marriage rates for college women. From 1880 to 1900, almost half of all women graduates did not marry, a number in stark contrast to similarly aged, noncollege-educated women who averaged a marriage rate of almost 90 percent (Horowitz, 1987). Higher education created financial opportunities that lessened the economic need for marriage, exactly the intent of society when it pushed women to attend college after the Civil War. Horowitz (1987) illustrates the choice of some college-educated women: “They could enter into the female community of reformers and professional women, a subculture that provided them with companionship and love and respected their choices and achievements” (p. 198). However, some male detractors proclaimed that women’s colleges were producing too many spinsters. Palmieri (1997) explains, “They believed the women’s colleges were ‘institutions for the promotion of celibacy,’ producing a disappearing class of intellectual women who were not marrying and hence were committing race suicide” (p. 177). Also important to note is that women’s colleges in the late nineteenth century and early twentieth century achieved a reputation for educating the privileged elite. While some women from lower-income families and


African American women attended women’s colleges, the campuses of women’s colleges were largely for economically privileged white women. Perkins (in Thelin, 2004) estimates that the Seven Sisters—Barnard, Bryn Mawr, Mount Holyoke, Radcliffe, Smith, Vassar, Wellesley—graduated more than 10,000 women but only a few hundred African American women before World War II. While early women’s colleges encouraged women’s higher education opportunities, they primarily benefited white women. There are two notable exceptions: Bennett and Spelman Colleges and their missions to advance the education of black women. Founded in 1881, Spelman College is the oldest institution for the education of black women in the United States (Guy-Sheftall & Bell-Scott, 1989; Tidball, Smith, Tidball, & Wolf-Wendel, 1999). Bennett College was founded in 1873 as a coeducational institution but became a women’s college in 1926 after experiencing financial difficulties that led to its reorganization (Tidball et al., 1999). The only two colleges to carry the distinction of being both women’s colleges and HBCUs (Historically Black Colleges and Universities), Spelman and Bennett Colleges provided environments where the success and education of black women were the primary mission (Gary, 2008; Guy-Sheftall & Bell-Scott, 1989; Tidball et al., 1999). Overall, women’s colleges contribute important lessons to the successful higher education of women. Wolf-Wendel (2003) describes how higher education can benefit from the seven successful actions of women’s colleges to “clarify and communicate a mission that puts women at the center,” “believe women can achieve and hold them to high expectations,” “make students feel like they matter,” “provide strong, positive role models,” “provide ample opportunities for women to engage in leadership activities,” “include women in the curriculum,” and “create safe spaces in which women can form a critical mass” (p. 41). Wolf-Wendel argues that women’s colleges have a future in higher education because they continue to be effective at creating “structures, policies, practices and curriculum that are attuned to the needs of women” (p. 49), and that coeducational institutions can learn from these successes.

Annexes, Affiliate, and Coordinate Campuses At the end of the nineteenth century, a new phenomenon began to occur at the leading white U.S. institutions: affiliate campuses for women, which were sometimes called annexes or coordinate campuses. Rather than


admit women, universities opted to create a separate campus for them, usually geographically connected to the parent institution. By sponsoring an affiliate campus, colleges and universities could simultaneously accommodate women students and keep them separate from men. One of the first affiliate campuses was at Harvard, which though it was founded in 1636 and had educated African American men since 1865 (Titcomb, 1993), chose to create the Harvard Annex in 1879 rather than admit women. Despite its name, “the Annex” had no official affiliation with the university; rather, it was started by thirteen Harvard faculty members who agreed to repeat their lectures to groups of female students but had no authority to grant Harvard degrees or honors (Schwager, 2004). However, this distinction was not clearly made to the public, and most regarded the Harvard Annex as an important step for women in higher education, even though Harvard officials had no intention to admit women. In 1894, the Annex was rechartered by the state and named Radcliffe College, which had permission to grant degrees to women (Morison, 1936). The college admitted black women, and in 1898 Alberta V. Scott became Radcliffe’s first black graduate (Titcomb, 1993); regardless, Radcliffe women were still denied a Harvard education and degree. Major universities across the United States began to follow Harvard’s lead, and affiliate institutions such as H. Sophie Newcomb Memorial College in 1886 (affiliated with Tulane University) and Pembroke College (affiliated with Brown University shortly after they admitted women in 1891) were founded in the late 1800s (Brubacher & Rudy, 1997). Overall, affiliate campuses for women helped to bridge the divide between men’s colleges and the admission of women: It became only a matter of time before financial concerns and societal pressure encouraged most institutions to combine their campuses into one. In the case of Harvard and Radcliffe, discussed earlier, Harvard admitted women in 1943 (President and Fellows of Harvard College, 2007), when war made their admission a financial necessity (Faust, 2004). Yet women in Harvard’s entering class of 1999 were the first women since Harvard-Radcliffe’s wartime agreement to be admitted to Harvard proper, instead of Harvard-Radcliffe (Faust, 2004). Many of the former annexes or affiliate campuses—as evidenced in the case of Harvard and Radcliffe—had long histories with their institutions, and many continue today, transformed into institutes for research on women or to promote women’s advanced study.


Coeducation When Oberlin College was founded in 1833, it was the first institution of higher education to admit both women and students of color (Oberlin College, 2007). However, many decades passed before coeducation could be considered even remotely mainstream. The opportunities for coeducation first took hold in the pioneering American West: in 1872 there were ninety-seven coeducational colleges in the United States, and sixty-seven of them were in the West (Rudolph, 1962). By the early twentieth century, these opportunities were beginning to mainstream: In 1910 only 27 percent of U.S. institutions of higher education barred women from entering; twenty years later, only 15 percent barred entrance to women (Carnegie Commission on Higher Education, 1973). The mass movement to coeducation in the twentieth century affected former women’s colleges differently than men’s institutions. According to Thelin (2004), all-men institutions gained the best and brightest women candidates, who would have otherwise attended women’s colleges. Women’s colleges that chose to become coeducational not only lost their best women candidates but also experienced male candidates with lower academic qualifications; this phenomenon was widely noted at Vassar (Thelin, 2004), which admitted men in 1969 (Vassar College, n.d.). Coeducation was not without its difficulties. It quickly became apparent that while universities might open their doors to women, this did not necessarily indicate that campus climates were welcoming (Brubacher & Rudy, 2003; Wolf-Wendel, 2003). Women struggled during the beginning years of coeducation to fit into campus structures that were not designed to accommodate them and to interact with men who were not accustomed to women’s presence. While women were present on campus in the early 1900s, they were unlikely to achieve leadership positions on campus (Miller-Bernal, 2004) and often were “tracked” into certain academic programs or discouraged from others (Thelin, 2004). Furthermore, coeducational institutions often did not provide equitable resources to women students, such as the housing opportunities, medical care, and physical education facilities that they offered to male students (Nidiffer, 2003). Poulson and Miller-Bernal (2004) write, “It was as though women were expected to fit into the existing situation without disturbing the status quo” (p. 312). Clearly, the road to coeducation was not quickly or easily traveled and institutions created various strategies for serving women students.


Beginning in the early to mid 1800s at institutions like Oberlin and Antioch, coeducational institutions appointed deans of women to look after the unmarried women students (Nidiffer, 2003). While the administration largely viewed the Dean of Women as disciplinarian and watchperson in these early years, the position evolved in the late 1800s to demand the deans’ responsibility for meeting women’s educational and college-related needs (Brooks, 1988; Nidiffer, 2003). Deans of women were focused professionals committed to doing their best for women on campus. Schwartz (1997) explains: Far from “spinsterly battle axes,” the first deans were well-respected academic women who had committed themselves to their disciplines. While they were determined to provide counsel and support to young women, they also focused on the prerequisites of scholarship as the road to respect in academe. Accordingly, the early deans wrote books, conducted research, published articles, and established professional associations. In turn, the associations developed journals and held annual conferences for the further dissemination of knowledge and the advancement of the profession. (p. 509) After years of debate, the positions “Dean of Men” and “Dean of Women” were recombined in the 1950s and 1960s, often with deans of men assuming the title of “Dean of Students” (Brooks, 1988). Schwartz (1997) claims that “in many respects, coeducation was successful because of the work of the deans of women” (p. 518), illustrating the importance and legacy of their roles on campus. As deans of women faded into the annals of higher education, women’s centers were beginning to be founded on college campuses in the 1960s and 1970s as a result of the women’s movement and as a response to the continued difficulties with the incorporation of women into previously men’s institutions of higher education (Clevenger, 1988). The link between deans of women and women’s centers is important to note. Brooks (1988) calls deans of women “the foremothers of the women’s centers of today” (p. 20), though she describes deans of women and women’s centers as having parallel goals rather than centers becoming the new deans of women. Women’s centers were founded with the goal “to provide or help institutions to provide programs and services which


would enable women to achieve equity in all aspects of their education, work, and life” (Gould, 1989, p. 219). While there is no one model of a women’s center, women’s centers tend to serve women in five key categories: safety, education and awareness, support and advocacy, equity, and community (Kunkel, 1994, 2002); additional foci include leadership, internationalization, and technology (Davie, 2002). Despite the enormous diversity among the more than 500 campus women’s centers across the nation today (National Women’s Studies Association, n.d.), women’s centers share commitments to the success and equity of women. For example, the Women’s Centers Committee of the Southwestern Ohio Council on Higher Education and the Greater Cincinnati Consortium of Colleges and Universities recently engaged in a writing project to develop their shared statement of philosophy: Women’s centers reflect the unique needs of their institutions and communities, yet share a commitment to historically underserved individuals and groups. Additionally, women’s centers play a leadership role in understanding the changing workplace and preparing members of the university community to engage successfully with an increasingly complex world. Women’s centers are integral to transforming institutions into inclusive environments; through community-building, advocacy, education, support, and research, they encourage the full participation and success of women. (Vlasnik, 2010) The philosophy statement delineates women’s centers’ commitments to expanding opportunities for women students and creating more inclusive institutions. Their commitment to women of color, one of many historically underserved groups, is also reflected in the statement, and women’s centers have employed varying strategies for serving women of color in the academy (see Buford, 1988; DiLapi & Gay, 2002). Women’s centers and other units and individuals working for women’s equity in coeducational settings were aided by several key court cases and legislative actions in the mid to late 1900s, particularly related to integration. While the twentieth century saw advances for women in the areas of women’s colleges, annexes, and coeducation, these advances differed based on race. Black higher education was slowed by decades of segregation, institutionalized racism, and underfunding. While private black


colleges were growing in numbers and the law mandated state support for black education, only Alabama, Maryland, North Carolina, and Virginia had established institutions funded with tax dollars for African Americans prior to 1900 (Anderson, 2002); however, these institutions were “colleges” and “universities” in name only, as their curricula and facilities did not measure up to white institutions of higher education (Anderson, 2002). In the 1900s, legislation meant to open higher education opportunities, such as the GI Bill, actually did little to help African Americans who served in the armed forces: the bill made no provisions for nondiscrimination, and African American veterans (some of who were, presumably, women) were not granted access to white public institutions (Thelin, 2004). On the other hand, black veteran enrollment at HBCUs increased dramatically in the postwar years, spurring considerable growth for HBCUs as well as straining their finite resources (Wilson, 2008). It wasn’t until the 1954 Brown v. Board of Education decision that there was a legal foundation for equal education according to race. The majority opinion of the Court reads, “We conclude that in the field of public education the doctrine of ‘separate but equal’ has no place. Separate educational facilities are inherently unequal” (Brown v. Board of Education, 1954). When the Supreme Court remanded Hawkins v. Board of Control to the Florida Supreme Court in 1956, the Brown decision was applied to higher education. Hawkins addressed the complaints of African American students who applied to the University of Florida Law School and were denied admission based on race; the Florida ruling stipulated that qualified candidates, regardless of race, must be admitted to the program (Hawkins v. Board of Control, 1956). These two cases laid the legal groundwork for the integration of public educational institutions. It was the Civil Rights Act of 1964, however, that enforced these court rulings at public institutions, making higher education at previously white institutions a possibility for African American students (Teddlie & Freeman, 2002). Overall African American enrollment increased dramatically in the years that followed. Nonetheless, Allen and Jewell’s 1968 study noted that 80 percent of all African American undergraduates still received degrees from HBCUs (in Anderson, 2002). While advances were made for African Americans, black men benefited disproportionately from these cases, as black women still faced discrimination based on their gender.


A final piece of legislation, Title IX of the Education Amendments (1972), gave legal footing to gender-based inequities in higher education. Title IX states, “No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any educational program or activity receiving Federal financial assistance . . .” (Education Amendments, 1972). While Title IX is most famous for its application in the area of collegiate sports, the act was not created merely to facilitate women’s movement onto the court, green, or field or into the pool; rather, Title IX intended to remove barriers to women’s participation in all aspects of federally funded programs and events. Varying institutional structures, administrators and units dedicated to serving women, legislation, and court cases—there were many challenges and advances in women’s access to higher education in the twentieth century. These changes often paralleled discussions of women’s roles as laborers in the home and the market. The next section explores women, work, and their relationships with higher education. “Working Women” and the Academy While women have always worked, the term working women took on new meaning in the twentieth century. These social changes regarding women and work informed the continuing debate about women’s participation in higher education. This section highlights major changes regarding women, labor, and family, as well as discusses how the identities of “working women” shaped women’s experiences in the academy. Women’s efforts to enter more areas of the workforce were challenged by fresh debate about women’s bodies and their roles as wives and mothers in the twentieth century. Changing ideas about family size were important to the debate. Between 1800 and 1900, the average number of children born to white women fell from 7 to 3.5 due to advances in birth control methods over the course of the century (Cott, 1994). In the early 1900s, contraceptive options were enlarged by the work of Margaret Sanger. A nurse, sexual health advocate, and birth control pioneer, Sanger advocated medical research about contraceptives and promoted their usage among women. In 1920 she wrote, “Millions of women are asserting their right to voluntary motherhood. They are determined to decide for themselves whether they shall become mothers,


under what conditions and when” (p. 5). Despite a general sense that lowering marital fertility was acceptable, the use of birth control itself was highly controversial (Cott, 1994), and Sanger was censored, arrested, and fined for her teachings. However, Sanger’s radical medical and social arguments for birth control were taking hold, and college campuses reflected the changes in sexual attitudes and expectations. Thelin (2004) writes that the “college woman” between the two World Wars was considered to be in the same category of misbehaving, promiscuous women as the flapper and the “new woman.” Horowitz (1987) further explains, “According to [the canons of conventional coeds] they could enjoy sexual activity—to a point—along with certain symbols of the new freedom: bobbed hair, short skirts, cigarettes, jazz, and automobiles” (p. 208). Nevertheless, the general public mistrusted these symbols, and college women were often deemed dangerous women. Working women also fell into the category of dangerous women. Working women were “trying to have it all” by having husbands and children while also working outside the home. Women began to move in significant numbers out of the private home and into the public workforce in the twentieth century. The numbers started small, with the U.S. Census reporting in 1930 that less than 12 percent of married women worked for pay outside the home (Cott, 1994); overall, just 23.6 percent of all women were working for wages. These numbers do not reveal whether women worked full time or part time or if they had children, but regardless, women were making their mark as laborers. World War II had a profound effect on women’s work opportunities. Jacobsen (1998) explains that women moved into manufacturing positions “as men were conscripted and production of war-related goods increased . . . both to fill the slack in labor supply left by the men and as a response to both reduced income and reduced nonmarket work responsibilities” (p. 439). World War II demanded that 2.5 million women enter the workforce for the first time, 1.3 million of whom were hired by war industries (in Jacobsen, 1998). Black women, in particular, benefited from wartime labor opportunities, experiencing a rise in remuneration for their efforts as they shifted from overrepresentation in domestic work to factory jobs (Matthews, 1992). However, when the war ended and men returned to civilian life, they were often able to reclaim their previous jobs from women because of pre-existing union agreements or because employers felt inclined to hire


veterans due to their military service (Blau, Ferber, & Winkler, 1998). Women’s participation in the labor market therefore suffered, as they were either laid off to make room for returning soldiers or lost their jobs due to decreasing production of wartime supplies. Just two years after the war ended, the number of working women dropped from 35.8 percent in 1945—the highest number yet seen for women—to 31.5 percent in 1947 (U.S. Census figures, cited in Blau, Ferber, & Winkler, 1998); again these numbers do not tell us if women worked full time or part time. Materialist feminist arguments are helpful in understanding this phenomenon. Women were accepted and actually praised as workers in the labor market during the war years, but as soon as men returned to the labor market, traditional arguments about women and work resurfaced. The media largely contributed to this shift in social messages, as during the War, women were encouraged to emulate the government’s propaganda icon Rosie the Riveter, whose rallying cry “We can do it!” ushered women into the factories; however, men’s return to the labor force after the war resulted in many women returning to the home to engage in domestic labor and childrearing. Marriage rates soared after World War II, accompanied by a lowering of women’s ages at the time of their first marriage and a rise in fertility (Jacobsen, 1998). Veterans also displaced women on college campuses after returning from World War II. Overall, women comprised 40 percent of undergraduate enrollment in 1939 to 1940 but by 1950 composed just 32 percent of enrollment, which reveals how the GI Bill worked to “masculinize the postwar campus” (Thelin, 2004, p. 267) and made higher education, even on coeducational campuses, “a man’s world once again” (Schwartz, 1997, p. 517). After veterans came to campus, “it took a certain independence of mind for a college woman to envision a future career” (Horowitz, 1987, p. 216). Yet some women—married and unmarried, college-educated and noncollege-educated—did enter the workforce. Labor force participation rates reveal that 34.5 percent of white women and 46.1 percent of black women worked in 1955 (in Blau, Ferber, & Winkler, 1998), again demonstrating the longstanding trend that more black women worked outside their homes than white women (Davis, 1981). However, Evans (1989) points out that 1950s society feared that women would abandon their “natural” roles; in order to counter this argument, working women were quick to declare the “primacy of marriage and family in professional women’s lives” (p. 262).


Just one example of the emphasis on family and home life made at that time by working women is a 1956 Fortune magazine study of women executives in which all participants valued family above work yet believed that they could satisfactorily complete the demands of both “if they want to badly enough” (quoted in Evans, 1989, p. 262). Despite these proclamations by working women about the importance of family, they were constantly responding to sharp criticism. In 1955, journalist Elizabeth Pope wrote in McCall’s magazine: Working women have been blamed for everything from juvenile delinquency to divorce. They have been charged with neglecting their babies, bulldozing their husbands, neglecting their homes. It’s hard to think of a social problem ranging from inadequate breakfasts to world unrest which someone at some time or another hasn’t dumped into their laps. (1955/1999, p. 231) College-educated women in particular faced difficulties with their careers and labor in their homes. Working women graduates often felt the need to assert their domesticity even more strongly than those who did not attend college in order to assure society that the privilege of higher education had not altered their commitment to home and family. In a seeming effort to prove that family was more important, more and more women did not finish college. By the mid-1950s, 60 percent of college women were dropping out in order to marry or to improve their chances for marriage (Friedan, 1963). Despite this backlash against college-educated working women, marriage ages increased and birthrates began to fall beginning in 1957. The 1960 FDA approval of the birth control pill created the possibility of recreational sex without the risk of pregnancy (Evans, 1989). Sanger, in the words of Michel and Muncy (1999), “participated in creating the modern, sexualized woman, a new gender identity altogether, and one that made women seem more like men than before” (p. 119). Helen Gurley Brown’s 1962 how-to book Sex and the Single Girl demonstrates the emergence of this modern, sexually liberated woman: Theoretically a “nice” single woman has no sex life. What nonsense! She has a better sex life than most of her married friends. She need


never be bored with one man per lifetime. Her choice in partners is endless and they seek her. They never come to her bed duty-bound. Her married friends refer to her pursuers as wolves, but actually many of them turn out to be lambs—to be shorn and worn by her. (Brown, 1962/2003, p. 7) This book and many other publications created a new identity for single women, who for the first time could choose to postpone or reject their reproductive capacity. In 1963, many married women received a new message as well: Betty Friedan published The Feminine Mystique, and millions of housewives realized that they were not alone in their feelings of loneliness, dissatisfaction, and restlessness. Arguing that the “happy housewife” was a myth created by society and a mask for the underlying social problem of sexism, Friedan writes, “In the fifteen years after World War II, this mystique of feminine fulfillment became the cherished and self-perpetuating core of contemporary American culture” (p. 14). Friedan called attention to women’s disillusion with housewifery and their complex, unpaid labor in the home. Arguments about women’s capabilities and responsibilities, as well as their educational, work, and familial opportunities continued to dominate the latter part of the twentieth century. Hochschild and Machung’s book The Second Shift (2003) exposes the ongoing reality of the majority of working women, not just those in higher education. The women in their study contributed a full day’s work at the office and then arrived home to cook, clean, and care for their children. Hochschild and Machung (2003) argue that this work at home constitutes another full shift of labor. Responding to the dual demands of work and home, the “Super-Mom” was born. Hochschild and Machung (2003) implicate women’s transition to the workforce as the means by which the heterosexual family could adapt to deindustrialization and declining men’s wages. And, more and more, women are doing both shifts as single parents. In 1960, 74.5 percent of households in the United States were married couples living with children; by 1995, only 54.5 percent of the 99 million total households fit this description (Jacobsen, 1998). The social, economic, and political forces described in this section illuminate part of the journey for women—specifically white and black women—related to work and higher education in the twentieth century.


These historical arguments, higher education structures, and responses to women’s growing numbers as workers and students deeply inform women’s access and opportunities today. As educators invested in the success of women, these histories can also inform our understandings of and responses to women’s needs on contemporary college campuses.

Access and Equity in U.S. Higher Education: Moving Forward with Intention In the early twenty-first century, women have established their place as the majority of students in higher education. As the emphasis on the demographics of women and men in the academy continues, we as educators have a unique opportunity to discuss gender issues in a new way. The discussions in this chapter have multiple implications for policy and practice related to women in higher education. For practitioners, particularly younger professionals, it is imperative that the histories explored in this chapter—and also the histories that were not discussed—are considered when exploring how to best serve college women. New conversations that are more firmly rooted in an understanding of how historical contexts inform and shape the present day will encourage different dialogues about the majority of women in higher education and perhaps offer fresh suggestions for improving educational access and equity. Practitioners also benefit from a deeper understanding of the institutional structures they inherited; from women’s colleges to women’s centers and beyond, the structures present in higher education today are embedded in historical discussions and traditions about the education of women.

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Faust, D. G. (2004). Mingling promiscuously: A history of women and men at Harvard. In L. T. Ulrich (Ed.), Yards and gates: Gender in Harvard and Radcliffe history (pp. 317–27). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Friedan, B. (1963). The feminine mystique. New York: Dell. Gary, S. (2008). Bennett and Spelman Colleges: Creating Black female PhDs in the sciences. In M. Gasman & C. L. Tudico (Eds.), Historically black colleges and universities: Triumphs, troubles, and taboos (pp. 41–52). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Gordon, L. D. (1990). Gender and higher education in the progressive era. New Haven, NH: Yale University Press. Gould, J. S. (1989). Women’s centers as agents of change. In C. S. Pearson, D. L. Shavlik, & J. G. Touchton (Eds.), Educating the majority: Women challenge tradition in higher education (pp. 219–29). New York: American Council on Education & Macmillan. Guy-Sheftall, B., & Bell-Scott, P. (1989). Black women’s studies: A view from the margin. In C. S. Pearson, D. L. Shavlik, & J. G. Touchton (Eds.), Educating the majority: Women challenge tradition in higher education (pp. 205–18). New York: Macmillan. Harwarth, I., Maline, M. S., & DeBra, E. (1997, June). Women’s colleges in the United States: History, issues, and challenges. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office. Hawkins v. Board of Control, 350 U.S. 413 (1956). Hochschild, A. R., & Machung, A. (2003). The second shift (2nd ed.). New York: Penguin. Horowitz, H. L. (1987). Campus life: Undergraduate cultures from the end of the eighteenth century to the present. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Jacobsen, J. P. (1998). The economics of gender (2nd ed.). Oxford, England: Blackwell. Kunkel, C. A. (1994). Women’s needs on campus: How universities meet them. Initiatives, 56(2), 15–28. Kunkel, C. A. (2002). Starting a women’s center: Key issues. In S. L. Davie (Ed.), University and college women’s centers: A journey toward equity (pp. 65–78). Westport, CT: Greenwood Press.


Matthews, G. (1992). The rise of public woman: Woman’s power and woman’s place in the United States, 1630–1970. New York: Oxford University Press. Michel, S., & Muncy, R. (Eds.). (1999). Engendering America: A documentary history, 1865 to the present. Boston: McGraw-Hill. Miller-Bernal, L. (2004). Coeducation: An uneven progression. In L. Miller-Bernal & S. L. Poulson (Eds.), Going coed: Women’s experiences in formerly men’s colleges and universities, 1950–2000 (pp. 3–21). Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press. Morison, S. E. (1936). Three centuries of Harvard: 1636–1936. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. National Women’s Studies Association. (n.d.). NWSA campus women’s centers database. Retrieved July 1, 2010 from http://www.nwsa.org/ research/centerguide/index.php. Nidiffer, J. (2003). From whence they came: The contexts, challenges, and courage of early women administrators in higher education. In B. RopersHuilman (Ed.), Gendered futures in higher education: Critical perspectives for change (pp. 15–34). Albany: State University of New York Press. National Women’s Studies Association. (n.d.). NWSA campus women’s centers database. Retrieved April 24, 2010, from http://www.nwsa.org/ research/centerguide/index.php. Oberlin College. (2007). About Oberlin. Retrieved June 8, 2010, from http://www.oberlin.edu/newserv/facts.html. Palmer, A. F. (1908). Three types of women’s colleges. In G. H. Palmer & A. F. Palmer (Eds.), The teacher: Essays and addresses on education (pp. 313–36). Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Palmer, G. H., & Palmer, A. F. (Eds.). (1908). The teacher: Essays and addresses on education. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Palmieri, P. A. (1997). From republican motherhood to race suicide: Arguments on the higher education of women in the United States, 1820– 1920. In L. F. Goodchild & H. S. Wechsler (Eds.), The history of higher education (2nd ed., pp. 173–82). Boston: Pearson Custom. Pearson, C. S., Shavlik, D. L., & Touchton, J. G. (Eds.). (1989). Educating the majority: Women challenge tradition in higher education. New York: American Council on Education and Macmillan.


Pope, E. (1999). Working women have been blamed for everything. In S. Michel & R. Muncy (Eds.), Engendering America: A documentary history, 1865 to the present (pp. 231–34). Boston: McGraw-Hill. (Original work published 1955) Poulson, S. L., & Miller-Bernal, L. (2004). Coeducation and gender equal education. In L. Miller-Bernal & S. L. Poulson (Eds.), Going coed: Women’s experiences in formerly men’s colleges and universities, 1950–2000 (pp. 309–16). Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press. President and Fellows of Harvard College. (2007). The Harvard guide: Recent history. Retrieved June 8, 2010, from http://www.news.harvard .edu/guide/intro/hist3.html. Rudolph, F. (1962). The American college and university: A history. New York: Knopf. Sanger, M. (1920). Woman and the new race. New York: Blue Ribbon Books. Sax, L. J. (2008). The gender gap in college: Maximizing the potential of women and men. San Francisco, CA: Jossey-Bass. Schwager, S. (2004). Taking up the challenge: The origins of Radcliffe. In L. T. Ulrich (Ed.), Yards and gates: Gender in Harvard and Radcliffe history (pp. 87–115). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Schwartz, R. A. (1997, September/October). Reconceptualizing the leadership roles of women in higher education: A brief history on the importance of deans of women. The Journal of Higher Education, 68(5), 502–22. Snyder, T. D., Dillow, S. A., & Hoffman, C. M. (2009, March). Digest of education statistics 2008 (NCES 2009-020). Washington, DC: National Center for Education Statistics, Institute of Education Sciences, U.S. Department of Education. Teddlie, C., & Freeman, J. A. (2002). Twentieth-century desegregation in U.S. higher education: A review of five distinct historical eras. In W. A. Smith, P. G. Altbach, & K. Lomotey (Eds.), The racial crisis in American higher education: Continuing challenges for the twenty-first century (pp. 77–99). Albany: State University of New York Press. Thelin, J. R. (2004). A history of American higher education. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.


Tidball, M. E., Smith, D. G., Tidball, C. S., & Wolf-Wendel, L. E. (1999). Taking women seriously: Lessons and legacies for educating the majority. Phoenix, AZ: American Council on Education and Oryx Press. Titcomb, C. (1993). The black presence at Harvard: An overview. In W. Sollors, C. Titcomb, & T. Underwood (Eds.), Blacks at Harvard: A documentary history of African-American experience at Harvard and Radcliffe (pp. 1–7). New York: New York University Press. U.S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics. (2009, September). Women in the labor force: A databook (Report No. 1018). Retrieved July 12, 2010, from http://www.bls.gov/cps/wlf-databook-2009.pdf. Vassar College. (n.d.). About Vassar: History. Retrieved June 8, 2010, from http://admissions.vassar.edu/about_hist.html. Vlasnik, A. L. (2010, May). Ohio women’s centers: Statement of philosophy (Issue Brief No. 01). Retrieved May 28, 2010, from Southwestern Ohio Council for Higher Education website: http://www.soche.org/ and Greater Cincinnati Consortium of Colleges and Universities website: http://www.gcccu.org/. Wellesley College (2009, January). Wellesley College presidents. Retrieved June 8, 2010, from http://www.wellesley.edu/Welcome/ wcpres.html. Wilkerson, M. B. (1989). Majority, minority, and the numbers game. In C. S. Pearson, D. L. Shavlik, & J. G. Touchton (Eds.), Educating the majority: Women challenge tradition in higher education (pp. 25–31). New York: Macmillan. Wilson, M. (2008). The forgotten GI: The Servicemen’s Readjustment Act and black colleges, 1944–54. In M. Gasman & C. L. Tudico (Eds.), Historically black colleges and universities: Triumphs, troubles, and taboos (pp. 93–104). New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Wolf-Wendel, L. (2003). Gender and higher education: What should we learn from women’s colleges? In B. Ropers-Huilman (Ed.), Gendered futures in higher education: Critical perspectives for change (pp. 35–52). Albany: State University of New York Press.

3 “Many Phantoms and Obstacles . . . Looming in Her Way”: Women Faculty in Academe Michele A. Paludi and Florence L. Denmark

Introduction: Systematic Oppression of Women Faculty Even when the path is nominally open—when there is nothing to prevent a woman from being a doctor, a lawyer, a civil servant— there are many phantoms and obstacles . . . looming in her way. —Virginia Woolf

When I spoke up for women’s issues, I was made to feel unwelcome in my own department, kept off crucial committees, ridiculed, ignored. . . . Ironically, my name in the catalogue gave Columbia a reputation for encouraging feminist studies in modernism. Nothing could be further from the truth. —Carolyn Heilbrun

In Death in a Tenured Position (Cross, 1986), protagonist Professor Kate Fansler tries to solve the death of the first woman to hold a full professorship in Harvard University’s English department. Prior to coming to Harvard to help solve Janet’s murder, a colleague informs her: “I’ll send you a nice fat packet about women at Harvard. It’s a particularly depressing collection of materials” (p. 25). The mystery novel is set in 1978; the recipient of the endowed chair is Professor Janet Mandelbaum, who states she is determined to succeed at her professorship based on merit, not on the fact that she is a woman. 45


The Chair of the English Department notes, “Most of our best students are women; that’s true everywhere in graduate studies . . . so it seems only right that they should have at least one representative of their sex on the faculty of the department” (p. 128). He further notes: “I was glad that Janet . . . wasn’t a real feminist” (p. 128). He also declares, “Of course, given a choice, I’d have chosen not to have a woman professor in the department. It’s bound to cause problems” (p. 128). Professor Mandelbaum finds herself ostracized by colleagues who consider women’s studies to be faddish and an unnecessary part of the liberal arts curriculum. Eventually, Professor Mandelbaum is found drugged, dead, and in a compromising position in a women’s room at Harvard. While the mystery novel Death in a Tenured Position is fiction, the issues raised by Cross (Carolyn Heilbrun’s pen name) are accurate reflections of universities being gatekeepers toward women professors in order to limit the advancement of women in their careers. Gatekeepers believe, for example, that women have no place in university teaching and research; however, they rationalize that their resistance to women in the profession is based on “facts,” for example, women are not viewed as being committed to their careers as are men; they are rather interested in marrying and raising families (Betz & Schifano, 2000). These discriminatory behaviors stemming from stereotypic attitudes toward women faculty as described by Cross existed long before her critique of universities in the late 1970s. For example, the first generation of American women psychologists was caught in the middle of two conflicting stereotypes (Rossiter, 1982). On one hand, they were stereotyped as “soft, delicate, emotional, noncompetitive, and nurturing kinds of feelings and behavior” (p. xv). On the other hand, they were scientists, who were portrayed as “tough, rigorous, rational, impersonal, masculine, competitive, and unemotional” (p. xv). When compared to their male peers, these women psychologists were similar in age and training. However, they were less likely to achieve equivalent professional status. Furthermore, according to the American Psychological Association (2009), with respect to the first generation of American women psychologists, “the mantle of scientific psychology was used to justify discrimination against them” (p. 1).

“Many Phantoms and Obstacles . . . Looming in Her Way” 47

According to Furumoto and Scarborough (1986), “Certain genderspecific factors profoundly affected the women’s experience: exclusion from important educational and employment opportunities, the responsibility of daughters to their families, and the marriage-versus-career dilemma” (p. 39). These issues are those that many women in the second generation of American psychologists and other professionals and modern-day women academicians and scholars face, supporting Hanisch’s (1969) conclusion: “the personal is political.” The personal problems faced by early women scholars and academicians just as today are political problems, the result of systematic oppression.

Women Faculty as “Outsiders” Looking In The Modern Language Association (cited in Inside Higher Ed, 2008) reported from its Associate Professor Survey (also included full professors) the following findings: a. On every measure of job satisfaction, male professors are more satisfied than female professors in English and foreign languages. b. Women spend an average of 1.5 hours more per week than do men on grading student work. c. Male faculty work an average of 2 hours more per week on research than do female faculty. d. It takes women faculty longer than men to earn the promotion from associate to full professor. e. The sole area in which women are overwhelmingly very satisfied with their faculty responsibilities (but still not as satisfied as men) is their autonomy in the college classroom. Quotations from survey respondents highlighted these statistical results. For example, respondents tended to “love their jobs” but simultaneously “struggle to meet the various demands they face” (p. 1). Some women professors noted they value teaching because “teaching can be a kind of refuge” (p. 2) in that their classroom is the one place where they have the most control over professional decisions impacting their academic career.


Results from surveys by the Center for Workforce Studies of the American Psychological Association (2008) and the 2008–2009 American Psychological Association Faculty Salaries in Graduate Departments of Psychology Survey indicated: a. In 2005, 72 percent of new Ph.D.s in psychology were women, an increase of 6 percent in the last ten years and 20 percent in the last 20 years. In 1976, the percentage of women Ph.D.s was thirty-three. b. The majority of women Ph.D.s were on the faculty at two-year colleges or in hospital settings; the majority of men Ph.D.s were on the faculty of universities with graduate programs. c. More women than men were lecturers or assistant or associate professors in academic institutions; more men were full professors. d. More men than women achieved tenure in psychology graduate departments each selected year studied (from 1985 to the present). Bernstein and Russo (2008) and Bilimoria, Joy, and Liang (2008) also noted that women faculty in STEM careers (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) represent less than 5 percent of full professorships in the top fifty departments in math, statistics, and electrical, civil, mechanical, and chemical engineering. They further noted that the ratio of women earning Ph.D.s in a STEM field to full professorships is approximately 4 to 1. According to Bernstein and Russo (2008): . . . there is growing evidence that even women who have the appropriate credentials and experience for entering STEM careers leave their positions significantly more often than men. . . . one study estimated 6-year attrition in the information technology workforce at 40% for women compared to 25% for men. (p. 2) Similar results were obtained by the National Academies (2009). For example: a. In every scientific, medical and engineering field, women were underrepresented among candidates for tenure relative to the number of women assistant professors. “In chemistry, for example, women made up 22 percent of assistant professors, but only


15 percent of the faculty being considered for tenure. Women also spent a significantly longer time as assistant professors” (p. 2). b. Men faculty had greater access to equipment needed for research and to administrative support. Carter (cited in Inside Higher Ed, 2010) reported comparable results for women professors in business schools in the United States. She utilized data from 1988 to 2004 that were provided by the National Study of Postsecondary Faculty. She noted that in the first year of her study, 1988, the largest proportion of women and men professors were at the instructor level. However, a review of the 2004 data indicated that the largest proportion of women faculty were instructors while the majority of men were full professors. Mason (2010) recently noted that when the nineteen Canada Excellence Research Chairs were awarded to men, women professors were concerned about this obvious bias. The Canadian Association of University Teachers reported that in 2007 (the most recent data), 41 percent of new faculty appointments were filled by women. They further noted that 46 percent of Ph.D.s were earned by women. Mason (2010) reported that in 2007, women represented approximately 20 percent of full professors at Canadian universities. According to Mason: “Women occupy just 30 percent of tenured positions on our campuses; while filling 45 percent of nontenured jobs” (p. 2).

Multiple Marginality When we consider race as well as sex, we find women of color experience more discrimination as professors than do white women. Turner (2002) noted: Faculty women of color experience multiple marginality, characterized by lived contradiction and ambiguous empowerment. Their lives are often invisible, hidden within studies that either examine experiences of women faculty or faculty of color. (p. 74) De la Luz Reyes and Halcon (1988) argued that women of color have been more disadvantaged in psychology than white women as a consequence of


their participation in a culture that has valued neither women nor nonwhite individuals. Beale (1970) referred to this as “double jeopardy.” De la Luz Reyes and Halcon (1988) noted that many gatekeepers operate under the “one-minority-per-pot” syndrome in academia: We believe that implicit in this practice is a deep-seated belief that minorities are not as qualified as non-minorities. This conviction stems from an unspoken fear that the presence of more than one minority . . . in a mainstream, traditional department might reduce the department’s . . . reputation. . . . (pp. 305–15) Hune (1998) reported findings with Asian Pacific American women in academe “contest a popular conception that Asian Pacific Americans in higher education, especially women, are a ‘model minority’ and a racial ‘success’ story. Asian Pacific Americans have yet to achieve parity with whites in access and accommodation in the academy” (p. 1). Hune noted how Asian Pacific American women faculty are ostracized in the academy and treated as “strangers” and “outsiders.” According to Hune: Asian Pacific American female faculty often experience unwanted and unwarranted overattention as racial minority group representatives and may be treated as “tokens.” They find underattention as well in the devaluation of their research and teaching, and in the dismissal of issues they deem important. (p. 2) Nelson (2007) conducted the first national demographic analysis of tenured and tenure-track professors in the top 100 departments of engineering and science in the United States. Nelson reported that: There are relatively few tenured and tenure-track underrepresented minority faculty in these research university departments, even though a growing number and percentage of minorities are completing their PhDs. . . . In most disciplines, underrepresented minority faculty are so few that a minority student can get a B.S. or Ph.D. without being taught by or having access to an underrepresented minority professor in that discipline. However, there is a disproportionate number of White male professors as role models for White male students. (p. 1)


Recently, Newsom (reported in Hernandez, 2010) stated at the American Association of University Professors’ annual national conference the following: The dismal truth is academe doesn’t really want a racially-diverse faculty . . . it’s totally a myth. . . . If you are an African-American, American Indian or Latina/o with a Ph.D., your odds of ever receiving tenure at a Research I school are between slim and none. (p. 1)

Discrimination By Any Other Name . . . Halpern (2004) noted that “we now do a better job of encouraging women to play sports than we do with women in tenured full professor faculty positions” (p. 2). She urged colleges/universities to consider the underrepresentation of women in full professorships “another civil-rights issue” (p. 1), noting gender bias in equal compensation, hiring, promotion, and tenure decisions. In this description, Halpern echoes Hall and Sandler’s (1982) finding of a “chilly climate” for women faculty in academia. We discuss several examples of “chilly academic climates” for women faculty in this chapter, specifically: salary discrepancies, career/family conflict, biased evaluations by students, and lack of access to mentoring and networking. We offer recommendations to campuses for making women faculty, including minority women faculty, central, not marginal, to academic life.

Salary Discrepancies Women should have equal pay for equal work and they should be considered equally eligible to the offices of principal and superintendent, professor and president. So you must insist that qualifications, not sex, shall govern appointments and salaries —Susan B. Anthony

While the Equal Pay Act was passed into law in 1963, the salary gap between women’s and men’s wages is still a major issue in all disciplines (Paludi, Martin, Paludi, Boggess, Hicks, & Speech, 2010). Furthermore,


the wage gap is more severe for women of color (Gee, 2006; Kim, 2006). According to Paludi et al. (2010): . . . salary discrimination reduces total career lifespan earnings, reduces benefits from Social Security and pension plans, and inhibits the ability to save money for retirement, to purchase a home, to pay for college education for children and/or for themselves, and to cover medical expenses throughout their lives, especially during their elderly years. (p. 148) Carter’s (cited in Inside Higher Ed, 2010) review of faculty in business schools revealed that women faculty, both tenured and nontenured, earn less than men. Banerji’s (2006) review of the American Association of University Professors data on gender and tenure and salary comparisons indicated universities are “ . . . still reluctant to hire women or pay them in parity with their male hires” (p. 1). The salary data in 2006 suggest no changes since the 1970s. According to Banerji: In 2005–06, across all ranks and all institutions, the average salary for women faculty was 81 percent of the amount earned by men. Among all full professors at all types of institutions in 2005–06, women earned on average 88 percent of what men earned. For associate and assistant professors, the overall national figure for women was 93 percent. (p. 2) Results from surveys by the Center for Workforce Studies of the American Psychological Association (2008) and the 2008–2009 American Psychological Association Faculty Salaries in Graduate Departments of Psychology Survey indicated that the median starting salary in 2005 was $55,206. Women reported earning a median salary approximately $4,000 less than earned by men. The National Academies (2009) reported that women faculty were paid on average 8 percent less than men. Recently, PhysOrg.com (2010) reported that within the discipline of academic medicine, women faculty are paid substantially less than their male colleagues. This report cited research by DesRoches, who reported that with respect to this discipline and controlling for differences in academic rank and publications, women faculty were paid between $6,000 to $15,000 less than men per year. According to DesRoches:


These differences may seem modest . . . but over a 30-year career, an average female faculty member with a PhD would earn almost $215,000 less than a comparable male. If that deficit were invested in a retirement account earning 6 percent per year, the difference would grow to almost $700,000 over a career. For department of medicine faculty, that difference could be almost twice as great. (p. 2) The wage gap also has implications for adequately caring for children and elderly parents, an issue we address in the next section. Paludi et al. (2010) and Porter, Toutkoushian, and Moore (2008) noted that wage discrimination against women can be explained by stereotypes about women, women and work, and the meaning of money for women. According to Paludi et al., “ . . . part of the inequity in salaries is due to the cultural stereotype that men must earn more than women because men are the primary ‘breadwinners’ of the family” (p. 160). This interpretation, however, must be countered with the realities of women faculty’s lives. For example, more women than men report they decided to remain single in order to meet their career demands (Sonnert & Holton, 1995). Bernstein and Russo (2008) further noted that women who earned tenure are approximately twice as likely as men to be single twelve years after completing their Ph.D. Finally, Mason and Goulden (2006) found that faculty women who were married when they began their academic career are more likely than their male colleagues to separate and/or divorce from their spouses. Thus, the reality is that women faculty tend to be the primary breadwinners of their families.

Career/Family Conflict Working outside the home is not progress if women must also continue with full-time responsibility for housekeeping and motherhood, performing “double duty” or the “second shift.” —Arlie Hochschild

Maternal employment has increased in the past twenty-five years dramatically (Paludi, Vaccariello, Graham, Smith, Allen-Dicker, Kasprzak, & White, 2008). In addition, women with infants have had the fastest growth in labor-force participation of all groups in the United States


(Han, Waldfogel, & Brooks-Gunn, 2001). Furthermore, women are as likely to be employed when they have infants as they are when they have a preschool-aged child. Recent research also has indicated that in addition to caring for young children, many employed women in the United States are simultaneously caring for their elderly parents. Lockwood (2003) noted that between 40 and 60 percent of women caring for elders also have child care responsibilities in addition to their careers. Lockwood (2003) further noted that women spend approximately seventeen years of their lives caring for children and eighteen years caring for one or both parents. The primary caregiver is the family, most likely the elderly parent’s daughter or daughter-in-law (Hammer, Neal, Newsome, Brockwood, & Collton, 2006). Kanter (1977) brought the issue of work/life balance to the forefront of organizations. Kanter noted the incompatibility between work and family roles, still present thirty-three years later (Paludi & Neidermeyer, 2007; Paludi, Martin, Paludi, Boggess, Hicks, & Speech, 2010; Paludi, Vaccariello, Graham, Smith, Allen-Dicker, Kasprzak, & White, 2007): 1. Women carry more of the workload at home. 2. Employed women do substantially more caregiving to children/and elderly parents than do men. 3. Employed women are more likely than men to lack job flexibility. 4. Salary inequities still remain, especially for women of color. 5. Employed women are more likely to lack basic fringe benefits needed to care for their family than are men. Employed women continue with full-time responsibility for housekeeping and parenting, performing “double duty” or what Hochschild (1989) referred to as the “second shift.” Furthermore, Gonzalez-Morales et al. (2006) reported that employed women who experience career/family conflict are as much as thirty times more likely to experience a significant mental health problem, for example, depression or anxiety, than women who report no career/family conflicts. Karsten (2006) further noted that women integrating elder (and/or child care) with careers work longer hours than men, impacting their physical as well as emotional well-being.


These realities are experienced by women faculty. Bronstein et al. (1993) noted that “the tenure system in the United States was set up for male faculty, whose wives provided all the homemaking so that their husbands could devote their energies solely to academic career advancement” (cited in Bernstein & Russo, 2007, p. 92). Results from surveys by the Center for Workforce Studies of the American Psychological Association (2008) and the 2008–2009 American Psychological Association Faculty Salaries in Graduate Departments of Psychology Survey indicated: a. Men were more likely than women to be employed full time (67% vs. 58%). Women were more likely than men to be employed part-time (9.5% vs. 58%). Ninety-two percent of women who worked part time cited family responsibilities as the main reason for this choice. b. Ninety-seven percent of unemployed doctorates not seeking employment were women, who cited family responsibilities for their decision. In addition, Mason, Goulden, and Wolfinger (2004) reported that “ . . . for women, babies and marriage, particularly in combination, dramatically decrease their likelihood of entering a tenure-track position” (cited in Bernstein & Russo, 2008, p. 105). Bernstein and Russo (2008) noted that with faculty in STEM careers, approximately eight times as many women as men report family responsibilities as the main reason they do not work full time. Brown, Swinyard, and Ogle (2003) found that with respect to academic medicine: . . . the demands of career and personal life are each great enough to extract compromise from the other, and, further, that anticipated support from a partner, the community, and medical center was inadequate to make it possible to succeed in multiple roles at once. (p. 1005) Furthermore, Preston’s results (2004) indicated that women faculty who are mothers, who are also primarily responsible for child care, have to cut back on having lunch with colleagues in their departments and attending academic conferences. While not directly related to teaching, service, and research, these activities are definitely important to advancement in terms of tenure and promotion.


Mason and Goulden (2004) analyzed the National Science Foundation/ National Institutes of Health Survey of Earned Doctorates that follows 160,000 Ph.D.s across all fields until they are seventy-six years of age. They observed that two out of three women professors do not have children. In addition, in the sciences and humanities, 44 percent of women professors are married with children while 70 percent of men professors are married with children. According to Bernstein and Russo (2007), “Career trumping children appears to be a deliberate decision. . . . Among married faculty who decided not to have children, three out of four women cited career considerations compared to fewer than half of the men” (p. 104). Armenti (2004) reported women faculty in a Canadian university indicated they believe having children before earning tenure is detrimental to their professional career. However, as Bernstein and Russo (2007) noted, there is a perceived incompatibility between motherhood and a career in academia. No matter what path women faculty choose, they will be viewed in a negative light. Furthermore, women faculty have been told to act “more like men” when striving for an academic career, seeking tenure and promotion. However, personality characteristics are not perceived as gender neutral (Ely & Rhode, 2008). When women engage in behaviors stereotypically linked to men, they are not perceived similarly to men and are often evaluated more negatively than when conforming to stereotypes of women faculty. According to Heilman, Wallen, Fuchs, and Tamkins (2004): “The mere recognition that a woman has achieved success on a traditionally male task produces inferences that she has engaged in counternormative behavior and therefore causes similarly negative consequences” (p. 3). In addition, successful achievement for women is costly. Successful women are described as “cold” vis-a`-vis men (Wiley & Eskilson, 1985). Much of the discrimination against women and employment can be traced to stereotypes about women (Basow, 2010).

Course Evaluations: The “Normative Professor is Still a Man” We find it curious that psychological thought is still heavily influenced by such nineteenth-century theorists as Darwin, Marx, and Freud. As products of their era, they were primarily supportive of the status quo, of upper-class White male privilege with its limited


knowledge of and marginal concern for women. If they were alive today, they would be astonished: What? You are still using those old books? Throw them away. —Rachel Hare-Mustin and Jeanne Marecek

In fact, Kaschak (2006) and Basow (2010) reported that women professors are perceived and evaluated differently by women and men students; men professors are perceived and evaluated similarly by both women and men students. According to Basow (2010): Women are marked for gender in ways men are not, especially when women are in non-traditional roles (such as when teaching on the college level, especially in such male-associated fields as science and technology). The normative professor is still a man. When a woman is in this role, students (and others) often note this unusual event by speaking of their “female professor,” when their professor is a man, they rarely note his gender. (p. 56) Women faculty are evaluated on two dimensions by students: whether they meet the expectations for a “good professor” (e.g., up to date on course material, competent, tests fairly) and simultaneously a “good” woman (e.g., caring, understanding, lenient with deadlines). This double bind faced by women faculty is nonexistent for men (Basow, 2010; Smith & Anderson, 2005). When women faculty do not meet both standards perceived to be essential by students, they are evaluated negatively on course evaluations (Eagly & Karau, 2002). Kierstead, D’Agostino, and Dill (1998) and Sanders, Willemsen and Millar (2009) found that for women professors, students rate friendliness, availability, and smiling to be more important than for men professors. When women professors are not perceived by students to be friendlier than men professors, students rate them negatively on course evaluations (Sinclair & Kunda, 2000). Men students evaluate women faculty more negatively than men faculty. In recent years, researchers (e.g., DeSouza & Fansler, 2003; Rospenda, Richman, & Nawyn, 1988) have found men students engage in contrapower sexual harassment toward women faculty, especially in women’s studies courses. Examples of contrapower sexual harassment include unwelcomed, negative, nonsexual gender-based verbal and nonverbal behavior. Women faculty’s sex is more salient for students than is their organizational power.


Abel and Meltzer (2007) noted that men professors who lectured on gender issues in pay disparities were rated more favorably and less sexist than women professors who provided the exact same lecture. In addition, Abel and Meltzer (2007) found that male students who hold more traditional gender stereotypic attitudes toward women were more sexist in their evaluations of women professors compared to men professors. Schmidt (2010) recently reported findings by Goodyear, Reynolds, and Bragg that indicated that women faculty are more likely than their male colleagues to be recipients of incivility in the classroom. Incivility has been defined as mistreatment, including bullying, emotional, physical, and psychological abuse, and antisocial behavior (Andersson & Pearson, 1999). Andersson and Pearson (1999) noted that incivility is “lowintensity deviant behavior with ambiguous intent to harm the target, in violation of workplace norms for mutual respect. Uncivil behaviors are characteristically rude and discourteous, displaying a lack of regard for others” (p. 457). Examples of incivility from Goodyear et al.’s study included: sleeping during lectures, texting in class, coming to class late, talking on cell phones during lectures, and open expressions of anger toward women faculty. In addition, their research indicated that women faculty stated the uncivil behavior they experienced from students was severe and they were impacted by it careerwise and in terms of their emotional and physical well-being. Recently Nadal (2010) has noted that women experience gender and racial microaggressions, which are defined as “brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative . . . slights and insults. . . . ” (as cited in Sue, Capodilupo, Torino, Bucceri, Holder, & Nadal, 2007, p. 271). Examples of gender microaggressions offered by Nadal (2010, pp. 166–67) include: Environmental Invalidation: Women make less money than men. The majority of university professors in a department are men. Assumptions of Traditional Gender Roles: A forty-year-old woman with a successful career is asked why she never had any children.


Invisibility: A female employee is passed up for a job promotion.

Lack of Access to Mentoring and Networking A mentor is someone who allows you to see the hope inside yourself. —Oprah Winfrey

Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person. —Mother Teresa

The academy is structured by a traditional and stereotypical masculine culture that, in turn, values and rewards men who exhibit these stereotypical traits more so than women (Denmark & Klara, 2010). Women often struggle to find their place within such an organization. As Jandeska and Kraimer (2005) argued: This “code of conduct” in masculine cultures, while recognizable to males, can be completely alien to females and thus would be considered less hospitable towards women’s careers. For example, an “oldboy network” excludes women from centers of influence and valuable sources of information, often trivializing or ignoring their contributions. (p. 465) Mentoring relationships may be crucial for women faculty in their achievement of career success as well as success within their academic departments and universities (Denmark & Klara, 2010). Because of the unique obstacles women faculty face in the academy, as has been discussed throughout this chapter, it is difficult for them to find mentors. In addition, it is difficult for women faculty to find prote´ge´s to pass on the knowledge they have about academic careers. According to Paludi, Martin, Stern, & DeFour (2010), the reason for these findings concerns the belief that women faculty do not have as much organizational power or access to powerful others within their department or universities as do their male colleagues. As Paludi et al. stated, “ . . . potential prote´ge´s may choose mentoring relationships with men colleagues, thereby


reducing the chances for women to pass on their knowledge of the organization as well as their expertise” (p. 80). Furthermore, Shakeshaft, Brown, Irby, Grogan, & Ballenger (2007) noted that there is a disparity about who receives mentoring within the academy. Mentors thus tend to mentor those most like them: “In a department dominated by white males, white men get most of the mentoring. Women and minorities too often fall through the cracks.” Arguments in favor of women mentors for women stress the importance of women’s identification with other women and the positive incentive through women’s illustrative success (Miles-Cohen, Keita, Twose, & Houston, 2010). According to Shakeshaft et al. (2007): While family support is important for women to be able to gain the time and the approval of those immediately impacted by a decision to work longer hours, professional mentoring is vital to gain the knowledge and political information necessary for a woman to position herself as a viable top-level candidate. (p. 111) Jandeska and Kraimer (2005) have referred to the factors that bar women from advancing their careers as faculty members as the “opportunity gap.” Explanations for the opportunity gap have been offered in this chapter. In addition, the following factors contribute to this gap: sex discrimination, race discrimination, sexual harassment, lack of familyfriendly policies, and an academic culture that is not welcoming to women (Martin, 2008; Paludi et al., 2007; Quinlan, 1999; Ward, 2008). Women report feeling marginalized, experiencing incivility and subtle bias, and having their research devalued. Consequently, mentoring for women faculty becomes especially important. However, women may lack access to senior faculty or professional networks (Casto, Caldwell, & Salazar, 2005). According to Martin (2008): It is easier for men, with their informal informational networks, to successfully acclimate themselves. Women often have to compensate simply for being women. . . . Women often face tremendous obstacles to gain acceptance in an organizational culture, especially in nontraditional fields. They must deal with negative expectations, genderroles stereotypes, and doing more than is expected to be seen as


competent. They must try to find a mentor or a way into the informal networks that are often closed to them so that they can learn to navigate the hostile waters of organizational culture. (p. 172) Women faculty are less likely than their male colleagues to seek out mentors because they assert that their abilities and competence will be sufficient to gain career advancement. The reality for women faculty is that this is often not the case (Collins, Chrisler, & Quina, 1998). Advancement only through merit is rarely achieved. According to Paludi, Martin, Stern, and DeFour (2010), women, especially women of color, are kept out of the loop in terms of what it takes to advance within the academy due to “tacit rules and traditions that are revealed only through informal networks” (p. 83). In addition, women faculty find it difficult to have male mentors, both because they may find them difficult to approach and because they fear the presumption of a sexual relationship by others (Paludi, Martin, Stern, & DeFour, 2010). Furthermore, attribution factors impact women who are mentored by men. Men mentors perceive a woman’s apprenticing herself to them as requiring help or remedial assistance. Men prote´ge´s, on the other hand, are perceived by men mentors as individuals whose careers need to be developed and nurtured. LaFrance (1987) noted that this difference raises a serious paradox: As women continue to get the mentoring they need, they will be perceived as needing the mentoring they get. Collins (2009) noted the following with respect to mentoring and coaching experiences of African American women: As outsiders, some black women find their white male counterparts are being groomed for advancement from the date of hire. Meanwhile, by the time management realizes that the black women are just as or even more talented than the individual selected to be groomed due to various commonalities, there is simply no time to provide the visibility and exposure necessary to propel the black women to the next level. (p. 2) Within their social networks of women, women develop long-term relationships based on emotional ties rather than hierarchical coalitions that


are short term, characteristics common to men (Renzulli, Aldrich, & Moody, 2000). This strategy is an alternative to the traditional mentor– prote´ge´ hierarchical relationship. Swoboda and Millar (1986) advocated networking mentoring, in which two or more women fulfill the roles of mentor and prote´ge´ to each other at different times in the relationship. Networking mentoring is egalitarian rather than hierarchical and is based on belief and commitment to mutual enhancement. Advantages of networking mentoring include the fact that it is open to all faculty who find an individual to mentor them. This type of mentoring and social networking is more relevant to women’s career paths (Paludi, Martin, Stern, & DeFour, 2010). Networking places value on women’s unique career paths. One additional benefit of networking mentoring is that it provides an opportunity for the faculty member to learn how to mentor others (Denmark & Klara, 2010). Networking mentoring is akin to (wo)mentoring, which is characterized by a sharing of power, competence, self, and differences (Clifford, 2003). de Janasz (2006) noted that multiple mentors are beneficial for women and recommended a “constellation of developmental relationships” in order to obtain a variety of perspectives, skills, and knowledge that one person could not possibly fulfill. Thus, having multiple mentors can assist women faculty with providing training and insider/political information about the organization and emotional support (Ragins, 1989).

Conclusion Women have faced more than their share of trials in order to be a part of the profession. Social forces generated by the Zeitgeist, or the current point of view held by the society as a whole, attempted first to prevent women from educating themselves, then to push them into specific areas of the professional field, approved as women’s work, and finally to bury them in obscurity. —Katharine Swan

Talent is universal, but opportunity is not. —Hillary Rodham Clinton


van Anders (2004) conducted research with 468 women and men graduate students concerning barriers to pursuing an academic career. van Anders (2004) found that more men than women intended to pursue college/ university teaching and research. In addition, parenting was more negatively correlated with an academic career for women, but not for men. Furthermore, van Anders (2004) reported that women were not more interested in being parents than were men. According to this research: “ . . . women self-select away from academia in response to perceived systemic barriers related to parenthood” (p. 511). van Anders concluded from her research that campuses must adopt their policies and practices to the realities of women faculty members’ lives, including the career/life dilemma. This echoes the conclusion of Denmark and Paludi (2010) in their review of the history of feminism in psychology. These researchers demanded that change occur at the college/university level, not the personal level, if women are to ease the conflict of work/life incompatibility, salary inequities, student evaluations, and lack of access to mentoring. We offer the following recommendations for campuses, all based on empirical research in human resource management and the social sciences for meeting this goal.

Human Resource Audits A human resource audit outlines (1) vulnerability on campus for sex discrimination and harassment and (2) changes that need to be made on the campus so the discriminatory practices are corrected (Smith & Mazin, 2004). Sample audit questions include: a. Does the university ensure that salaries are based on skill, responsibility, effort, and working conditions? b. Does the university examine practices to ensure that women and men have equal opportunity for advancement? c. Does the university examine practices to ensure that white faculty and minority faculty have equal opportunity for advancement? d. Does the university ensure that its recruitment practices reach the widest array of women and minority applicants? e. Does the university offer flexible job arrangements for all employees, for example, flex time, career break?


Organizational Culture Climate Surveys Faculty may be surveyed anonymously about their perceptions of and experiences with the campus’s management of gender equity and race equity (Cooper, Cartwright, & Earley, 2001; Driskill & Brenton, 2005). Climate surveys will provide the campus with a metric of the alignment between their stated mission with respect to the recruitment and promotion of women and minority faculty and the actual behaviors of the campus via their policies, procedures, training programs, and tenure/ promotion decisions.

Barrier Analysis A barrier analysis may be used when an employment issue—for example, hiring practices or performance evaluations—limits opportunities for women and minority faculty (Dineen & Bartlett, 2002). Through this analysis, the triggers found in the employment issue are identified and resolved. Triggers include a disparity or trend that suggests a need for an inquiry into an employment issue, for example, the lack of promotions for ethnic minority employees or a high separation rate of women employees. Barriers may be found in all functions of human resource management, including recruitment, hiring, promotions, training, incentive programs, disciplinary actions, and separation from the campus. Barriers may be institutional, for example, the company may recruit only from within the organization; attitudinal, for example, department chairpersons believe that women faculty are not as committed to their careers as are white male employees; or physical, for example, training materials and faculty handbooks are not available in languages in addition to English, Braille, and so on. A barrier analysis features six tasks: 1. Review practices, policies, and procedures. Documents include handbooks, directives, staffing charts, hiring records, and tenure and promotion decisions. 2. Analyze the source material. 3. Identify triggers from workplace statistics, complaint data, culture climate surveys, and reports by outside organizations.


4. Determine the root cause of the triggers. 5. If the root cause is a barrier, develop an action plan to remove the barrier. 6. Monitor the action plan periodically.

SWOT Analysis To evaluate the strengths, weaknesses, opportunities, and threats (SWOT) involved in developing or improving ways women and minority faculty are treated, campuses should conduct a SWOT analysis (Williamson, Cooke, Jenkins, & Moreton, 2003). This analysis provides information that is useful in matching the organization’s resources and capabilities to the competitive environment in which it operates. The SWOT analysis filters the information to identify major issues for administrators to address. It classifies internal aspects of the organization as strengths or weaknesses and the external situational factors as opportunities or threats. A completed SWOT analysis may be used for goal setting, strategy formulation, and implementation. This analysis is best conducted with many stakeholders, including the campus president, human resource director, and faculty (Williamson et al., 2003).

Additional Affirmative Responses The incompatibility between workplace and family demands is exacerbated by a relative lack of provisions that would ease women’s integration of these roles. Traditional occupational policies reflect a separation of family from work life and a societal expectation that mothers remain at home to care for their children. Equality of parenting and housekeeping roles has not been achieved (Paludi, Vaccariello, Graham, Smith, AllenDicker, Kasprzak, & White, 2007). The terminology has changed also. Juggling was the first term to connote women combining work and family lives. This term was changed to balancing, also connoting that it is women’s responsibility to excel in both spheres. The term integration is currently in vogue. This term has acknowledged the responsibility of organizations to assist women in meeting work and life responsibilities, including parenting and elder care (Paludi & Neidermeyer, 2007).


Such goals include: a. Reducing women’s isolation in male-dominated departments or institutions. b. Addressing women’s experience as outsiders or being marginalized (Gibson, 2006), and providing support for challenges particular to women’s career development and advancement (Quinlan, 1999). c. In addition, there must be a substantial number of women, especially minority women, among the faculty in departments. This has been achieved in certain disciplines, but not in others, including neuropsychology, management, engineering, and other STEM careers (Storm & Gurevich, 2001). d. The number of women in administrative positions in the academy must be increased so as to make women central, not marginal, to academia. e. Ensure minority faculty are present to work with minority students. Research by DeFour (1991), Moses (1988), and Vasquez and Daniel (2010) provided compelling evidence of the importance of African American faculty in the retention of African American undergraduate and graduate students. Contact with African American faculty was associated with better academic performance and psychological well-being. f. Offer family-friendly policies, including career break policies for faculty who need to integrate work and life roles. g. Train faculty and administrators about hidden biases, incivility, and microaggressions. The goal is to assist campuses in dealing with multiple forms of bias toward women simultaneously rather than independently. We apply the broken windows theory to campus bias against women faculty: If what is perceived by the campus to be trivial isn’t handled immediately, more severe forms of discrimination and harassment will result. h. Establish effective, objective criteria for evaluating applicants and faculty. i. Develop, monitor, and evaluate tenure clock stop. j. Offer paid leave and tenure clock stop for women faculty who adopt as well as who give birth to children. k. Provide child care for women faculty.


l. Provide funds to help women faculty defray child care and/or elder care during attendance at academic conferences. The American Council on Education, Office of Women in Higher Education (2005) has provided several recommendations for campuses, including: a. Creating policies for faculty to take multiple-year leaves for professional and/or personal reasons. b. Providing tenure-tack or tenured faculty to opt to take part-time positions to be used for a certain period of time as personal needs arise. c. Providing flexible time frames for probationary periods. d. Establishing tenure-track reentry programs for Ph.D.s who left academia full time to care for family members.

Examples of Redefining the Academy to Value Women and Women’s Realities Bernstein and Russo (2007) noted that “the attrition of talented women from the academy begins early on and continues at each successive step, even after professional goals emerge and women consider graduate programs” (p. 91). Examples of campus attempts to value women faculty include: a. Harvard University’s Dean Light (cited in Merrigan & White, 2010) implemented a policy (which became effective in 2006) by which women professors who gave birth were provided one additional year in the “tenure clock” and extended maternity leave. b. MIT and Stanford implemented accommodations for their women graduate students (Jaschik, 2005): the option of taking a twelveweek period to take care of third-trimester pregnancies, delivery, and care for newborns. Women remain matriculated during this time-off period and thereby receive financial support. They also are provided a one-term extension to complete their graduation requirements. Similar programs have been implemented by the National Science Foundation ADVANCE program (see Bernstein & Russo, 2007), including extending tenure decisions for women wanting to start their families.


c. The University of Michigan established the STRIDE training program for faculty to learn about the impact of their unexamined stereotypes and bias toward women. STRIDE has recruited full professors to participate in an ongoing committee that provides advice on strategies to recruit a diverse and well-qualified faculty. The university indicates the STRIDE program is related to an increase in new female faculty hires in science and engineering: 14 percent to 34 percent in a period of four years (The Center for WorkLife Law, 2010). d. The University of California, Davis has developed a policy that explicitly states that faculty who are eligible to stop the clock shall not be arbitrarily disadvantaged for taking childbearing/childrearing leave or for stopping the clock (The Center for WorkLife Law, 2010). e. The Family Friendly Edge at UC Berkeley facilitates a “School for Chairs.” Department chairs throughout the university are instructed in how to (1) discount resume gaps attributable to parenthood; (2) mentor new faculty parents through the tenure process; (3) assist in finding a second job for dual-career couples; (4) establish and maintain a more family-responsive climate through small changes such as ending faculty meetings by 5 PM; and (5) ensure that stopping the clock or taking family leave does not count against candidates. UC Berkeley has identified increases in hiring rates for new women faculty from 26 percent to nearly 40 percent in the last few years (The Center for WorkLife Law, 2010). f. Case Western Reserve University developed a toolkit in order to ensure recruitment of women faculty. The university emphasized that “diversity is a process, not an outcome.” In addition, the Office of Faculty Diversity provides resources at each stage of the recruitment process, as well as readings and resources to educate its faculty on gender bias (The Center for WorkLife Law, 2010). Universities who implement such policies report positive ramifications for faculty, including: lower absenteeism, less stress, higher morale, improved work satisfaction, lower turnover rate, staffing over a wide range of hours, child care hours that conform to work hours, and access to quality infant and child care (Frone & Yardley, 1996; Paludi, Vaccariello, Graham, Smith, Allen-Dicker, Kasprzak, & White, 2007). As Chrisler and JohnstonRobledo (2010) concluded:


Given that scholars . . . have concluded that the presence of supportive supervisors may be as important as family-friendly policies, the need for change at the interpersonal level is dire. Human resources personnel could conduct workshops to help supervisors examine their beliefs, stereotypes, biases, and resultant treatment of mothers in the workplace. All managers, supervisors, department chairs, and other leaders should be fully aware of family-responsive policies and other resources that are available to employees in their workplace, and they should make it clear that the resources are there to be used. (pp. 126–27) These recommendations may be difficult to implement in some universities, considering continued biases toward women in academia and the reluctance of changing tenure and promotion decisions (Halpern, 2004). We concur with these culture climate changes in the university if women are ever to achieve parity with men in salary, mentoring, and networking opportunities, unbiased evaluations, promotions, and tenure awards and work/life integration. As Chrisler and Johnston-Robledo stated, “Good policies that clearly are supported by top officials eventually will filter down and change organizational culture for the better” (pp. 126–27).

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4 Glass Ceilings and Sticky Floors: Women and Advancement in Higher Education Susan V. Iverson

An ever-growing body of research exists on women and advancement in higher education, articulating challenges and delineating strategies for women as they seek promotion and enter leadership roles (e.g., professional development, leadership training, mentoring). However, as Harlan and Berheide (1994) observed in their analysis of the advancement of women who work in low-paying jobs, the vast majority of employed women will never advance high enough to encounter the “glass ceiling”—the invisible barrier that keeps women from advancing because they are women. Rather, they are trapped on what Berheide (1992) termed the “sticky floor”—low-wage, low-mobility jobs. Further, as some scholars observe, certain jobs, such as clerical positions, may actually constrain advancement (Gale & Cartwright, 1995; Johnsrud, 1991). This chapter shares findings from a study designed to understand the experiences of those women who occupied clerical positions and then advanced into professional positions. The concerns of professional women—those occupying faculty, administrative, and managerial ranks—largely remain the focus of most scholarship on women’s employment experiences in higher education. Little scholarly attention has been given to women in classified and clerical roles (Bonk, Crouch, Kilian, & Lowell, 2006; Johnsrud & Banaria, 2005), and in particular there is a lack of information on the experiences of women in such roles who move into professional positions (Hite & McDonald, 79


2003; Pilgrim, 1997; Ransel, Fitzpatrick, & Hinds, 2001). This study of women’s advancement from clerical to professional positions serves to contribute to that gap. Drawing upon a feminist lens, this chapter critically analyzes how this investigation of women crossing the boundary between clerical and professional ranks can expand our understanding of the effect of gendered organization on the careers of women; the ways in which existing practices (may) limit women’s advancement; and the ways in which structurally embedded sexism and classism operate to sustain organizational hierarchies that marginalize and restrict women’s movement within the educational system.

A Feminist Perspective A feminist perspective informs this analysis of women’s advancement from clerical to professional roles. A feminist approach to research “consists of no single set of agreed upon research guidelines” (Maguire, 1987, p. 74); rather, it attends to the “basic significance of gender . . . accounting for the everyday experiences of women which have been neglected” (Cook & Fonow, 1986, p. 22). This perspective posits that traditional ways of knowing and experiencing the world have excluded women as “agents of knowledge” (Harding, 1986). As a framework for research, feminism aims to give voice to women’s experiences; seeks to reveal and overcome androcentric biases; and uses research as a tool for emancipation and social change (McHugh & Cosgrove, 1998; Reinharz, 1992). The study of organizations, leadership, and power has typically focused on men, maleness, and masculinity, even though we rarely acknowledged it as such (Duerst-Lahti & Kelly, 1995). A feminist perspective serves to challenge the “ungendered innocence” that much of the workplace scholarship claims (Duerst-Lahti & Kelly, 1995, p. 26). Feminist approaches to the study of workplaces situate women as the point of analysis; they recognize “male dominance in social arrangements and [assert] a desire for changes from this form of dominance” (Calas & Smircich, 1996, p. 219). A feminist perspective views organizations, such as work and education, as socially constructed, serving particular (white male) interests, and re/producing a gendered hierarchy with sex-segregated occupations (Acker, 1990; Tierney & Bensimon, 2000). Such an analysis often extends the focus beyond the

Glass Ceilings and Sticky Floors 81

organization or job or worker (a potentially decontextualized individual or phenomenon) to an analysis of gender and power: it is a “critique of the status quo” (Calas & Smircich, 1996, p. 219).

Review of Relevant Literature The Gendered Organization An organizational bureaucracy is traditionally described in the literature as a managerial culture where the leader represents a hero figure at the top of a power hierarchy (Baldridge, Curtis, Ecker, & Riley, 1977). These perspectives focused on the “heroic” or “great” man (Freeman, Bourque, & Shelton, 2001, p. 7) directing an organization by retaining power in a top-down system creating a structure of positional leadership (Kezar, Carducci, & Contraras-McGavin, 2006). Such perspectives on leadership, power, and organizational hierarchy have typically focused on men, maleness, and masculinity (Duerst-Lahti & Kelly, 1995); that is until Acker (1990) and others (Ferguson, 1984; Kanter, 1977; MacKinnon, 1979) began to make explicit—and problematic—that power and leadership were, and remain, male dominated. In the decades since, scholars have continued to illuminate the link between masculinity and organizational power and the production (and maintenance) of the gendered organization and the “ideal worker” (Acker, 1990, 2006; Britton, 2000; Eddy & Cox, 2008). Acker (1990) defined a gendered organization as a place where “meaning and identity, exploitation and control, and advantage and disadvantage are patterned through and in terms of a distinction between male and female” (p. 146). Kanter (1977) argued that the problems women have in the organization “are consequences of their structural placement, crowded in dead-end jobs at the bottom and exposed as tokens at the top” (in Acker, 1990, p. 143). Yet Kanter’s analysis centers on the seemingly genderneutral organizational structure and not on how these structures—the organization itself—are gendered, producing differential effects for men and women, inextricably linked to other identity dimensions as well (i.e., race, sexuality, class) in the organization. As Acker (2006) observed, gendered practices within the organization, such as hiring practices, wages, supervision, and informal interactions, all “produce class, gender and


racial inequalities” (p. 447). These practices, policies, and procedures— the structure of the organization—re/produce the standard of the “ideal worker.” The Ideal Worker The ideal worker is a masculine notion; someone who works full time, perhaps overtime, and without family responsibilities (Acker, 1990; Tiernari, Quack, & Theobald, 2002; Williams, 2000). Although jobs and workers appear abstract, ungendered, and disembodied, the ideal worker typically corresponds to a man’s body. Acker (1992) noted that this worker “turns out to be a man whose work is his life and whose wife takes care of everything else” (p. 257). Williams (2002) too observed, “if employers define the ideal worker as someone who takes no time off for childbearing or childrearing, they are framing their ideal worker as someone with the body and traditional life patterns of a [heterosexual] male” (p. 828). Women, then, should they choose to work outside the home, are consequently situated in a double bind—a situation in which a person cannot win, no matter what she does; they must perform the (masculine) ideal worker role, while then working a “second shift” as the “good” wife and mother (Allan, 2003; Appelbaum, Audet, & Miller, 2003; Hochschild & Machung, 1989). This definition of the ideal worker is not static or universal. Tiernari et al. (2002) posited that different models of work organization and varied societal contexts yield different albeit “equally gendered notions” of the ideal worker (p. 251). But, as Acker (2006) noted, the gendered organization and gendered notions of work remain resistant to change in spite of efforts to erase inequalities. Williams (2000) argued that instead of simply allowing women to work on the same terms traditionally available to men, we need to restructure the work conditions under which both men and women work and eliminate the masculinist norm of the ideal worker. Another feature of the gendered organization is “an organizational logic that assumes a congruence between responsibility, job complexity, and hierarchical position” (Acker, 1990, p. 148). The more senior a position in the organization, the more a “skilled” worker (or “professional”) is assumed to manage professional tasks that involve complexity. By contrast, lowerlevel positions in an organizational hierarchy, those jobs disproportionately


filled by women, are assumed to have low levels of complexity and responsibility (“unskilled work”). Women seeking advancement in an organization frequently encounter barriers or the “glass ceiling” (Hede & Ralston, 1993; Reichman & Sterling, 2004). The Glass Ceiling The glass ceiling is the invisible barrier that prevents a qualified person from advancing. The term, coined in the 1980s (see Carnes, Morrissey, & Geller, 2008; Falk & Grizard, 2005), has many variations to reflect the intersection of gender with other dimensions of identity, such as Latina administrators’ encounter with the adobe ceiling (Ramos, 2008), lesbian administrators’ bump into the lavender ceiling (Swan, 1995), women administrators in Catholic schools reaching the stained glass ceiling (Adams, 2007; Wood, 2009), the concrete ceiling that will not break for women of color (Davidson, 1997), and the Plexiglas room in which female tenured faculty are placed (Glazer-Raymo, 2008), among other related adaptations (Hesse-Biber & Carter, 2005). The most tangible evidence of a glass ceiling is unequal pay for comparable work (Booth, Francesconi, & Frank, 2003). A study conducted by the American Association of University Women (AAUW, 2007) found that one year after graduation from college, women earn 5 percent less than men. After ten years, the gap increased to 12 percent. AAUW explained the gap as a clear example of gender discrimination. But explanations for the ceiling continue to be elusive. Some studies have examined the impact of very specific factors on women’s advancement, such as the role of mentoring (Anderson, 2005). For instance, Mattis (2004), in her analysis of women entrepreneurs who left corporate careers to start their own businesses, illuminated the lack of role models and mentoring as one of several factors associated with corporate “glass ceilings.” Other studies have investigated a range of variables that may serve as determinants of advancement (Giscombe & Mattis, 2002; Ivarsson & Ekehammar, 2001; Tharenou, Latimer, & Conroy, 1994). For example, Marongiu and Ekehammar (1999), in their study of the influence of individual and situational factors on the career advancement of women and men, found that instrumentality/masculinity is positively linked (and the major predictive factor) to managerial advancement.


Sticky Floors Many women do not ascend high enough to reach the glass ceiling; rather, they are stuck on the “sticky floor” of low-ranking jobs (Reskin & Padavic, 2006). Reichman and Sterling (2004) observed that “simply being female” continues to be a factor in advancement decisions and that “women continue to be systematically disadvantaged” (p. 29), yielding compensation and promotion disparities that “result in ‘sticky floors’ on which women get stuck, ‘broken steps’ on which women fall into traps, and ‘concrete ceilings’ against which women’s advancement rebounds” (p. 30). Arguing that individual and interpersonal explanations blame the workers for their failures to advance, Rainbird (2007) further called attention to the structural problems facing low-paid workers: occupational sex segregation, pay inequality, and shallow career progression masked as advancement, but gluing women to low-status, low-wage occupations. Myerson and Fletcher (2000) observed, “it’s not the glass ceiling that’s holding women back; it’s the whole structure of the organizations in which we work” (p. 136). Numerous researchers agree that structural barriers are pervasive and women (and racial minorities) have less opportunity to advance and less access to power than men do (Anderson, 2005; Gale & Cartwright, 1995; Newman, 1993; Rainbird, 2007; Rasmussen, 2001; Worts, Fox, & McDonough, 2007). The implications of a masculinist organizational culture are often most directly felt by women (and racial minorities), since the dominant culture determines the criteria for distribution of rewards and availability of advancement opportunities (Johnsrud, 1991). For instance, women tend to be clustered in entry-level positions and are rewarded for “long-term loyalty and single-job stability,” whereas men tend to enter positions that “foster opportunity because they provide incumbents with exposure, visibility, information, and connections” (Johnsrud, 1991, p. 130). Nearly fifteen years later, Johnsrud and Banaria (2005) document the same gendered distribution in occupations, with women vastly outnumbering men in the clerical and secretarial groups, and men vastly outnumbering women in skilled professions (p. 88). Thus, a feminist analysis holds potential to illuminate how gendered organizational practices hinder women’s advancement.


Methods The data presented here are from an analysis of transcripts from interviews with twenty-two women from one public research university in New England. The qualitative study was informed by phenomenology, an approach that “seeks to make explicit the implicit structure and meaning of human experience” (Sanders, 1982, p. 354), and “focuses on people living experiences” (Davis, 1991, p. 9); through rich and descriptive data, it elicits how people “construct the world through descriptions of perceptions” (p. 11). Central to this approach is the “temporary suspension of all existing personal biases, beliefs, preconceptions, or assumptions” in order to be more open to the phenomenon (Sanders, p. 355); this suspension process is called bracketing. As a university employee, committed to women’s equity within higher education, it was necessary for me to acknowledge and attempt to bracket those experiences. In seeking to understand their women’s experiences, I explored: •

What personal and professional needs and interests motivated one’s move into a new position?

•

What institutional factors enhanced or impeded each woman’s job transition?

•

What level of educational attainment preceded a woman’s advancement?

•

What formal and informal systems of support do women take advantage of?

The twenty-two women who comprised the sample for this investigation were employed at the university from seven to forty-five years; they had entered the university workforce from 1961 to 1999. The women ranged in ages from early thirties to mid sixties. All but two women spoke of marriages, divorces, and/or remarriages and rearing one to four children. All participants are white, and two self-identified as Franco-American. This racial profile was reflective of the university’s predominantly white demographic; of the 580 female classified employees and 290 female professional employees, nearly 98 percent are Caucasian (per 2007 institutional data). At the time of their interviews, the women in this sample held a variety of professional positions with the university, such as Director of Human


Resources, Assistant Director for Equal Opportunity and Diversity, Assistant Director for Financial Aid, Computer and Network Specialist, and Senior Assistant to the Provost. Yet all started their careers at the university in part-time and full-time clerical positions, such as secretaries, stenographers, receptionists, clerk typists, and records technicians. Each participated in one in-depth semistructured interview that explored the following: description of current position, first position, and career trajectory; what personal and organizational factors contributed to advancement (i.e., length of service, skill development, further education); what are differences in perceptions (by self and others) of roles as “classified” and “professional”; what systems of support (i.e., professional organizations, unions, mentoring) were sought or used; what was significant to the career journey about being a woman. Each audiotaped interview was transcribed and the transcripts were imported into NVivo, computer software designed for qualitative data analysis. Meanings were then formulated from significant statements and phrases; these were clustered, allowing for the emergence of an “essential structure” common to all the participants’ transcripts (Polkinghorne, 1989; also Giorgi, 1994; Sanders, 1982). All transcripts were then reanalyzed inductively, listening for silences, exploring how gender shapes workplace experiences, and focusing on how power and knowledge operate through organizational practices (Bloom, 1998; Reinharz, 1992), with the hope that through this feminist exploration, administrators and policy makers can rethink the construction of personnel policies and advancement practices. Methodological rigor, contributing to the trustworthiness and soundness of the findings, was achieved through bracketing past experiences, using an adequate sample, and maintaining an audit trail.

Findings and Interpretation Several key findings were identified in women’s descriptions of their experiences moving from classified to professional ranks (see Iverson, 2009). Drawing on a feminist lens, I illuminate how the boundaries between classified and professional positions are defined and inscribed, the realities for women crossing these boundaries, the organizational practices that (re)produce the boundaries, and the significance of gender to these women’s workplace experiences.


Defining the Boundaries Before hearing women’s descriptions of their experiences moving from classified to professional ranks, it was important to understand the “organizational logic” (Acker, 1990) that defined the boundaries between these two groups— professional and classified employees. When I initiated this project, I posed a query to the director of human resources to discern the edges of these abstract job categories. She described one only difference—professionals are exempt from both minimum wage and overtime pay, whereas classified employees are not exempt. Professional employees, thus, are typically paid on a salaried basis and classified employees are generally paid hourly wages,1 and separate collective bargaining units represent each group. A review of U.S. Department of Labor definitions gave further meaning to these two groups. Professionals (salaried employees) are distinguished by a key qualification: advanced knowledge, “customarily acquired by a prolonged course of specialized intellectual instruction.”2 The U.S. Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) elaborates on the significance of advanced knowledge to the identification of a professional: “Work requiring advanced knowledge” means work which is predominantly intellectual in character, and which includes work requiring the consistent exercise of discretion and judgment. Professional work is therefore distinguished from work involving routine mental, manual, mechanical or physical work. . . . Advanced knowledge cannot be attained at the high school level.3 (italics added) The classified employee category is often without definition, or rather, it is defined by that which it is not. The labor relations act in the home state of the institution in this study defines “classified” as “any employee not engaged in professional work.” 4 Thus, if professional work is

1

More detailed definitions are set forth by U.S. Department of Labor. See U.S. Department of Labor’s definition of a professional. Retrieved March 24, 2007, from http://www.dol.gov/whd/regs/compliance/fairpay/preamble_final.htm. 3 Retrieved March 24, 2007, from http://www.dol.gov/whd/regs/compliance/fairpay/ preamble_final.htm. 4 The state to which this passage refers is not cited in order to protect the identity of the home campus at which participants are employed. 2


“distinguished from work involving routine mental, manual, mechanical or physical work,” then one can infer that the work of a classified employee involves “routine mental, manual, mechanical or physical work”—what Rasmussen (2001) referred to as “dirty work” and what Berheide (1992) observed as less valued and less rewarded. All the participants in this study started their university employment designated as “classified” employees, and they all later advanced into positions that were designated “professional.” In my interviews I asked participants, “What defines one position as clerical and makes another professional?” One respondent replied, “I haven’t seen anything that is a clear indicator. We have [classified employees] on this campus who are truly making independent decisions, have jobs that require a very special knowledge and skill base. . . . I think there are a lot of [classified] people here who are professionals and at the same time, we have professionals who are glorified clericals” (Brenda). Another respondent, reflecting on when she was in a classified position, identified her job as “one of those quasiprofessional positions.” Describing her experience in the international student office, Kate noted, “I would get telephone calls in the middle of the night from the airport . . . ‘so-andso has arrived.’ [My job] probably should have been a professional position. I guess, it depends on what one’s definition of a job is and what role one is willing to fulfill. . . . I have been very willing to go the extra mile. It also means that I don’t say often enough ‘excuse me, but that is not my job.’ Probably a lot of women who try to do it all fall into that role.” There is this status thing . . . and a gender thing, and a class thing. Most participants were quick to note the clear demarcation between classified and professional employees. Jamie observed, “when somebody goes from classified to professional, there is this status thing.” Claudia recalled thinking, “ ‘Oh, I’ll become a professional.’ That means everything; it means you have made it.” But she added, “It was very hard to break into a professional position. It felt so beyond my reach. I guess I felt like I wouldn’t fit in to what would be considered a professional position. . . . I felt that the expectations would be way beyond my reach. . . . I guess I still feel that I’m not quite here, that I am not in that professional position. I still very much feel like I’m in a classified position and that I don’t always fit in. . . . I feel pretty powerless . . . [and] I think it has been harder


for women to break into some of the professional positions. I still feel like there is a lot of male privilege.” Serena also observed status, and gender and class, shaping one’s experience as a classified and professional employee: “Gender plays in tremendously in both the move from the classified to the professional, and also in the class issues that are going on. I think it is really interplayed a lot with gender.” She continued, “I think class is a real issue here, on campus. Even the labeling, from a professional to the classified staff, and I think once you’ve been in the classified staff, that is how it is always viewed and I think that it is very hard, to make the move” (Serena). By example, when she assumed her professional position in an academic administration office, “I had one faculty person who said to me, ‘what, will you be [an administrator’s] secretary?’ and I just thought, wow.” She added, “I have been on search committees and, as I am walking into a room with faculty or deans or whoever, they expect that you are going to be there to take the minutes” (Serena). Wendy too noted that her treatment by faculty and other professionals “just almost feels subservient in some ways.” The participants’ experiences amplify Acker’s (1990) argument that “class is constructed through gender and that class relations are always gendered,” and further that organizational processes “powerfully support the reproduction of the class structure” (pp. 145–46). Feeling Like an Imposter Brenda shared, “when you get to the upper-level people, it may not be an intentional bias, but they always remember that you were the [classified employee]. ‘How the heck could you be the Director?’ I know some high-level [professionals] still feel like imposters, like AAs or secretaries. . . . I have seen some classified employees apply five or six times for professional positions and not be able to reel one in. Repeatedly, they stay in the number two position. . . . And if you are promoted to professional, you’ll always be looked down on as clerical.” Janet noted that “those terms [classified and professional] are awkward. . . . [They] create class divisions.” Dorian also observed “There’s a negative class connotation to being a classified employee . . . being in these ranks where you’re not quite as good; there are haves and have nots; [classified] employees have to


account for every minute, and when you go into the professional ranks, you feel like, ‘Am I really worthy?’ ” Having been at the university for thirty years, Dorian observed, however, that perceptions can change; the memory of her former days as a classified employee diminished: “Every time there was a transition to a new Vice President, the further away I got from that classified identity. . . . It would always amaze me that it wasn’t kind of written on my forehead. . . . Usually, once classified always a classified kind of thing. . . . So it amazed me that they [professionals] didn’t know the difference; I was like any other professional to them.” Yet participants noted that crossing the boundary between classified and professional ranks involved challenges and struggles. Crossing the Boundary Participants, reflecting on their move from a classified position into professional ranks, described external messages, explicit and implicit, they received about their place and internal struggles in defining who they were within the organization. One woman offered a blatant example of such messages. After her promotion to a professional position, she noted that “if [her supervisor] didn’t think I looked professional enough, the way I was dressed, she would say so. . . . It was painful at times; it was very odd to be pulled into the office and told, ‘you are not professional looking; I expect you not to wear shoes like that’ ” (Brenda). Risky Business Many identified the move from classified to professional as risky. Kate observed, “There are some classified women that are doing incredible work that they have no business doing, because they don’t get the credit for it. They are incredibly bright, they are probably bored out of their minds, and so they take on [extra work]. But I think they are afraid to take a risk. When I took that step [to a professional position], you find yourself with your head spinning and you say ‘Oh my God, what did I do? I thought I was capable.’ ” Brenda also noted that “to apply for a [professional] position takes a risk and is also incredibly painful.” Referring to the “desk audit,” when someone from Human Resources evaluates the existing job duties to discern if a reclassification is warranted, Brenda


shared that people “ask you a lot of questions and then say you are not doing it, you are not worthy of it. . . . By the time it is done, you feel like you don’t know anything; maybe you really should be [a classified employee], no one supports you, you have no value.” There is also risk of making little more or even less money. One participant shared that she had been at the top of her pay scale as a classified employee, and when promoted to professional, she was at the bottom of the pay scale, earning only $500 more per year. Another participant, after her desk audit, was informed that she would be “demoted immediately with a cut in pay” (Jamie). Claudia, after her move to a professional— salaried—position, observed “You are not really compensated for extra hours. . . . I know somebody that is in a professional position now, but she was classified, and she worked a lot of hours as a classified and got pretty good [overtime] money. It’s almost like they [supervisors] caught on to that, [and thought] ‘let’s move her into a professional position and then she will have to get it done.’ There seems something sneaky about that.” Finding One’s Voice Women described their shifting identities and constituting a new identity; and claiming knowledge and (the struggle of) finding one’s voice. Karen reflected, “I should have spoken up and said, ‘this is really uncomfortable for me.’ I was given the [professional] role and I assumed I had the ability to do that and I don’t believe that I did. I should’ve said, ‘Can you help me to get a better grip on what it is I need to do and how to follow through with it?’ but I didn’t ask those questions” (Karen). Another participant recalled her awareness that people wanted to hear from her, something that had not been sought when she was a classified employee: “I thought, ‘oh my, I am really here in a different role [as a professional].’ It is very hard to still be able to speak up and to add voice to it. I think of the search committee that I was on and there were a couple deans and faculty and it was really hard to find my voice. I still felt like maybe what I had to say, would it be valued or did I even have legitimacy to put it forth and so I still, you know, it’s hard for me when [my supervisor] will say, “what do you think?” and it is kind of like, whoa, it took me a long time to be able to know it. I think that is part of being in that classified secretarial role, is


that people don’t think you think, and so for them to say what do you think or what do you bring? I have to stop and say oh, I don’t know” (Serena). A frustration for several participants was that they were never asked to contribute as a classified employee, whereas now, as a professional, their views are sought. Claudia, for example, noted, “I had a voice before [being a professional employee] . . . my voice was the same but suddenly it became more heard. And even with some departments that I worked with before, I didn’t feel that I was taken as seriously as maybe I am now. . . . Why did respect for me change when I became a professional?” MaryAnn too observed: “I had so much more credibility [as a professional]. I remember going to staff meetings and saying things as a classified employee and it was just like the air moving. [Becoming a professional] was like night and day; as soon as I said something, because I was a professional, people listened—it made me really upset. I was angry. A lot of times I would go into silence because I thought, ‘you didn’t want to listen to me before, now suddenly I’m credible?’ It made me pissed off.” Some participants noted that, over time, they were gaining confidence in self and their voice. Wendy, for example, reflected, “I never used to be confident but over the years you just get to the point where it’s like you have to say to [your supervisor], this is my opinion, whether you take it or not, I need to say it out loud.” Stacy, who advanced from clerical to professional, and after a brief leave from the university, returned in a clerical position and again advanced to another professional position, observed, “I found that actually if I don’t shut my mouth when I ought to, I think I’m for the better for it. I know in my last professional position I think I got more respect out of saying, ‘No, I’m sorry I can’t do that because I don’t feel comfortable with that,’ or ‘You don’t need to speak me that way,’ or ‘You don’t need to treat people that way.’ And they’re like ‘Oh, ok, all right,’ and at least, if not for nobody else but myself, I’m treated a little bit differently, respectfully.” Another woman noted, “I had to work hard to prove I deserved the [professional] position. [My supervisor] came from that old-fashioned idea that women are good secretaries but they don’t think. . . . I think he’d prefer to be told what he wants to hear. But I told him what I thought. . . . I think sometimes he went home and told his wife that I was insubordinate” (Janet). The stories shared by these women illustrate “systemic disparities” (Acker, 2006) between their clerical roles and their professional roles, but also how as women and as


former classified staff they existed in a liminal space—nomadic and fragmented—once they’d moved into a professional position. Maintaining Boundaries Another finding from this study was the organizational factors that (re) produced and maintained structural barriers. Some of these barriers were made apparent when I asked each woman “what changed?” once she entered professional ranks. Perhaps obvious, changing jobs from classified to professional results in a jump in wages and benefits. Classified employees receive two weeks of vacation, whereas professionals earn four weeks of vacation. Retirement packages were also different: Stacy noted a 4 percent contribution to retirement for classified employees where there is a 6 percent contribution for professionals. Other organizational practices and policies also produce and sustain an organizational hierarchy. For instance, several women recalled a parking policy that has since changed. Carey shared, “Back then, the parking lots were green for classified staff and blue for professional. The blue were closer [to one’s building], the green were further out, and then the students were way out. . . . When [promoted to professional], I went to get my blue decal, [thinking] ‘Oh boy, big classist distinction’!” Another participant, Brenda, noted a library policy (still in effect) that distinguishes employee type: “If you go to the library and you take out a book as a graduate student, you get it for the semester. If I go to the library . . . I can have it for the semester because I am a professional. If you are hourly-paid [classified] . . . you can have it for two weeks. I asked why and they told me, because the library wanted to promote the academic pursuit of professionals and graduate students. Are we saying that hourly-paid have no academic pursuits? They said, ‘it’s not really that, it’s about circulation.’ I see it as a class issue.” The participants’ examples amplify Acker’s (2006) identification of how class inequalities are produced and perpetuated in organizational practices. Jamie illustrated how general-information meetings on campus are held specific for employee groups. “If there is a candidate for president, classified employees have to come at one time and professionals at another. Why? Are they afraid that somebody is going to ask a stupid question? Anybody can ask a stupid question!” Serena noted that professional


development days were separate and the schedule of topics was markedly different: “If you look at the topics, between the two groups, it’s like, oh my! I might be at yoga. And I am not downplaying yoga, but let’s offer some variety or something, and even be able to cross, have some sessions that were opened up to both.” She added that when a new strategic plan was published, informational sessions were held by senior administrators: “Faculty had their session. Professionals had their sessions. Classified had theirs, and God, don’t mix them up. Gosh, it would be horrible if you had people that were actually sitting together.” Further, Claudia, observing the same, considered “There’s got to be some way that something could be done to make it more equitable.” The participants’ examples illustrate how classified employees were (are) systematically kept out of workplace decision making and learning, reinforcing their low value to the organization and the lack of organizational interest in hearing their contribution. Yet Rainbird (2007) noted that equitable access to meaningful, employer-provided training, development, and other forms of learning plays a role in demonstrating that employees are valued members of the organization and contributes to job mobility for low-paid workers. Pereira (2009) identified “social rules, economic structures, political battles, religious ideologies, dress codes, gender socialization and the policing of gender and sex orders” (p. 18) as explicit and implicit guidelines to which workers (citizens) are required to adhere. Organizational policies and procedures left these women frustrated, demoralized, and isolated (e.g., desk audit process), and organizational practices created exclusive boundaries between classified and professional positions (i.e., separate meetings and professional development, different benefits). Further, the resources one would access to negotiate or resolve personnel matters are also hierarchically structured, and for personnel crossing categorical boundaries, they are left betwixt and between. By example, almost all participants did not view the unions as useful for them. One woman, venting about the lack of support when a request for promotion failed, illustrated, “who do you go to? You can’t go to the union, because how can a classified person go to their union and complain they want to be professional. [The classified union is] not going to represent you to get you [into the professional union]. . . . There is a disconnect” (Brenda). The participants’ experiences provide powerful examples of inequality in organizations, what Acker (2006) termed inequality regimes: “systematic


disparities between participants in power and control over goals, resources, and outcomes” (p. 443). Advanced Knowledge As noted previously, the U.S. Department of Labor defines professional as “work requiring advanced knowledge,” and further elaborates that this “advanced knowledge cannot be attained at the high school level.”5 Thus, promotion and (re)classification of a professional position typically requires obtaining a college degree. As Dorian, who sought reclassification as a professional with a few classified colleagues, explained, “The deal [was] that we would have to have a degree or be working towards a degree if we were going to [be promoted].” While the university offers tuition benefits, it does not mean an employee can (easily) utilize them. For (hourly wage) classified employees, enrolling in courses must be done at night or time off during the day must be approved by a supervisor. In the latter instance, women employed creative strategies in order to complete coursework. For example, an hourly employee who typically gets two 15-minutes breaks in the day (one in the morning and one in the afternoon) and a 30-minute lunch break, with approval from her supervisor, would bundle that time together in order to leave the office for a 50-minute class (and would thus have no breaks and would work through lunch). Other women were told to use their vacation time if they left the office for class. Still others had to “jump through a lot of hoops.” Serena illustrated: It was frustrating. . . . My supervisor put a lot of emphasis on the degree. . . . I was in the last leg of my bachelor’s degree was when [I had to take a required course] that met once a week at 2 PM . . . I had to write a letter to the Dean to get permission to take it, and it was this big deal and I had to account for every second and how I was going to make up the time and post my schedule. . . . I had to jump through a lot of hoops. While most tried to complete (as much as possible of) their coursework after office hours, they noted the stress of juggling coursework with family 5

Retrieved March 24, 2007, from http://www.dol.gov/whd/regs/compliance/fairpay/ preamble_final.htm..


obligations. For some, this delayed or prevented the completion of their degree. Corrin, who advanced with a stipulation that she would complete her degree, stated “I’ve chosen to wait until after the kids get out of school. . . . So for now, I have this piece of glass sitting right over my head. . . . Whenever raises are talked about, it comes up. [My supervisor will say] ‘It’s hard to justify it when you don’t have a degree.’ ” Several participants also raised the question “what counts?” as advanced knowledge. A defining characteristic of being a professional is having a credential. But many participants—those who had earned their degrees and those who were working toward them—felt “advanced knowledge” could or should be defined as work experience. For instance, Colleen considered, A professional position probably should have the 4-year degree, but . . . you might have the experience required for that position and, lots of times in life, common sense prevails over all education. Yes, technically the professional world signifies a degree, but is it really necessary? I think some people could do the professional work without the degree but the degree is what typecasts them as a professional. The struggle, noted above, of balancing (course)work and family was cited by many, and not only in relation to securing a degree. Most spoke of the challenges of working and having a family, of straddling two worlds, uncertain if one is making the right choices and doing anything well (enough). These struggles are one illustration of the significance of being female in the gendered organization. Significance of Being Female For many participants, their work life was blurred with their family life. For instance, when Corrin was asked about her first position on campus, she replied, “I came to [university] in August of 1993. I had a 4-year-old and a 6-month-old.” She then elaborated on her employment, interweaving stories about her parents, siblings, and spouse. For some, they believed “family comes first” and did not self-identify as “a career person,” whereas for others, they felt shame for putting their job first and their children in daycare. For all, though, who expressed these struggles, they felt,


“We all muddle our way through and never feel that we’re doing it right!” (Kate). One woman situated this personal struggle in the larger context, noting as she was “maneuvering the home front, the kids, the work responsibilities and some private time, it is very difficult and you have to make priorities and your priorities shift as time goes on. In the late 1970s, early 80s, I thought I could do it all. You know, we were taught that you could have it all, that you could be the best mom, the best wife, the best worker, and have time for yourself. Bull shit! I failed. . . . I had good daycare, lost daycare, got better daycare, you know? It was difficult” (Chloe). On the job, participants also identified their experiences as tied to their identity as a woman. When asked “what, if anything, do you think is significant to your journey about being a woman?” most participants noted: “It’s about office work and I think the majority of people who are in support positions are women. . . . [Men] usually are either in a more blue-collared-type job or management” (Karen). Further illustrating the gendered nature of work, Serena remarked: “Men have more of a trade. . . . I got married young. . . . I was 18 when I had my daughter and, you know, it wasn’t until I got to this environment [the university] that I guess I thought about what I could do as a woman.” Several women noted that their experience would have been different if they were men. For instance, Paula stated, “I cannot help but think they [men] would be treated completely differently. I notice it—I see other male professionals and they aren’t treated the same way.” Carey also remarked that she and a colleague who were promoted to professional positions had “two desks facing each other behind a partition, cubicle, little half-walls . . . I just always felt that if we’d been men, we would not be in this kind of office space.” Sarah, who worked in Athletics, observed, “I was a woman coming in and changing things. . . . I was a threat to the good old boys. . . . I think if this position had a man in it, there probably wouldn’t have been the same issues.” Claudia provided another example. When she was in her clerical role, she requested a review of her position that led to a HR recommendation that her job should be reclassified as a professional position. But her supervisor instead said, “well, we’ll just take away some of your responsibilities.” Claudia later secured a professional position in another office, and her former, classified position was filled by a man and reclassified as professional. “I remember resenting that as a prime example of male


privilege.” Another participant observed that her prior experience as a secretary hindered her from getting administrative support when she advanced into a professional position: “People knew me as a secretary and that I could do all those [clerical] things. And I think some of it is a woman thing. . . . If I had been a man [taking the professional position] and I said ‘I need a secretary,’ it would have been ‘of course you need a secretary.’ But nobody was ever assigned to me” (Janet). Acker (2006) observed that “gendered and sexualized attitudes and assumptions” remain present in organizations and shape the employment situations for women and men in different ways (p. 444; also Williams, 2000).

Concluding Thoughts Some of the findings from this investigation resonate with explanations found in previous research on women and advancement; however, these participants’ experiences make a unique contribution as they are expressed from a perspective of (previously) classified employees, more likely to be trapped on the “sticky floor” of their low-mobility jobs, yet they advanced into professional roles. Moreover, while they share many of the challenges faced by professional women navigating a maledominated organizational culture, these women also negotiated the positional boundaries that define (and can constrain) what it means to be classified and professional. Consequently, most of the women in this study felt as if they occupied neither category once promoted—no longer a member of the classified ranks, and never feeling fully admitted or welcomed into the professional ranks. As classified employees, they might express rancor for the boss, only to then become the professional, sometimes supervising those with whom one commiserated. This led to struggles with one’s sense of identity, finding voice, and understanding one’s place in the organization. It also illuminates how these women occupied liminal spaces, a state of “in-betweenness” (Heilbrun, 1999, p. 98), “never designed for permanent occupation” (pp. 101–2). Some scholars identify this space between what was and what might be as a “place of possibility” (Barbatsis, Fegan, & Hansen, 1999). Kennedy (2001) writes that “Its apparent lack of structure is both its strength and its weakness, a strength because of what it offers to those who engage with it and its weakness because in the structured society in which we live, there is a fear of the


chaotic” (in Huber, Murphy, & Clandinin, 2003, p. 351). We have an opportunity in these spaces to “participate in the creation of new ways of being” (Huber et al., 2003, p. 351); to engage dialogue about the sociopolitical-cultural contexts surrounding “classified” and “professional” statuses, how they produce constraining categories and demarcate real and perceived boundaries that women must cross, and the ways in which organizational practices, institutional cultural structure, and employment policies can systematically work against women in higher education. In closing, I leave the reader with a question that intruded on me throughout this project: Why is advancement important, and in what ways does our (over)emphasis on advancement contribute to the class hierarchy in the workplace? Rainbird (2007) noted that “not all workers want career advancement” (p. 570). Many workers are committed to their place in the organization and identify their jobs as socially useful work. Thus, equivalent to efforts we might engage in to “crack the glass ceiling” and establish bridges into professional ranks and better-paid work, we must also tackle the structural barriers to learning, the problem of low pay on the “sticky floor,” and the undervaluing of the work, voices, and contributions of low-wage workers.

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5 Toxic to the Heart: Barriers to Tenure and Leadership for Women Faculty of Color Heipua Kaopua and Joanne Cooper

I must after thirty-odd years, we must, after centuries, say the obvious to and about the engines of power, knowledge, and politics that our great universities represent in this nation and in the world: This is dreadful. Right now, I’m tired. I say, “Get me out of here.” I quit. —Paula Gunn Allen, 2000

Referring to centuries of institutionalized patriarchy, Dr. Paula Gunn Allen, a well-known Native American scholar with thirty years in the academy, describes herself as “discouraged, disengaged, and . . . disenchanted” (2000, p. 147). Dr. Judith Dorney, also a seasoned academic, describes educational institutions as “often toxic to the heart” (2000, p. 238). Why? What has happened to these women that would bring them to such points of despair? While more women, including women of color, are finding their way into the academy, they continue to feel alienated and marginalized. For women faculty of color, the road through the tenure process toward a successful academic career and to positions of leadership remains a fraught and painful path. This chapter explores the literature regarding barriers that are facing women faculty

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of color in their pursuit of promotion, tenure, and leadership posts in academe, with a particular focus on the case of Native Hawaiian women. While our larger concern is on the barriers—social, institutional, and cultural—that women faculty of color experience, we cannot pursue such a question without a deeper understanding of the status and position of all women within American higher education. Thus, we begin this chapter by providing a brief history of women’s education and the role of gender in higher education.

The Role of Gender in Higher Education From its inception, higher education has served as a citadel of patriarchy that continues to be a major barrier to women in higher education. Ideologies of male supremacy are so ingrained in the American psyche that they are taken as the natural order of things, while suggestions to establish new definitions are rejected as ludicrous, illogical, or an attack on cultural norms (Stromquist, 2006). In the past, men were deemed as central to the purpose of academe as creators of knowledge, while women were relegated to more supportive private roles as wives and mothers centered on the home and family. The dominant group in American higher education consists of white, middle-class males. Minority groups, by default, consist of those groups without power—namely, people of color and women. Historically, women have been marginalized—garnering perhaps a few paragraphs in scholarly texts. The effects of gender bias have often been neglected when describing patriarchal institutions, practices, and norms (Rury, 1986). According to historical texts, the few women who did experience power, prestige, and intellectual freedom were generally white and from privileged aristocratic classes (Women’s International Center, 1995). In most scholarly publications, the term women was used to refer to white women. Women of color—largely invisible in the literature—are generally included under the general category of “women” or “people of color” (Rains, 1999, p. 151). Conflating women of color under these general categories causes their issues, challenges, and experiences to remain invisible. It is our assertion that gender is not a peripheral issue but a central story shaping the development of higher education. Gender has shaped American society and serves as a useful category for analyses of power relationships

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within educational institutions (Dzuback, 2003). Gendered roles continue to influence the policies, practices, and beliefs in academe largely through established narratives and ideologies. American higher education has also been influenced by the Western ideology of “whiteness” as evidenced by the fact that white middle-class standards have often been considered the academic norm (Maher & Tetreault, 1993; Walker, 1993). Western cultural norms of individuality, rationality, masculinity, and whiteness are promulgated at the expense of communal, intuitive, and feminine values in American institutions (Butler, 1997). The dominant culture has maintained this privileged status despite demographic projections toward a browner America (Maher & Tetreault, 1993; U.S. Census, 2009). White women maintain a position of privilege by virtue of their race and tend to view race and gender as separate entities. For women of color, however, race and gender are intricately linked and cannot be viewed separately (Maher & Tetreault, 1993). The first wave of feminist activism began in the mid-1800s with the publication of the Declaration of Sentiments, a document declaring the legal rights of women, and ended with the passage of suffrage in 1920. Unfortunately, suffrage applied only to white women. Despite the efforts of Anna Julia Cooper, who wanted the issue of racism addressed, white women did not consider racism relative to the right to vote (Carby, 1985). African American women were excluded from this “first wave” of the women’s movement. During the 1890s, African American women intellectuals began to insert women into cultural and historical narratives. Through these narratives, African American writers exposed issues of imperialism, unrestrained patriarchal power, and racial and gender oppression. Anna Julia Cooper, for example, attacked the racist attitude of white women and the exclusionary practices of white women’s organizations that presumed to speak for all women (Carby, 1985). The second wave of feminism originated as World War II drew to a close and gained momentum amidst the turbulence of the 1960s (Eisenberg & Ruthsdotter, 1998). Civil unrest resulted in landmark legislation advancing civil rights, with particular significance for women and people of color. As a result of this new legislation, increasing numbers of women of color began to enter university classrooms (Rains, 1999). Whereas white middle-class women generated the first wave of feminism, the second stage attracted women of color from various social classes (Rampton,


2008). Stressing sisterhood and solidarity, these feminists emphasized that issues of race, class, and gender are interrelated. The third wave of feminism, informed by postcolonial and postmodern thought, began in the 1990s and attacked previous feminist writings as being too white, too middle-class, and too universalizing of all women’s experiences (Rampton, 2008). Known as the reform era, it is characterized by an increased demand for access and equality of opportunity for all. Third-wave feminists, also known as “grrls,” appear as empowered, global, and multicultural women who are rejecting victimization and redefining femininity (Rampton, 2008). Whereas nineteenth-century women struggled to gain admission to colleges and universities, women today constitute the majority of students in higher education and represent more than half of those in the United States with bachelor’s, master’s, or doctoral degrees (NCES, 2009). Despite these advances, women of color still experience disadvantages as faculty members and senior administrators that impede career advancement and pursuit of tenure (Amey & Eddy, 2002; Turner, 2002).

Barriers to Women Faculty of Color Despite the rhetoric within academe to embrace and encourage diversity, colleges and universities have been reluctant to welcome women scholars of color. In addition to challenges experienced by all women faculty, women of color continue to face institutional, socio-cultural, and personal barriers (ASHE, 2009). Native Hawaiian women faculty further encounter issues of colonialism along with gender, race, and class discrimination. According to The Chronicle of Higher Education Almanac (2007), the total number of full-time faculty members, including instructors and lecturers, is 703,463, of which 294,348 are women. Of the total women, only 14 percent are women of color. While overt gender discrimination is no longer as prevalent in women’s faculty careers, it is being replaced by more subtle forms of institutional discrimination in the form of (1) institutional practices, (2) structural arrangements, and (3) gendered roles that recreate patriarchal ideologies that are oppressive to women (Jaschik, 2006; Pincus, 1996). Institutional discrimination refers to the policies, practices, norms, and traditions of the dominant racial, ethnic, or gender group and the


implementation of policies that disadvantage one social group for the benefit of another group (Baumgartner & Johnson-Bailey, 2010; Pincus, 1996). In higher education, discriminatory institutional practices begin with recruiting students and hiring faculty and include all efforts that maintain white privilege. While access to higher education has allowed white middle-class women to challenge traditional institutional practices, the pathway for women of color remains obstructed by institutionalized racism and sexism (Stromquist, 2006; Walker, 1993). Most of the work by feminist historians centers on white middle-class women. Few historians have explored the educational experiences of women of color or women in lower socioeconomic groups (Rains, 1999). A historiography of American women in higher education reveals the intersection of race, gender, and class as social constructs reflected in the policies and practices of educational institutions (Walker, 1993). Maher and Tetreault (1993) assert that our perspective on higher education is framed by our positionality—our particular identity with regard to race, gender, and class. Examining higher education through a lens of positionality reveals certain privileges extended to whites that are withheld from nonwhites. By virtue of their race, whites are empowered and entitled in multiple ways and are considered the norm against which underrepresented, nonwhite groups are compared (Andersen, 2001; Walker, 1993). White women experience oppression from white men and share similar experiences with women of color, yet white women also function as oppressors of women of color (Butler, 1997) and maintain an undeniable racial dominance over women faculty of color. A second form of institutional discrimination, known as structural discrimination, involves policies and actions that are neutral in intent yet disadvantage minority groups (Pincus, 2003). Originating from privilege and oppression, structural discrimination negatively affects members of racial, gender, and ethnic minority groups. One example is the consistent disparities in salary, rank, and tenure of underrepresented faculty groups, particularly women of color (NCES, 2007). Women of color are more likely to work in teaching-centered institutions than at research universities and thus receive lower compensation (Armenti, 2004; Cooper et al., 2007). Another example of structural discrimination is the faculty evaluation system that exists in most research-intensive institutions. In her study, Women Faculty Seeking Tenure and Parenthood, Armenti (2004) points out that


the faculty evaluation system at four-year universities undervalues teaching and service and overvalues scholarly research and publication. This disparity is evidenced in the higher compensation allocated to faculty involved in research and publication as compared to teaching and service (Cooper et al., 2007). A third form of institutional discrimination involves gendered roles, a practice that marginalizes women in less appreciated professional activities, such as teaching lower-level courses in humanities, and taking on a disproportionate share of advising graduate students and committee work (Armenti, 2004; Cooper et al., 2007). Women of color, in particular, are often expected to advise students of color regardless of the presenting issue. Women tend to hold the lower ranks in the professoriate and spend more time teaching than their male colleagues (Dzuback, 2003; Stromquist, 2006). This results in fewer opportunities for these women to conduct research and publish scholarly work, further reducing their likelihood of receiving tenure (Armenti, 2004; Cooper et al., 2007). Simply put, women faculty teach and advise while men research and lead. With fewer courses to teach, male faculty in the higher ranks tend to publish more frequently. For example, Armenti (2004) points out that the natural sciences have the highest publication rate but the lowest number of female faculty while the more “feminized disciplines” such as English, education, and anthropology tend to employ larger numbers of women faculty (Cooper et al., 2007, p. 639). Unfortunately, these departments receive fewer resources, resulting in less support for women to participate in research activities (Armenti, 2004). As research becomes increasingly more specialized, the salary gap for women and men is likely to widen. Additional subtle forms of gender bias are evidenced in decisions over raises, assignments, office space, and promotions to department chair and key committees.

Socio-cultural Barriers The culture of academe, with its emphasis on individuality, rationality, masculinity, and whiteness is antithetical to the culture of many women of color that emphasizes the communal, intuitive, and feminine (Butler, 1997). Gatta and Roos (2007) discovered feelings of invisibility and marginalization among women faculty of color that grew worse as they


moved into the tenure ranks. Women of color feel they must constantly prove themselves in the white, patriarchal world of higher education. Many choose not to assimilate but strive to live in a bicultural world in which they selectively silence their native voices in their journeys through academe (Sadao, 2003). In addition, faculty women of color struggle with an unfamiliar elitist culture, a lack of mentors and role models, and tensions between work, family, and community (Armenti, 2004; Cooper et al., 2007; Wolfinger, Mason, & Goulden, 2009). Many women faculty of color face the triple threat of being female, of color, and of lower social class. Class discrimination is closely linked with gender and race discrimination as many women of color in lower socioeconomic groups lack the power, competence, and academic capital to navigate through the system of higher education. This race/class dynamic is particularly evident in African American and Hispanic populations (ASHE, 2009).

Personal Barriers Women often strive to achieve a work/life balance, a term used by Morrissey and Schmidt (2008) to describe the condition of engaging in purposeful careers and the pursuit of tenure while struggling to carve out time to pursue personal goals with family or friends, contribute to their community, or invest in personal development (p. 1400). Morrissey and Schmidt (2008) believe that focusing only on the needs of faculty with children may alienate faculty without children, who may be asked to cover for their colleagues. Female faculty with children encounter numerous dilemmas as parents and professors. Armenti (2004) describes the irony women face as their childbearing years parallel with their journey toward tenure. Family care issues have a more negative impact on salary, promotion, and tenure for women than for men since women have a disproportionate share of domestic duties (Cooper et al., 2007), resulting in less time for research than their male counterparts (Armenti, 2004). For example, Schiebinger and Gilmartin (2010) discovered that gifted women scientists are trading research time for domestic chores. Research indicates that women faculty frequently subordinate their academic careers to support those of their partners or assume childrearing responsibilities by accepting contingent


positions or by interrupting their careers altogether (McElrath, 1992; Wolfinger et al., 2009). Both of these actions have a deleterious effect on the achievement of tenure. Such interruptions in the academic cycle can serve as indications to the tenure committee that the female academic is not serious or committed to her career. In addition to interruptions, women are more likely to leave the academy because of childcare issues (McElrath, 1992) and less likely to achieve tenure if they have pretenure babies (Armenti, 2004). In short, academic communities are often unsupportive of motherhood when combined with an academic career (Leonard & Malina, 1994). For women of color, who tend to be concentrated in the lower ranks of the professoriate and who place a strong emphasis on the extended family and community, domestic and family care responsibilities create serious barriers to their quest for tenure.

The Case of Native Hawaiian Women Faculty In Me´tis and Feminist, Emma LaRoque (2007) asserts that indigenous women are victims of oppression, colonization, and patriarchy yet manage to serve as social activists and agents in their own lives. She argues that although these women are among the most “stereotyped, dehumanized and objectified,” they continue to fight for their rights as strong and determined women (LaRoque, 2007, p. 53). As women of color, Native Hawaiian faculty experience additional layers of oppression resulting from imperialism and colonialism. Native Hawaiians are the direct descendants of the “aboriginal, indigenous, native people of the Hawaiian islands who resided in the islands prior to January 1, 1893” (The Native Hawaiian Government Reorganization Act of 2005). Before the arrival of white explorers and missionaries, Native Hawaiians maintained their own political and economic systems, culture, language, and traditions (Louis, 2007). The indigenous people of Hawai’i held land in common and had no concept of private land ownership. Imperialism dramatically altered the destiny of this indigenous population. The American government took control of the Hawaiian monarchy in 1893 and later annexed Hawai’i in 1898 (Silva, 2004). American imperialism has had significant political, economical, social, and cultural effects on Native Hawaiians who have struggled to maintain a sense of political and


cultural identity. Colonization has resulted in outmigration, loss of land and natural resources, commercialization of Native Hawaiian culture, and years of substance abuse, mental illness, and language loss (Marshall, 2011). Today, Native Hawaiians have the highest rate of poverty, homelessness, diabetes, heart disease, and suicide and the lowest education scores (Boyd & Braun, 2007). These problems stem from the loss of land, resources, culture, and self-identity as a result of their colonized status. In 2005, Native Hawaiians comprised about 22 percent of the population of Hawai’i (State of Hawai’i Data Book, 2005). Yet less than 10 percent of students enrolled in Hawai‘i colleges and universities are of Native Hawaiian ancestry (Makuakane-Drechsel & Hagedorn, 2000), and fewer than 4 percent of all Native Hawaiians hold a graduate degree (Grieco, 2001). Native Hawaiians comprise less than 4 percent of the University of Hawai’i faculty (Faculty and Staff Report, 2004), which likely is the largest percentage of Native Hawaiian faculty of any college or university in the nation. Little is known about the condition of Native Hawaiian women faculty in the University of Hawai’i system because Native Hawaiians are combined with Asian Pacific Islanders or categorized as “Other Pacific Islander.” The need for disaggregated data on Native Hawaiian women is particularly acute in light of the “University of Hawai’i Strategic Plan 2011–2019,” which sets forth the success of all Native Hawaiians as its primary objective. Native Hawaiian women, who have navigated the murky waters of higher education to obtain advanced degrees, have been socialized with a Western pedagogical perspective that may have acculturated them into Western ideology. Western culture advocates individualism and undermines group interdependence, while Native Hawaiian culture is concerned with connecting to other people, emphasizing the group or ‘ohana (family), being of service to the community, and developing meaningful relationships (Meyer, 2001). In a study of Native Hawaiian female elders, Mokuau and Browne (1994) identified three life themes characteristic of Native Hawaiian women—relationships with family, nature, and spiritualism. These values conflict with Western values, creating a need for future research as to how Native Hawaiian women navigate the deep waters of Western pedagogy and academia while remaining on course with their Native Hawaiian values.


Tenure Issues for Women Faculty of Color The current precarious, eroding state of tenure can be likened to efforts for women to gain a toehold in a sliding landscape. Given that only one-third of women faculty are eligible for tenure and the trend to hire contingent faculty is increasing, the likelihood that women faculty of color will achieve tenure is diminishing (Cooper et al., 2007; Gappa, 2008; Schoening, 2009). As tenure positions decline, the status and security women faculty of color need to hold positions of leadership in academe may also dwindle. As a pinnacle of academic achievement, tenure brings many benefits to university faculty including institutional status and prestige, freedom to engage in research and teaching without interference, job security, and a sense of community between faculty members and the institution (Perna, 2002). Although women today earn the majority of college degrees, they are less likely than men to experience the benefits associated with tenure and promotion and continue to represent a smaller proportion of tenured faculty (Perna, 2002). Among full-time faculty in 2007–2008, 55 percent of men had tenure, compared with 40 percent of women (NCES, 2009). While women of color have the lowest tenure rate of all faculty groups (Vargas, 2002), their leadership, alternative perspectives, and contributions as role models are sorely needed in the academy. Several factors contribute to the low rate of tenure for these women. First, a major factor contributing to the tenure challenge for women, especially women of color, is the recent trend to hire increasing numbers of contingent (or adjunct) faculty. Contingent faculty include part-timers and full-time, non-tenure-track lecturers (Gappa, 2008). Although the representation of women faculty has increased over the last three decades, women tend to be concentrated in these part-time and non-tenure-track appointments (Perna, 2002). According to the American Association of University Professors (2005), the percentage of contingent faculty on college and university campuses has expanded from 43 percent in 1975 to nearly 70 percent thirty years later. Today, nearly half of all faculty in higher education serve in part-time appointments, while 68 percent of all new faculty appointments are non-tenure-track positions (AAUP, 2009). Bousquet (2008) asserts that the precipitous rise in contingent faculty and concomitant lack of tenure-track positions is a race, class, and gender issue as well as an institutional issue. Agathangelou and Ling (2002) add


that women of color not only face a glass ceiling when it comes to tenure, they also encounter a subtle yet toxic form of resistance that is fraught with issues of race, gender, class, and culture. Women faculty of color and those from lower-income backgrounds are more likely to be nontenure track and underpaid than similarly qualified white males of middle and upper class (Bousquet, 2008). This alarming trend, for both part- and full-time non-tenure-track appointments, continues to grow and poses a formidable barrier to women of color in pursuit of tenure. As the proportion of contingent faculty expands, the opportunities for appointment to tenure-line positions narrow. Second, unlike the experiences of white women faculty, whose authority is less challenged, women of color often find themselves at the crossroads of race, class, gender, nationality, language, and sexuality as their enter the classroom (Vargas, 2002). The diverse social identities of women of color cause tension in the classroom. White students often challenge their authority and expertise, particularly when a professor’s social identity does not align with her course (Vargas, 2002). For example, the expertise of an Indonesian woman teaching a course in Asian Studies goes unchallenged by white students. However, when the same Indonesian woman teaches American history or French, white students are more likely to challenge her professional authority. When evaluating teaching proficiency, tenure and promotion review committees should take into account how the social identities of women of color affect student/teacher interactions in the classroom and students’ resistance to course topics as well as students’ perceptions of teaching expertise (Vargas, 2002). Third, an inhospitable climate often forces women to play a “prescripted” supporting role in the academy (Agathangelou & Ling, 2002, p. 370). This is in part due to the lack of collegiality in higher education (Hune, 1998). Feeling isolated and marginalized, women of color must constantly prove themselves to their senior colleagues while simultaneously trying to establish credibility in the classroom. Institutional structures, policies, and practices, intended to be gender neutral, can often serve to create an unwelcoming environment that is denigrating and unsupportive (Perna, 2002). This is particularly true with the recruitment process. Job postings have a limited circulation. An applicant must not only meet the minimum qualifications but also be compatible with the institutional image and able to fit in with the social group in power. Once


hired, the professional lives of women of color are laden with tensions and contradictions in hostile work environments characterized by exclusion from social events and professional collaboration, multiple forms of oppression, and varying degrees of invisibility (Rains, 1999). As described by Rains (1999), imposed invisibility is socially constructed, leaving women of color feeling ignored (p. 153). Selective invisibility renders a woman of color invisible to white colleagues until they “select” to see her to fill a need (p. 156). Finally, designated visibility occurs when women of color are seen as token representatives of their race/ethnicity (p. 157). Rains (1999) likens the pressures and challenges for women of color to having to constantly dance on the sharp edge of a sword. Fourth, women of color feel pressure to assimilate to Western academic culture both from within their own families and from within the academy (Calhoun, 2003). Assimilation to Western academic culture requires that women of color essentially reject their native culture to adopt the majority culture (Sadao, 2003). These women face a loss of voice and personal identity as they learn to assimilate to the environment of higher education (Calhoun, 2003; Hune, 1998). Commenting on this issue, Anna Ortiz, a professor in educational administration said, “If I remain silent and polite, I get to do the kind of research I want to do, and if I do enough of it, I get tenure” (Cooper & Stevens, 2002, p. 78). In essence, they learn to “play the game” to get what they want (Young, 2006, p. 154). Unfortunately, this sentiment is echoed far too often among women faculty of color who feel they must learn to compromise and bargain to obtain tenure. While assimilation implies the rejection of one’s own culture, Sadao (2003) describes the cross-cultural theory of acculturation as requiring one to compromise one’s existing beliefs and values to function in the new culture. Sadao (2003) posits a bicultural model as a more effective way of dealing with two distinct cultures. In this model, women faculty of color function both in the academic world and within their ethnic minority communities by successfully learning to code switch between two cultures as the situation requires. Fifth, women of color may experience feelings of fraudulence as they question their position in the hierarchy of power (Calhoun, 2003; Koch, 2002). With few visible role models, women of color have difficulty visualizing themselves in positions of authority. Their lack of social and cultural capital causes them to feel less entitled to success in the public


arena (Cooper & Stevens, 2002), detering their ability to take on leadership roles. Compounding this is the opposing value of community or interdependence in many non-Western cultures. In other words, women of color tend to attribute their success to all those who have supported them rather than take personal credit and draw attention to themselves (Calhoun, 2003). All of these factors contribute to difficulties in achieving promotion and tenure for women of color, who face the combined effects of racism, sexism, and classism (Cooper & Stevens, 2002), which narrows their opportunities for leadership in the academy.

Women of Color as Leaders in Higher Education Despite their increasing numbers in the academic pipeline, women have only achieved “parity in number but not in positions of power and influence” (Morrissey & Schmidt, p. 1407). In a study of the progress of women of color as administrators from 1991 to 1997, Opp and Gosetti (2000) found that white women experienced the largest increase in proportional representation. The increase in the number of women leaders of color varies by institutional type, with the greatest increases occurring primarily in institutions that serve their respective underrepresented groups. More women leaders of color were found in minority-serving, two-year, and urban institutions. Unfortunately, power and authority are still dependent on cultural assumptions and gendered understandings (Ideta & Cooper, 1999). To be female is to lack authority, thus a female leader in academe is often construed as an oxymoron (Ideta & Cooper, 1999). Women are disproportionately represented in educational administration as department chairs, academic deans, chancellors, and university presidents. This underrepresentation of women in leadership positions can be attributed to gender biases that inform academic cultural assumptions about women’s leadership potential (Dominici, Fried, & Zeger, 2009). In positions of power, gender plays a critical role. In a study of women’s and men’s effectiveness and leadership behaviors, researchers uncovered perceptions among business managers that women “take care” while men “take charge” (Prime, Carter, & Welbourne, 2009, p. 25). Psychologists have noted that prescriptive gender stereotyping—assumptions about the roles that women play— often conflict with the role of leadership (Prime et al., 2009). Women


leaders are often seen as violating their prescribed feminine roles, while men in leadership positions are perceived as acting in compliance with their prescribed masculine roles (Prime et al., 2009). These gender assumptions characterize women as more emotive, participatory, and nurturing and men as more logical, directive, and assertive (Amey & Eddy, 2002). For women leaders, gender labeling is particularly problematic. For example, men who assert themselves as strong leaders are respectfully addressed as the “boss,” whereas a woman with similar traits may be called a disparaging name. A male leader may be viewed as goal oriented, a woman as overly ambitious; a man is described as zealous, a woman as highly emotional; a man is seen as a clever negotiator, a woman as manipulative (Reinarz, 2002). Gender labeling is only one of many problems encountered by women in administrative ranks. Other challenges for women include a negative institutional climate, patriarchal leadership, an absence of peer mentoring and networking, a lack of understanding of the unwritten rules of campus culture, and the need to develop a professional communication style (Reinarz, 2002). The ascent to academic leadership is often obstructed for women due to a well-defined academic hierarchy in educational administration. Academic administrators generally progress from department chair to dean to university leadership positions. Serving as the department chair enhances a women’s credibility within her field, provides her with an opportunity to develop skills and experience in administration, and increases her visibility as a leader (Dominici et al., 2009). Unfortunately, women are not recruited as frequently as men for these positions, resulting in fewer women moving through the leadership pipeline. Women of color face organizational and institutional barriers, such as policies, procedures, and practices that contribute to their underrepresentation in administrative positions. For example, in a male-dominated institution, there may be no policy in place to actively recruit and retain women of color. Institutional barriers result in a lack of access to informal and professional networks, a lack of mentors, and the absence of suitable role models (ASHE, 2009). As academic leaders, women of color encounter multiple layers of discrimination. Racism and sexism prevail as the two most significant barriers that they experience (ASHE, 2009). For example, women of color


may have their opinions and ideas ignored (only to have someone else credited for their idea) or have their leadership and credibility questioned. The effects of sexism include the prevalence of a patriarchal leadership model that continues to be seen as the norm, less pay for comparable jobs, and less desirable work assignments. In their study of African American and white women business managers, Bell and Nkomo (2003) note that women of color experience daily issues of racism, being held to a higher standard than others, the effects of invisibility, exclusion from informal networks, challenges to their authority, and feeble commitments to the advancement of women of color. These pervasive and complex barriers to success for women of color have several negative outcomes. First, women of color remain underrepresented in administrative ranks, causing a mismatch with the gender and ethnic profile of the institution’s student body (Reinarz, 2002). Second, they are concentrated in low-paying, low-status positions that lack authority, where they are underemployed and overused. Third, women of color experience slower rates of promotion and lower rates of retention. Fourth, women of color struggle for acceptance and equality among colleagues while being used as tokens to represent all persons of color on campus (Dominici et al., 2009). Under these conditions, some women find it necessary to camouflage their color and diversity with a “mask of whiteness” to mirror traditional forms of leadership (Amey & Eddy, 2002, p. 482). In the next section, we discuss more productive ways of coping with the barriers women of color encounter as leaders in academe.

Successful Strategies for Women of Color We conclude this chapter with a discussion of two categories of strategies: (1) those women of color can employ and (2) those that institutions must take to “fix the system, not the women” (Morrissey & Schmidt, 2008, p. 1399). These efforts include the creation of “sista’ networks” of African American women faculty (Cooper, 2006) and the use of peer mentoring and collaborative efforts to create community that combat the isolation women faculty of color often feel (Driscoll, Parkes, Tilley-Lubbs, Brill, & Bannister, 2009; Tierney & Bensimon, 1996). Tuesday L. Cooper (2006) uses the term Sista’ Network to describe the relationships between and among African American women faculty


(p. xii). The Sista’ Network provides a venue for African American women to learn the formal and informal rules necessary to play the tenure game while gaining access to critical information and social networks. At their roundtable meetings, members of the Sista’ Network discuss the tenure process, seek peer mentoring, build collegiality, and strengthen social networks. The benefits of the Sista’ Network, which can be applied to all women of color, include establishing strong supportive relationships with other African American women faculty, learning about the tenure process from one another, and providing a means to fight institutional racism and sexism. Lindsay (1994) argues that mentors are instrumental in the success of academic administrators, particularly for women of color. Peer mentoring and strategic collaboration are effective strategies in helping women of color to navigate the murky waters of the tenure process. In contrast to the dyadic mentoring model of mentor and prote´ge´, peer mentoring, or networking mentoring, involves building a community among several participants at a similar rank and level of decision making who serve as both mentor and mentee, with the common goal of achieving tenure and success in academe. Peer mentoring provides participants with a flexible mentoring model emphasizing mutual interdependence among the members (Driscoll et al., 2009) and an opportunity to share advice, experiences, opinions, and perspectives as well as provide social support (Wasburn, 2007). This form of mentoring enhances an understanding of self, others, and the university environment (Driscoll et al., 2009) while enabling women of color to overcome isolation and become self-reliant and confident tenure-track scholars. On a similar note, Vargas (2002) recommends that women faculty of color have multiple mentors. One mentor can advise a woman of color about her research, while another can help her with pedagogical challenges common to all instructors and those specific to women of color. Agathangelou and Ling (2002) advocate the need for women of color to construct coalitions to share their mutual struggles in the academy and build a critical mass. In support of such collaborative efforts, Amey and Eddy (2002) propose adopting new models of collaborative, servantstyle leadership that promote collegiality, strong interpersonal skills, and consensus building.


As institutions endeavor to increase workforce diversity, they have a responsibility to implement and sustain leadership and mentoring programs and activities that promote the recruitment, retention, and advancement of administrators of color (ASHE, 2009). In their study of women academics in medicine, Morrissey and Schmidt (2008) describe the importance of creating an institution whose faculty, deans, and department and administrative leaders reflect the gender and ethnic profile of the college’s student population. Department chairs and academic deans play a critical role in efforts to diversify the academy by encouraging innovative approaches to recruitment and equity in promotion and tenure (Dominici et al., 2009). Morrissey and Schmidt (2008) advocate “fixing the system” through “data gathering, constituency building, department transformation, policy reform, and advocacy” (p. 1399). Leadership seminars can be effective in exposing administrative leaders to strategies for recruiting and retaining women faculty of color. Leadership programs also play an important role in the career development of female administrators of color who often feel overworked, underpaid, isolated, and unappreciated. Continuing professional education and development programs are essential to prepare women of color to assume both faculty and administrative leadership roles (Lindsay, 1994). Institutional support is critical in creating, implementing, and evaluating leadership training.

Conclusion It has been years since Hall and Sandler (1982) first documented the chilly climate for women in academe. More recent investigations have found that this climate has persisted into the twenty-first century (Allen, 2000; Sandler, Silverberg, & Hall, 1996). Thus, while women who were once barred from institutions of higher education now outnumber male students at all levels, women faculty and administrators, especially women of color, still face many barriers to their success as leaders. Indigenous women, such as Native Hawaiian women, suffer from the effects of colonialism as well as racism and sexism and thus have an even greater need for powerful role models as the next generation of women students make their way into academic positions. The first step is awareness. Beyond that is the need for mentoring programs, collaborative efforts, and more


explicit guidelines to help these women successfully navigate the troubled and sometime dangerous waters of academe. Work must continue to change the current structures of higher education; we believe it is important to focus on the strategies women of color can employ to create a more hospitable environment and to combat current inequities. Hopefully, their leadership can remove the barriers that women such as Paula Gunn Allen have so long struggled with, creating a climate that welcomes their talents and invites them into the heart of academic discourse and scholarly research. It is our sincere hope that the next generation of women scholars will emerge less battered than Paula Gunn Allen, finding a warm climate rather than the hostile environment that causes women to say, “Get me out of here. I quit.”

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6 Joining Forces: Collaborative Resistance to Privilege and Patriarchal Forms of Leadership Patricia M. Amburgy, Wanda B. Knight, and Karen Keifer-Boyd

This is a true co-authored work with equal contributions from all of us and no first author. The order in which we list authors is based on a rotation we use in our collaborations on publications. We are three female professors, at a major university, drawn together by issues that fuel our passion for equity and social justice in our workplace. However, within the patriarchal culture of our university, we each have been silenced and marginalized. We have experienced not only our own marginalization; we also have witnessed the silencing of others. We have been ignored, demeaned, and punished when we spoke out against unfair treatment of others. Through joining forces, we found strategies to change our working conditions. In our chapter, we discuss how we gained strength and enacted change through our collaboration. By our second year together, we began to work collaboratively on writing projects, presentations, and an online team teaching project. The three of us believe that collaboration is important to share diverse perspectives, to innovatively solve problems, and to deepen reflective practice. Further, we propose that this form of leadership is important for becoming change agents in the pursuit of democratic life. We are strong and passionate advocates for social justice while embracing equity, inclusion, and collective responsibility. Our work, as art educators, is to motivate preservice and practicing teachers to consider the impact that they have on closing achievement gaps, providing genuine opportunities for success, and 131


empowering those who have been disenfranchised or who have been underrepresented in the art world, in classrooms, and in society in general. For us, collaboration is a critical practice manifested in both content and form. The content of our writing concerns disrupting privilege and antidemocratic forms of power. So does the form of our collaboration. In this chapter, we reflect on the strategies of our resistance to patriarchal systems of academia and how we have created a process and space for empowerment. Examples from our personal experiences inform our feminist perspectives on the larger political issues of work culture in higher education. We have organized the chapter in four sections: “No Lead Author,” “Power Play,” “Bending Over or Standing Up,” and “Collaborative Resistance.” In each section, we address issues that are larger than our individual experiences yet grounded in our particular autoethnographic examples. Autoethnographic texts are written by those who find themselves marginalized within a group, culture, or institution as a response to how they are “othered” and misrepresented (Bochner & Ellis, 2002). Moreover, our purpose is to share how we learned through joining forces that there are several strategies useful to others, as discussed in the final section. Further, we propose that joining forces is an alternative to patriarchal leadership models.

No Lead Author This section on no lead author stems from our rebellion against the devalued assessment of “tri-authored” work that two of us have received during annual faculty reviews, while others in our academic unit have not been admonished for co-authored publications. We intentionally rotate the listing of our names in publications and presentations. At the beginning of every publication we include the following statement: This is a true co-authored work with equal contributions from all of us and no first author. The order in which we list authors is based on a rotation we use in our collaborations on publications. Resistance to our collaboration in writing has been evident within the institution as well as hierarchical expectations in the field at large. In a

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review of the existing literature on teacher education in art education, Thurber (2004) notes that researchers have found “many universities do not actually value collaborative or site-based research efforts on the part of their faculty” (p. 515). She includes further studies of collaborative methods as one of six important areas for future research on higher education. Others have recognized the value of our collaborative model. In the 2008 book InSIGHT, InCITE, InSITE, on the history of the National Art Education Association’s Caucus on Social Theory and Art Education, Dr. jan jagodzinski acknowledges this: Although the Caucus for Social Theory might be considered a cogestion model, we have a long way to go. It should be pointed out that three caucus members: Patricia M. Amburgy, Wanda B. Knight, and Karen Keifer-Boyd, have been working cogestively. They have formed a cell attempting to present articles as a force of three, rather than one, not in some scientific model where the head researcher’s name appears first, but rather in a round-robin affair—an admirable praxis. (jagodzinski, p. 148) We rebelled by collaborating to such a high level of publishing that the field of art education took notice. Having no lead author reflects our reconceptualization of leadership and power. The kind of leadership we practice is different from leadership that coerces people to comply with traditional roles within specific educational contexts (Slater & Ravid, 2010). Leadership is different from management and should be based on principles of participatory democracy. While most intelligent people can manage job-related tasks, not all managers are leaders. Leaders are visionaries who tend to be strategically focused. They develop processes for inclusive decision making and inspire and motivate individuals to be the best that they can be. Moreover, leaders are focused on change. They have the ability to lead people through change, not just manage them through it. Our practice of writing with no lead author is a challenge to patriarchal views of authority and leadership. As feminists, our sort of collaboration endeavors to create change by “reconceptualizing leadership and power as shared processes” and by joining forces to form “alliances and coalitions that enhance their flow


and influence” (Slater & Ravid, 2010, p. 157). Through collaboration, leadership and power are shared processes that value each individual’s unique contributions. We have used our “outsider within” position (Collins, 1993) to survive and thrive and to advance our collaborative endeavors. We view leadership and power as nonhierarchical. Leadership and power are mutually dependent. Power is a concept related to human interaction. Leadership is a collective process of developing empowering relationships through human interactions (Slater & Ravid, 2010). Power and leadership intersect through collaboration. We have strengthened our relationship through collaboration. Through collaboration we have learned to trust one another. We have been able to find common ground by respecting others’ interests and values and finding solutions that benefit everyone. Traditions of academic freedom that pervade institutions of higher education and uncontested rules of conduct within our disciplines have dominated and controlled interactions among our peers and colleagues (Slater & Ravid, 2010). By having no lead author, we seek to collaborate across various educational sectors and within the confines of a large, bureaucratic, patriarchal institution. Through collaboration, we have turned oppressive conditions into sources of critical insight about power and privilege in dominant patriarchal society.

Power Play Domination power is invisible to those who hold it. In most cases, when people speak of power play, they are referring to domination forms of power in which real or perceived threats, coercion, and a sense of obligation are considered a game in which there are winners and losers. Dominating forms of power are part of hierarchical systems, and patriarchy is a hierarchal system. “We need a director who will kick ass,” calls out a woman faculty member in a School of Visual Arts faculty meeting. The room is filled with nods and vocal agreements. The kick ass model of leadership works well for those individuals who are willing to kiss ass to avoid getting their asses kicked. The long-standing cliche´, what goes around comes around, can be avoided in the ass kicking and kissing approach to leadership if individuals within a group contribute to the decision making that impacts their lives, learn the complexity of making these decisions, and maintain transparency in policies and their rationale. Francis Hesselbaum, CEO of the Girl Scouts

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in the United States, is effective in a joining forces model of leadership regarding girl identity, empowerment, and discrimination in that her leadership style is based on “the power of inclusion, and the power of language, and power of shared interests, and the power of coalition” (Hesselbaum quoted in Collins, 2005, p. 10). For there to be motivation and ambition based on a shared mission, all need to support and help develop each other’s strengths. This is joining forces. Leadership is not synonymous with power over others. Leadership is about the empowerment of others. In joining forces, we are not coerced to come together; we choose to come together. Joining forces involves imagining the situation of others. This not only provides an intelligence of how others are likely to respond, but more importantly, enables multiple perspectives to see a situation from different vantage points. This is “a capacity that is essential for a successful democracy, a necessary cultivation of our ‘inner eyes’ ” (O’Brien, 2010, p. ix). O’Brien is referring to a participatory democracy in which information and insights from a group are pooled to develop decisions on resource allocation and the sharing of work required for a shared vision and mission of the project or program. Lessons learned from participatory democracy and peaceful activism provide leadership strategies that change the power play game. For faculty members to work together and help each other succeed in academic units, it is essential to develop policy together, to make policy handbooks accessible and official, and to document meetings through recorded minutes. In our unit, we found that simply taking minutes of faculty meetings threatened those in power. Why? Approved minutes provided documentation of discussions, actions, and outcomes of meetings; therefore, they thwarted maverick moves of unilateral decision making that did not take into account the perspectives raised at faculty meetings. We disrupt the play of patriarchal notions of power by modeling transformative power, which involves community, participation, action to change the current situation, and honest communication. It is developed through the support, encouragement, and team effort of a group of people. Following are several examples of antidemocratic forms of power play that created a hostile environment that one or more of us have experienced. The power play primarily consists of unfounded and inappropriate allegations. Each example presented below includes strategies that successfully changed the power play dynamics by joining forces.


Power Play Example 1: Control through Uniformity Online courses can be very profit driven and profitable. Clashes between pedagogy and profit and issues of standardization, ownership, and support confront those involved in developing online courses and programs. In developing an online art education program, we have found a clash between economically sound and pedagogically sound perspectives. Issues of standardization confront the need for mutable, scalable, and flexible implementation of online courses. In our development of an online masters program, we have designed each course to create a community view of education with opportunities for course participants to contribute their expertise, to guide course activities and projects in directions relevant to their context and learning goals, and to decenter authority of content in favor of learning that takes place along multiple axes. Further complications to the economic mandates of standardization are our ideas of effective assessment protocols, which we construct through a collaborative educational process with the course participants. It has been our experience that administrators favor profit over pedagogically sound practices and believe that standardization will provide profit, in part because lowsalaried adjuncts and instructors can be hired to serve as graders in a standardized approach to teaching, learners, and evaluation. At an international conference on e-learning, an audience member asked the presenter “What is a live course?” in relation to the “master course.” The presenter tried to explain that the “live course” was an offspring of the master course with students participating in the course. The audience member, whose first language was not English, thought for a few moments and said, “I see, then the master is dead.” The presenter responded that he did not see that the master is dead. One of us interjected: “Is the live course in the womb in what you refer to as the master?” Personal experiences as a mother living in a world of masters (master narratives, master bedrooms, master authority) reshaped the conversation to a perspective of learning spaces that nourish life (womb) compared to a prototype of excellence intended for duplication (master). While there have been many attempts to control the work of tenured faculty in the development of an online graduate program, we point out an example in which a contract called a Memorandum of Mutual Understanding was proposed to layer on top of our contract as full-time tenured

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faculty members. From our perspective, since there was no release time or additional compensation for the preparation and teaching of an online course, this was similar to the preparation and teaching of a resident course and did not warrant an additional contract since we were not contracted for each resident course. By gathering information from a network of colleagues at other universities who teach in or direct both online and resident programs, we were able to utilize the joined forces of our colleagues to change the notions of online teaching as prepackaged knowledge set up for delivery. One administrator, in support of one-size-fits-all, said, “If the wheel works why reinvent it?” Our response is, “If a wheel rolls efficiently it is a wheel.” Given the freedom to innovate and to own one’s work, the rolling of the wheel can be both efficient and outstanding. We will not agree to work under those that provide the technology support for online programs. Instead, we would like to collaborate. Therefore, we asked that the language of expectations in the memorandum of understanding reflect the nature of collaboration. As feminist bell hooks (1994) has argued, dominant and domination language is a way to control people. As long as the language of the memorandum/contract is not that of collaboration and mutual understanding, we will continue to work together to make a case for this change. Power Play Example 2: Allegations of a “Sharp Edge” in Comments An e-mail message from an administrator asserted that one of us presented a sharp and angry tone in response to issues raised related to pretenure faculty. The tone and intent were misinterpreted, but even if the tone were sharp and angry, why is a faculty member called to the administrator’s office with a sense of urgency? Why did he have the desire to silence her? The intent of her inquiry at the faculty meeting was to seek clarification related to the administrator’s process of decision making regarding selecting a semester for release from teaching for those in the tenure track. She asked whether he would encourage dialogue between program heads and tenure-track faculty regarding pretenure release time for research. This would provide an opportunity to provide ideas and information by those impacted by the decision in advance of decisions being made. In response to his e-mail, she restated the question she had asked and joined forces with other faculty so that they too asked this same question.


Power Play Example 3: Overstepping Our “Role” in a Patriarchal System Creativity is necessary for participatory democracy to function well. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi’s (1997) study of creativity suggests that creativity involves research and deep knowledge, associative and metaphoric thinking for new insights, and perseverance to bring ideas to fruition. Creative people do not place themselves or knowledge into tight roles and compartments. When one of us updated an election ballot in our program, based on the numerous e-mails in which some faculty listed on the ballot did not agree to their nomination and others nominated were not listed, she was told initially that the change would overburden the already overworked office staff. Subsequently, when she responded, “No problem,” and made the changes herself to avoid overworking the staff, she was told in an e-mail copied to a large number of our colleagues that she had overstepped her role. In what role was she placed so that she should not correct a ballot that clearly needed to be corrected? This is an example of power play and bullying. She changed the insult to a compliment in her re-envisioning of the idea. Rather than respond to the pettiness of the accusation, she turned to humor with the creation of an image that takes pride in overstepping the roles we are confined to in a patriarchal system of hierarchy.1 We laughed about the subtle ways that this image could be used on notebooks or other paraphernalia that we brought to meetings or for signs hung on our office doors. However, we did not need to follow through with our initial thought of doing this since the process of creative productivity was all that was needed to avoid taking the accusation seriously, as if there were something wrong with correcting an inaccurate ballot. The three of us used the corrected ballot. In a patriarchal system, the norm of power play is stereotypical maleness—competition, aggression, and a hierarchical ordering of privileging some over others. Through discussing our personal experiences, we consider how to turn the tables, not for the inverse, but for feminist

1

See Figure 1 at http://tinyurl.com/PMA-WBK-KK-B for this visual play as an example of a strategy of creating images to paint a different picture from the chastised worker position in a fabricated hierarchy to an empowered perspective of scholars working together as colleagues.

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goals of collaboration, empowerment, and inclusion. The next section considers one’s positionality in relation to overturning power plays.

Bending Over or Standing Up Like many of our art education colleagues in higher education, we work hard to balance our work lives between professional priorities and institutional expectations in areas of research, teaching, and service. Like others in higher education, we experience tensions between what is personally important to us as art educators and the expectations at our place of work. Like other art educators in higher education, we are concerned with issues of workload, compensation, and promotion and tenure (Galbraith, 2001; Milbrandt & Klein, 2008). But unlike some of our colleagues in higher education—at least, those who have been studied so far in the literature on art educators in higher education institutions—we do not work on level ground. At our institution, some art education faculty are positioned as favorites, people who can do no wrong, while others are positioned as failures, people who do nothing right. We are among the latter, partly because we have stood up for equitable practices. Michael Be´rube´, in the foreword of Bending Over Backwards (2002), posits that social constructions of sexuality, gender, and disability are in the margins, a sideshow “of already socially marginal discourses” (p. viii). In the past, each of us has been marginalized by the ways our professional identities were constructed by others at our institution. Two of us were repeatedly stereotyped by the director of our unit and his acolytes among other faculty as being too “practical”; supposedly, we were not sufficiently theoretical in our approaches to art education to warrant respect at a research-oriented institution. One of us was repeatedly characterized as “the wrong kind of feminist,” meaning she did not practice an exclusionary form of feminism professed by another, more privileged member of the faculty. Individually, each of us heard these and other derogatory characterizations repeatedly spoken about the other two. Unfortunately, at times, we also heard them spoken by graduate students imitating the destructive attitudes of our colleagues. The constructed identities imposed on us were not only spoken; they were also manifested in our working conditions of teaching, service, and yearly evaluations. For example, two of us had ever-changing course


assignments for years, so that we were constantly in the process of preparing new courses, thus making it more difficult for us than for other more favored faculty to focus on research and writing. Also, two of us were not given graduate courses to teach for more than two years while we were working toward promotion and tenure. This was a way to limit advanced scholarly exchange with graduate students in small classes. Instead we spent time teaching large sections of undergraduate students. In addition to her regular teaching load, one of us also taught a general education course through the continuing education unit at our university. The course generated extra income for our department and college as well as extra income for her that supplemented her below-average regular salary. She taught the course three semesters per year, year round, for ten years, developing it from a correspondence course with a small enrollment to an online course that was highly enrolled and highly profitable. After the university adopted a policy that regular faculty could not earn more than 20 percent of their base salaries through supplemental online teaching, our director did not propose that a reduction in her supplemental compensation be accomplished through a plan for reducing the number of students or the number of sections she taught, in order to make the workload proportionate to the decrease in compensation. Instead, he offered her an agreement that would have had her teaching the same number of students and sections, thereby continuing to bring in the high levels of income she had generated for the college and the department in previous years, but for one-third of the compensation she had previously received for the same work. Our constructed identities as disposable people and academic failures were also reflected in our service assignments. As “practical” faculty, we were often assigned to undergraduate service committees with tasks such as compiling a student teaching handbook for undergraduate students. Beudert in her 2006 book, Work, Pedagogy, and Change, cites studies of higher education work environments in which “faculty members who work directly with teachers and schools are perceived less highly on college and university campuses” regardless of their published and grantfunded research (p. x). We were seldom appointed to influential service committees such as promotion and tenure committees or search committees in our program. When one of us was appointed to chair a search committee for three new positions in the art education program, which on the surface seemed to be an honor, the director and some of the faculty

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serving on the search committee undermined her in carrying out the ethical and legal responsibilities of the committee, to the extent that she had to ask a representative from the university’s affirmative action office to come in and speak to the director and search committee members. During the search process that year, the director sanctioned a faculty dinner for a favored candidate in one of the searches, to which every faculty member in the art education program was invited except the three of us. The three of us—including the one who was then serving as chair of the search committee—were not informed about the dinner. As often as not, we were assigned to service committees that were not valued and on which other, more favored faculty did not want to serve. One such committee consisted of representatives from teacher certification programs across the university. One of us represented the art education program on this committee for more than fourteen years, in spite of asking repeatedly to be released from serving on it. The work of the committee was not unimportant. On the contrary, it was of great consequence; it included, for example, preparing our institution’s national accreditation reports. The trouble was that the director and other faculty in our program did not value service on this committee. A former head of the art education program used to refer to the committee and its members as “those education people,” suggesting that they, along with the art education faculty member who served on the committee, were people with petty and tiresome concerns that were irrelevant to the elevated field of Art. When one of us, as the art education faculty member who served on the committee, spent an exceptional amount of time preparing our program’s sections of the institution’s National Council for Accreditation of Teacher Education (NCATE) report, the unit director at the time evaluated her accomplishments in the area of service for that year as “Needs Improvement,” the lowest of the ratings on the evaluation scale. In contrast, another more privileged faculty member was given release from teaching for a year to prepare the National Association for Schools of Art and Design (NASAD) report, and she was publicly praised for this work. The ways our professional identities were constructed by others were also reflected in our yearly evaluations. For example, in a year when one of us with a “practical” orientation had six publications, all in peer-reviewed journals and prestigious books in our field, the director did not acknowledge the achievement above the expected two publications per year. Instead, he


evaluated her accomplishments in the area of research for that year as “Very Good,” a step down from “Outstanding,” which was the highest rating on the college’s scale. In the second-year review of another of us with a “practical” orientation, the director recommended her pretenure probationary period should be ended and she should be dismissed from the university. The director defined her work toward establishing a charter school in the local community, which had been funded by a substantial grant, and included extensive research on charter schools across the United States, as service rather than research, and thus devalued it. The director cautioned one of us against associating with the other two, when she met with him, regarding her accomplishments one year. He told her that if she disassociated herself from us, he would make her “a star” at our institution. The incidents described above are not an exhaustive list. There were many other ways that the three of us, individually and collectively, were positioned as expendable failures at our institution. None of the pejorative constructions of our professional identities was based on fact; as often as not, factual evidence suggested precisely the opposite of the ways that others constructed us. Nonetheless, the false constructions of our professional identities were so extensively embedded in our work life, they formed a kind of illusionary world that Wright (2006) compares to the simulated reality in the movie The Matrix (Silver, Wachowski, & Wachowski, 1999). What Wright calls “the matrix of privilege” in higher education is difficult for marginalized faculty to overcome, not only because of the pervasiveness of the constructed reality, but also because it is so seductive and effective in controlling the lives of faculty. For those who are willing to go along with the constructed reality, the duality of insiders versus outsiders, favorites versus failures seem normal within “the matrix of privilege.” The constructed reality makes institutional privileges for the insider favorites and disadvantages for the outsiders appear to be the inherent nature of things. At our institution, each of us has stood up to challenge discriminatory working conditions, misrepresentations of others, and other aspects of the constructed reality that positions some people as successful and others as failures. As a result of standing up against unfair treatment of others, we have all experienced retaliation. Standing up for change requires courage. It is not an easy position to take, but all three of us believe that when there is injustice anywhere, there is injustice everywhere, for everyone—including oneself

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(see Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail, 16 April 1963” in Shapiro, 2006). Regardless of how successful we may be, as indicated by the factual record of our accomplishments, we have been positioned at our institution as people who fail. We know that our failure is constructed, not something real. We know it is an illusion that has been created and maintained by an exploitive gatekeeper and his acolytes who reap accolades at the expense of others. But real or not, the construction of us as failures has been a significant obstacle in our professional lives. In the concluding section of the paper, we turn to ways we have resisted this construction and continue to work toward a vision of professional achievement that is grounded in respect and collaboration, not a duality of insiders versus outsiders, favorites versus failures.

Collaborative Resistance Over the years, we have changed many of the conditions we describe in this chapter. Although we have not always been completely successful in altering the matrix of privilege, we have improved working conditions at our institution. How? Our strategies include communication, humor, and network building. We have found that communication is especially powerful in changing oppressive working conditions. During periods of adversity, there are times when one of us may be sad; there are times when one may be angry; and times when yet another may feel more driven to action than ever before. Because we are human beings, we have human emotions. There is no one right way to feel when a person is being treated unfairly, as everyone has a unique means for dealing with the situation at hand. Whatever the emotion or challenge, we listen to each other, and we acknowledge each other’s feelings. We make sure that we are available when one or the other needs us, and we keep our lines of communication open. For example, two of us found in our annual review the same paragraph that chastised us for service to a new journal in our field, while the other one was praised for her service on the same journal. Such open communication has provided information that could have been damaging to our careers, if left unaddressed. We go to each other to ask advice and to examine our reaction to adversity. We have asked each other, “Am I crazy?” concerning our experiences,


including (mis)representations and interpretations of events. We communicate and value critique from each other, and this helps us to see a situation differently. The open communication helps to build each other’s confidence and supplies the fortitude to persevere with working toward change of the patriarchal system that perpetuates injustice and privilege. We all need an outlet to vent our frustrations and emotions. When we discuss our feelings and express our emotions, we are in a better position to move forward with increased productivity. One of the tools of our resistance has been humor. Whatever our oppressors may imagine, we do not get together and wring our hands or cry. Instead, we laugh. We laugh at their foolishness, the transparency of their lies, and their lame manipulations. Our laughter started one evening when the three of us had gone to dinner at a local restaurant to strategize over whatever the latest insult had been. Referring to one of our oppressors, one of us said, “Oh, he’s just a dickhead.” The other two started laughing, and one of them said, “So this is what it has come to—juvenile name-calling.” At that point, we all started laughing––with big belly laughs––until we literally rolled on the floor. From that day forward, we have had a private language of laughter. In times of aggravation, one of us can say “dh” (meaning dickhead) and make the others chuckle. This is a strategy that helps us keep our sense of purpose, composure, and effectiveness as leaders. The overstepping role image introduced in the “Power Play” section is another example of using humor to deal with bullying. The created image is a strategy to visualize what is wrong with a scenario, so that we go from feeling bad for being publicly chastised to restating the situation in a powerful visual form that brings laughter and inner power. Some of the strategies that proved beneficial in helping us achieve promotion and tenure involved developing a support network, both at our institution and beyond, to help get through difficult times. The other strategies outlined here are from our experiences that may provide inspiration and examples for others to follow. Have open lines of communication. Do not isolate yourself. Make sure that you have a support system. Start by identifying individuals with whom you can openly and honestly communicate. They could be family, friends, and/or colleagues. Share your concerns in confidence with an ombudsperson, and ask for advice. When necessary, have the ombudsperson accompany you to key meetings to serve as witness. If the

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ombudspersons for your college or unit are too close to the situation, then contact the university-level ombudspersons for other options. Carefully document what transpired at meetings, and seek confirmation from those in attendance that what you witnessed and wrote is accurate. Maintain all meeting records, decisions, and policies in written and digital forms. Unsubstantiated charges against faculty who are in the promotion and tenure process may seem unrelated to promotion and tenure, and may even seem minor, but they can be trumped up and verbally repeated or included in annual reviews to the extent that the allegations are assumed to be true, and used against the faculty member. Documentation to prove otherwise is essential. Contest untrue statements in annual reviews, and make sure that statements are deleted from the review letter, with the reviewer’s signature that an error was corrected in the newly revised review letter. Further, make sure your publication, service, and teaching record is outstanding. Ask to see dossiers and vitas of those who recently received promotion and tenure. If you know someone successful at promotion and tenure, you could ask to see his or her dossier as an example. At this stage, the dossier does not include evaluation letters. Some programs keep exemplars, with approval of the specific faculty members, to share with new faculty members. We are not victims. We have successfully resisted the patriarchal culture of our university through communication, humor, network building, and when necessary, challenging corrupt practices of those in power. Through collaboration, we have gained new knowledge and devised new strategies to navigate bureaucratic patriarchal structures to initiate change in various educational sectors. “Collaboration challenges existing practices of power, wealth, and control that substantially contribute to growing class, race, gender, and other inequities in many societies” (Himmelman quoted in Slater & Ravid, 2010, p. 159). By joining forces, collaboration becomes a critical leadership strategy to change inequity, discrimination, and other challenges in the workplace in higher education institutions.

References Be´rube´, M. (2002). Foreword: Side shows and back bends. In L. J. Davis (Author), Bending over backwards: Disability, dismodernism & other difficult positions (pp. vii–xii). New York: New York University Press.


Beudert, L. (2006). Work, pedagogy and change: Foundations for the art teacher educator. Reston, VA: National Art Education Association. Bochner, A., & Ellis, C. (Eds.). (2002). Ethnographically speaking: Autoethnography, literature, and aesthetics. New York: AltaMira. Csikszentmihalyi, M. (1997). Creativity: Flow and the psychology of discovery and invention. New York: Harper Perennial. Collins, J. (2005). Good to great and the social sectors. Boulder, CO: Jim Collins Monograph. Collins, P. H. (1993). Learning from the outsider within: The sociological significance of black feminists thought. In C. Conrad, A. Neumann, J. G. Haworth, & P. Scott (Eds.), Qualitative research in higher education: Experiencing alternative perspectives and approaches ASHE reader series (pp. 111–30). Needham Heights, MA: Ginn. Galbraith, L. P. (2001). Teachers of teachers: Faculty working lives and art teacher education in the United States. Studies in Art Education, 42, 163–81. hooks, b. (1994). Language; Teaching new worlds/new words. In hooks, b. (Author). Teaching to transgress: Education as the practice of freedom (pp. 167–76). New York: Routledge. jagodzinski, j. (2008). InSITE: The future of pedagogical “hacking”: Lines of flight in critical visual art education; or, on the ruin(s) of representation. In K. Keifer-Boyd, M. Emme, & j. jagodzinski (Eds.), InCITE/InSIGHT/InSITE: Journal of Social Theory in Art Education, The First 25 Years (pp. 127–54). Reston, VA: National Art Education Association. Milbrandt, M. K., & Klein, S. R. (2008). Survey of art teacher educators: Qualifications, identity, and practice. Studies in Art Education, 49, 343–57. O’Brien, R. (2010). Foreward. In M. C. Nussbaum, Not for profit: Why democracy needs the humanities (pp. ix–xii). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Shapiro, F. R. (Ed.). (2006). Yale book of quotations. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

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Silver, J. (Producer), Wachowski, A., & Wachowski, L. (Directors & Writers). (1999). The matrix [Motion picture]. United States: Village Roadshow Pictures, Silver Pictures, Warner Bros. Pictures. Slater, J., & Ravid, R. (Eds.). (2010). Collaboration in education. New York: Routledge. Thurber, F. (2004). Teacher education as a field of study in art education: A comprehensive overview of methodology and methods used in research about art teacher education. In E. W. Eisner & M. D. Day (Eds.), Handbook of research and policy in art education (pp. 487– 522). Reston, VA: National Art Education Association; Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Wright, S. (2006). Teacher as public art. Journal of Aesthetic Education, 40(2), 83–104.


7 Navigating Gender at Thirty Thousand Feet: Women Directors of State Boards of Higher Education Rosemary F. Powers and Hannah Fisher-Arfer

For students and faculty members at public universities, state higher education governing boards may appear, if they are considered at all, as meddling bureaucracies with little knowledge of the conditions of life “on the ground.” Alternatively, they may be imagined as powerful deciders who can, if they choose, intervene to remove an unpopular senior administrator, approve new academic programs, or prevent the implementation of an overreaching increase in tuition. When asked, these trustees, directors, or regents speak of their dedication to the priorities of their state, to affordable quality education for its residents, and to strong stewardship for universities as invaluable engines for democratic citizenship and economic growth. Seldom, if ever, are these groups considered as complex communities that have norms for interacting and carefully constructed processes for decision making. In addition, the continuing discrepancy in gender representation on these boards raises troubling questions about differential power and influence. We argue that what it means to be a board member, within the complex bureaucratic environment of state systems of higher education, involves the muting of some identities, the elevation of others, and virtual silence about the effects of gender and race. We explore the construction of board member identity with a focus on culture and performance and then analyze women’s perspectives regarding the effects of 149


gender (and other categorical identities) on their experience as members of public higher education policy boards.

Women and Board Membership Corporate Boards and the Situation for Women Corporate boards of Fortune 500 companies differ markedly from U.S. state boards of higher education, whose members are either appointed by governors or elected by citizens of their states. However, since most research regarding women’s participation on policy boards has been conducted on corporate boards, these studies offer a general assessment of the current climate for women as members of policy boards and the demonstrated effects of their membership. When it comes to gender and corporate board membership, numbers matter. Boards with three or more women demonstrate more positive outcomes (Joy & Carter, 2007; Kramer, Konrad, & Erkut, 2008). Companies with greater numbers of women on their boards may show enhanced financial performance (Campbell & Mıńguez-Vera, 2007), be more likely to be listed among the “most ethical companies” and “best companies to work for” (Bernardi, Bosco, & Columb, 2009; Bernardi, Bosco, & Vassill, 2006), or show greater corporate responsibility regarding issues such as sexual harassment (Grosser & Moon, 2005). However, while women board members may bring increased board attention to “women’s issues,” responses to a 1991 survey indicated women members did not want to be seen as bringing a “feminist agenda” but wanted to “be recognized for their expertise rather than their gender” (Catalyst, 1993, p. 40). In spite of the demonstrated positive effects of increased representation, women’s numbers on corporate boards remain low in the United States (Arfken, Bellar, & Helms, 2004; Helms, Arfken, & Bellar, 2008), with women holding only 15.2 percent of Fortune 500 companies board positions in 2008 (Catalyst, 2009). While this shows the chilly climate for women in general, numbers show that for women of color on corporate boards, the situation is even cooler. Women of color hold only 3.2 percent of seats for Fortune 500 boards, and 318 of the companies have no women of color represented (Catalyst,

Navigating Gender at Thirty Thousand Feet 151

2009). According to Lisa Fairfax (2005), this failure of representation is a “cause for particular concern” since women of color are appointed less frequently than white women or men of color; those who are appointed may be asked to serve on multiple boards and thus be stretched too thin; and stagnation often results (p. 1115). When considered overall, studies of the characteristics of women corporate board directors do not adequately answer whether the women serving are highly competent or are just token appointments in a maledominated culture (Burgess & Tharenou, 2002). Additionally, corporations may try to signal a commitment to diversity by showcasing outstanding individuals but not improving the overall participation of underrepresented persons (Gulati & Shin, 2010). Corporate commitment to gender equity also seems weak since women are less often found on more powerful executive, governance, and/or finance committees (Bilimoria & Piderit, 1994; Catalyst, 2008; Kesner, 1988) and more often on public affairs committees (Peterson & Philpot, 2007).

Women and Higher Education Governance Boards Despite structural and mission differences from corporate boards, private and public university governing boards reflect a similar situation for women. But the numbers are better. According to Ehrenberg and Main (2009), progress has been “slow but steady,” with women holding 29 percent of the total positions and 18 percent of the board chair positions in 2004 (Schwartz & Akins, 2005). These percentages are still troubling, especially at a time when women are actually graduating college and gaining advanced degrees in greater numbers than men (Catalyst, 2008). A few studies explore how gender matters on these higher education governing boards. Twale and Burley’s 2007 survey of forty-nine women trustees at land grant universities found that women were underrepresented on financially related committees. Also, in seeking to be taken seriously on the board, these women stated that they “must not ‘rock the boat’ and should maintain a ‘balance’ so not to show gender favoritism when making board decisions” (Twale & Burley, 2007, p. 8). Encouraging research by Ehrenberg, Jakubson, Martin, Main, and Eisenberg (2009)


shows a positive relationship between increased numbers of female trustees and increased numbers of female university faculty. However, based on her qualitative study of women serving on private and public university boards, Glazer-Raymo (2008a) concludes: Diversity and equity as basic components of the cultural norms underlying governance structures have been only partially realized with respect to the inclusion of women trustees, including women of color. . . . [T]he composite portrait remains . . . overwhelmingly white, predominantly male, affluent, business-connected, middle-aged, active in civic affairs, and serving on multiple boards, both corporate and non-profit. (2008a, pp.185, 205) This sober assessment demands further research to document women’s participation on higher education policy boards, women’s evaluation of the experience, and what public policy changes may be required to move beyond the rhetoric of a commitment to diversity.

Study Design, Method, and Approach to Analysis As appointed directors of a U.S. state system of higher education, and at the time of planning this study the only two women serving on a board of twelve, we decided to undertake the research after reading a short article in the governance journal Trusteeship, entitled “Women Trustees: An Untapped Resource” (Glazer-Raymo, 2008b). The author summarized her research with women serving on higher education boards, advocating increased gender representation, and we determined that our “insider” status offered a unique position from which to further examine these experiences. We were especially interested in learning how the public context of board meetings might influence interactions among members and how women from different state systems experienced the structures of their boards (related to leadership, committee work, conduct of meetings, and relations with office staff and external stakeholders). Focusing exclusively on public higher education boards, this exploratory study sought to understand how board member identities were created and performed and what might be the gendered implications of those performances.


Data Collection Informed by insights from elite methodology (Kezar, 2006; Odendahl & Shaw, 2002; Winkler, 1987), we knew that while our insider status as board members could be beneficial in establishing our legitimacy as researchers, securing commitments from these busy public officials 1 would be difficult. We sent e-mail invitations introducing ourselves as board members of a state university system and requesting brief phone interviews. Given the political nature of these positions, we promised confidentiality in our reporting both to protect our interview subjects and to encourage candid responses. Sample Since we were interested in comparing the experiences of women on boards with similar responsibilities and jurisdictions to ours, we began by identifying states with systems of public higher education governed by a single policy board. The majority of the boards we identified were Boards of Regents (Directors or Trustees) with fiduciary responsibility for all four-year public institutions of higher education within their state. From that list of thirty-one states, we identified eighty-six women currently serving as board members. Given the relatively small population, we decided to use a nonrandom sample and sent a consent form and an e-mail invitation asking for a short phone interview to all the women for whom we were able to find contact information. We interviewed thirteen women from nine state higher education boards. Interviews of between thirty minutes and one hour were conducted over a several-months period in 2009 to 2010, were recorded with subjects’ consent, and were transcribed for coding and analysis. To provide the context for the reader, additional data came from our personal notes from board meetings and informal conversations with board members and system staff.

1

Variously titled “regents,” “trustees,” or “directors.” All three terms will be used in the text, since they are all used by one or more of the boards we examine. We sometimes interchange them to protect confidentiality for specific regents.


Justification for inclusion of our own experiences is two-fold. First, there is wide acceptance among social scientists that “(t)here is no such thing as removing the observer from the knowledge acquisition process since to do so would be like trying to see without eyes” (Stivers, 1993, p. 311). Second, in accepting this unavoidable researcher presence, we use some of the conventions of autoethnography (Ellis & Berger, 2002), inserting our own experience explicitly in the text, but in this study only to offer a deeper sense of context. Our actual board member experience was thus a benefit, as it allowed us to relay the often obscure culture of governance boards. Approach to Analysis To present our understanding of the ways these women navigated board culture, we draw on critical feminist and sociological theory and insights from narrative studies. Our analysis is grounded in the belief that gender schemas and norms profoundly shape board culture and interactions, though they may not be attended to consciously. While many of our respondents do not confirm this view, their stories, as ours, are constructions that offer rich texts for reflection but are opaque with regard to their status as objective fact. As Catherine Riessman argues in her review of the uses of personal narrative in social science, “storytelling . . . is what we do with narrative . . . and what informants do with us. The approach does not assume objectivity, but instead privileges positionality and subjectivity” (2002, p. 696). Unlike the well-established life-history tradition in narrative research involving in-depth storytelling over time, our use of narrative analysis is more limited. We coded the semistructured interviews using conventional qualitative techniques and analyzed these narratives inspired by both Adrianna Kezar’s (2006) research on high-performing public higher education boards and the use of the concept of “performance” in creating everyday identities from the classic work of sociologist Erving Goffman (1959) and feminist Judith Butler (1990). In making sense of interview responses, we applied positionality theory, a feminist approach to understanding structure and power that investigates the role of multiple and intersecting identities and thus the effects of position within specific social contexts (Alcoff, 1988; Collins,


1990; Haraway, 1991). According to Kezar and Lester (2010), positionality theory helps us understand power, not as emanating from an individual actor with authority to exert influence but “as socially constructed between people” and as likely to change only when “people come together to examine norms or ideologies that are socially constructed and infused with power” (p. 167). Thus this research analyzes both the underlying norms of board culture and the experiences of women members as they cocreate or reinforce board culture.

Limitations The public role of these board members encourages the telling of “official” stories that can affect the trustworthiness of data. As Stivers (1993) notes with respect to elite studies, even confidential life-history interviews require public figures to present themselves as successfully performing their public roles. Further, promising not to use any identifying information about the interviewees or their state system limited our ability to analyze specific contextual relationships directly, although clearly the politics, structures, and processes within each state affect the board member experience in important ways. Short interviews limited our ability to probe responses more deeply to gain a richer picture of these women’s lives. Even with our small sample and the very specific subset of governance boards, the many differences—in organizational forms, routes to board membership, and scope of decision-making responsibility— made comparisons or generalizations problematic. Finally, while we did send invitations to most of the women serving on these state boards, not all systems make board member contact information available. Since we were not able to reach all the women with an invitation, our sample is even less representative. Still, the data we collected offer important evidence about women’s experience in these rarified settings, and the patterns we found reveal both women’s important contribution and possible reasons for continuing slow progress toward equity.

Findings and Discussion Through our interviews, we found that board culture exerted powerful influence on shaping what identities were appropriate to perform in this


context. Enacting the board member role with its primary commitment to furthering the mission of higher education, these women participated in highly ritualized public meetings and served on major committees. Several were or had been board chairs. Commitment to their primary identity as fiduciaries of complex bureaucracies and large financial enterprises did not encourage a consideration of how other aspects of identity might shape the policy decisions they made. Given our initial research question about how gender might matter and research that concluded differently (Glazer-Raymo, 2008a, 2008b), we were interested to find that most of the respondents did not see gender as a status with much or any relevance in this context. However, their responses provide an opportunity to explore the ways that women’s position with regard to age, accomplishment, race, and length of service as a regent may shape their experience of gender on these policy boards. Culture and Performance: Constructing Board Member Identity I arrive 15 minutes before the scheduled beginning of the board meeting, and scan the room for people I know will be easy to engage in conversation. The mostly female central support staff move among us quickly, making the orchestration of one of these gatherings look easy but serious. Around the appointed time, our board chair calls the meeting to order. The script is before us, and the chair moves us through the performance. The meeting over, I debrief with colleagues and leave the stage. —Rosemary

This description of a typical board meeting will sound familiar to anyone who has participated as a member or attended meetings of most kinds of boards. However, in the case of public higher education boards, member identity is enacted in regular board meetings that are highly ritualized and performed on the public stage required by “sunshine” or open meetings laws for state entities.2 The importance of this goal of successful public performance presents an opportunity to explore the norms and

2

Several women stated that their state’s public meetings laws were the strictest in the nation.


values that guide board action and how these may affect the enactment of other aspects of board members’ social identities. The women we interviewed presented themselves as knowledgeable, competent, and deeply committed to the goals and mission of public higher education. They bring many years of experience in other settings to this context, some identities that are highly valued and others that appear to have little relevance here. Occupation and experience (both in other situations and on this board) appear to carry significant weight. By their accounting, gender played little or no role, and only women of color spoke about the significance of race. We will address these findings later. The construction of board member identity occurs within a cultural context where successful performance requires the creation of a professional board from a stock of political appointees or elected members. According to Kezar (2006): To be effective, boards must adopt a professional culture where civil interactions are the norm. In addition, many individuals who are appointed or elected to public boards do not have experience with board work and must be socialized to its values. The board culture affects overall board performance “by shaping the decision process; by leading toward or away from consensus; by using data to understand or argue, or by not using data at all; by building or not building constructive relationships among members; and by influencing which matters get on to the board agenda.” (p. 987) In this context, board member competence requires the muting of some identities, the elevation of others, and virtual silence about the effects of gender or race. In this professionalized culture, gender or race shouldn’t matter, and neither should political party or personal priorities. What should matter is thoughtful consideration of state priorities for higher education with colleagues in a civil atmosphere, as one respondent stated, “where we can disagree without being disagreeable.” For successful performance in public, board members will have prior access to policy options that have been thoroughly vetted and prepared for approval by institutional administrators and central system staff. By the time these policy options reach the board meeting, the decisions will often be


ceremonial. As one respondent noted, “The [chief executive] does what all the good people do—which is to make sure there is consensus before he asks for a vote.” Becoming a Board Member I opened my e-mail to an intriguing subject line—“An offer you can’t refuse.” The executive director of the American Federation of Teachers—Oregon wrote to remind me that the Legislature had just passed a bill creating a second faculty position on the state board of higher education. My leadership as a founding member and first president of the faculty union at my university made me a logical choice for the union to put forward. As a sociologist, I warmed to the potential for observing high-level policy organization first hand. As a woman with limited public policy or administrative experience, who would be joining a board composed mainly of men with corporate and legal experience, I was daunted. —Rosemary

Getting on the Board We began our interviews with the question: How did you get on the board? Most responded without elaboration: “I was appointed by the Governor.” (A minority serve in states where members are elected.) They usually added that the legislature confirmed these appointments, and one suggested that her appointment might have been seen as “confirmable” in a state where gubernatorial appointment requests are taken very seriously. We asked if they thought their governor had prioritized appointing a woman to the state board, and two indicated that might have been the case. The rest discounted the idea of a “gender appointment,” with eight stressing instead their personal friendships or long professional association with the governor or engagement and support for the governor’s election campaign. Others assumed their appointment provided geographic/regional diversity or was evidence of the governor’s effort to be even-handed politically (possibly because of statutes requiring clear bipartisan membership). Other explanations included having specific experience needed by the board at this time and prior service on other statewide policy boards.


Beyond the appointment itself, few identified a specific expectation to represent the governor’s perspective in their work as a board member, although one trustee said, “Well, they want us to rubber stamp. That’s how these things go. But if you oppose and the governor is aware of the opposition, you are not reprimanded, but you might not be reappointed by the governor.” One respondent emphasized the importance of ensuring good working relationships with the governor, stating that, “It’s not official but we generally run by the governor’s office our choice of chair, just to make sure we’re not picking somebody they can’t stand. . . . They don’t legally have the right to chose our chair, but politically we take their views into consideration.” Internalizing Norms of Civility As Kezar’s (2006) respondents asserted, creating a professional public higher education board demands securing a commitment to norms of interaction that will ensure respectful and collegial exchange of views (in contrast to more “political” boards emphasizing priorities of individual powerful members). The regents were explicit in describing their board exchanges as respectful and professional, though one mentioned less respectful exchanges outside of public meetings. According to one regent, “It’s very refreshing to serve on this board, because of the non-political nature of the board . . . as opposed to people in other bodies who are trying to advance their political careers.” Another noted that, “In five years, I’ve never heard anyone get ugly at all.” In general, trustees pointed to the respectful board exchange as pleasurable and a distinguishing feature from the culture in other boards on which they had served. Norms of Interaction and Decision Making One practice that reinforced the norm of civility and respect was the use of honorifics in addressing other members as a preface to comments or questions, and especially when expressing disagreement. As one woman stated, “We tend to be formal, and that works really well. We get a fair amount of testimony from the public and . . . by referring to each other as Regent Jones or President Smith, I think that elevates the discussion because sometimes we are talking about things that people have strong feelings about. . . . The decorum is raised.” This use of formal titles was


disconcerting at first for one trustee: “I had trouble at first getting used to the formal titles ‘Regent Johnson’ etc. I made some mistakes early on calling people by first names, and while it seemed to be OK at the time, people would tell me after that I needed to use the title. I told them that they would need to signal me about that, as I am just not that formal as a person.” Enforcing formal address can appear to equalize status within the board and signal to staff and the public the power invested in the role. It is also an effective mechanism for making other identities less relevant or appropriate to display. On these boards, using formal titles was consistently enacted on three, sometimes in eight, and seldom in two. In one case, a trustee explained, “I call everyone by their first name, except I always call the (chief executive) ‘Mr.’ ” And another said, “. . . we start out trying to call everybody ‘regent’ and we end up calling them Dick and Pat and that sort of thing. It’s relaxed.” All but two of the women said there was seldom any real debate at board meetings, though one stated that there should be more, especially when dealing with issues like tuition. However, if “sunshine” laws limit decision making or quorum discussion outside of public meetings, but there is an effort to seek consensus before a public vote, how do people reach consensus? Boards have both standing and ad hoc committees charged with developing and reviewing specific policy options for consideration by the full board. As respondents confirmed, much discussion occurs in these settings, but usually with much less public attention even though meetings are open and agendas are posted on system websites. Thus committee assignments can have strong effects on board decisions, and appointments to major committees carry significant weight. In addition, senior system staff develop policy options and are expected to provide board members with enough detail to make thoughtful decisions. Their influence cannot be underestimated. This too was emphasized by all of the respondents. One regent was frustrated with the central staff, saying that procedures and systems needed to be changed so that board members could better see how things were working on campuses and in order to avoid past problems. Another had been more frustrated with a chief executive and worked with others in board leadership to keep timeconsuming but not very productive items off the public meeting agenda.


The rest spoke only of the board’s strong dependence on the chief executive (chancellor, president, or commissioner) and central staff to help frame the issues and provide essential information. Importantly, informal conversations and lobbying offer a “grey area” for pursuing consensus. Most respondents were emphatic about the need to avoid any semblance of holding private conversations with a group of board members outside the formal meeting structure. Three trustees stated that their state’s public meeting law was “the strictest in the country” (underscoring the due diligence they attached to following it). As one woman recounted, “We had a dinner at one of the regent’s houses the night before the meeting and the (chief executive) was there for two reasons— the camaraderie and so forth, and the other to make sure we don’t talk about board business. We really do not sit down informally and go through a decision-making process at all. It is all done pretty formally and carefully.” Smaller boards have to be even more careful in this regard. As one women noted, “We need to be sure no more than one less than a quorum are speaking together at any one time outside the meeting.” Others were aware that there was “probably a lot of low-key lobbying,” though one stated that, “No one has ever called me and attempted to secure my vote.” Another suspected that some of this kind of conversation was happening, and that it might explain some of the dysfunction the board experienced. Even the regent who was most clear about avoiding violation of the quorum requirement stated that “informal conversation does take place that changes people’s minds,” and another added, “This is very important. Work is not done in the board room but over coffee.” These comments have implications for power dynamics on the board. The carefully scripted equality enforced at the formal meetings can be undercut in important ways by such conversations. While the more experienced white women we interviewed did not mention informal conversations as a barrier to their participation, younger women and women of color indicated that they were less likely to take part in these informal conversations. Influence Obviously, some members exert more influence than others on any policy board, but in the case of public higher education boards, the intention of public oversight results in situations where multimillionaire CEOs may share equal vote with young student members. Also, when board members


are elected, individuals often bring very uneven professional backgrounds and experience. But equal vote, while significant in its formal meaning, does not, of course, translate into equal influence. All the trustees asserted that they had influence and were respected within their areas of expertise by their colleagues on the board. Those with years of experience in educational policy and practice described with satisfaction their promotion of specific policies and projects—and the respect they had received for their leadership in these efforts. The younger women and women of color (also earlier in their careers), while describing the opportunity to participate on the board as extremely gratifying and challenging and feeling respect from colleagues, expressed less certainty about their effectiveness. Unable to fully enact the “expert” identity, they spoke instead of being hard workers and of their commitment to provide information that more accomplished and seasoned board members needed to hear. Others emphasized the importance of their own areas of expertise, with one noting her continuing efforts to remind the “corporate types” that public university missions are not about “the bottom line.” Those who were or had been chairs, vice chairs, or committee chairs conveyed both a sense of accomplishment and responsibility and had no question about their achieved status as leaders within their boards. All recognized the importance of such leaders and expected them to work closely with system executives and senior staff to keep the board focused on meeting its goals. Of this group, four have had experience as chair of their boards or had declined an invitation to be chair, and two more have had experience as vice-chair. This maps positively to the national numbers for the thirty-one state higher education system boards we identified in which women trustees account for 22 percent of board chairs or presidents. In our small sample, 30 percent of the women have had experience as chair. Gender and Board Member Identity In our interviews, we learned that women governors, whatever their party affiliation or ideology, appeared to appoint more women. This parallels the Ehrenberg et al., (2009) study showing a relationship between increased numbers of female trustees and increased numbers of female faculty at universities. Generally, trustees acknowledged it would be good to have more women on the board. One, after saying she did not think


gender currently had much effect, responded to a question about possible effects of increased female members by saying, “It would probably change the whole culture of the board.” She paused and then noted the contradiction. Either gender matters or it doesn’t. However, it is not as simple as that. How Gender Does(n’t) Matter As one of two women on a twelve-member statewide board of higher education, the absence of my gender is clear. In my mind this lack of female representation is synonymous with gender mattering, if it didn’t there would be more women. While diversity and equity may be a platform for any statewide system, the reality is that foundational principles of diversity are not reflected in boardroom demographics. —Hannah

Because women remain in the numeric minority, their level of comfort in the boardroom is dependent upon their ability to function in a dominant white male environment. The capacity for women regents to feel secure in a male-dominated atmosphere is related to their individual positional perspectives, shaped by life experiences. Thus each regent’s perception of the board room is unique, informed not just by her gender but by multiple identities (such as race, social class, age, and occupation). Positionality theory (Kezar & Lester, 2010), which takes these multiple identities seriously in examining different experiences of power and decision making, can help us explain these different interpretations of board dynamics and culture. To illustrate this, we introduce a seemingly trivial example—interest in and comfort with the world of sports. Long an area of interest for members of predominantly male groups, sports talk and metaphors may serve as a basis for informal conversation and bonding for board members. We asked women trustees if they noticed this kind of talk. Most did not. They were more likely to remember the sometimes overuse of academic acronyms. However, four did identify sports culture as a subset of board conversation and activity. Two were able to actively engage and enjoy the references and sports-related stories common at board meetings and events. Their


identity as a “sports person” was informed by sports culture or through familial and personal experiences. Two others did not feel competent or interested in such conversation or activities. As one regent stated, “the board gets taken to the football games and the basketball games and at those games the trustees talk to one another and about special coaches and players, and I’m completely lost. I haven’t got a clue what they’re talking about.” University athletics, especially during football and basketball season, becomes a topic of informal conversation at both board meetings and games that some women are more equipped to discuss than others. For those who do not possess the vocabulary or knowledge to engage in sports banter, the consequences are isolating. For those women who do have the background, who have taken sports as part of their identity, the significance of gender in the boardroom is diminished, thus contributing to their conclusion (albeit in a small way) that the board is neutral with regard to gender. In her work on public and private boards of trustees, Judith GlazerRaymo found the women she interviewed “were unanimous in observing that gender matters on boards” (Glazer-Raymo, 2008b, p. 20). In our research, however, most women did not see the saliency of gender on the board despite their numerical disadvantage. Only three of our thirteen respondents acknowledged gender as affecting their board experience. In our interviews, we found three responses to questions about how gender might have significance in this setting: “gender neutral,” with a subset we call “gender accomplished,” and “gender matters.” Ten respondents assessed the board as “gender neutral,” meaning that when we asked how gender might affect their experience on the board, they gave some version of “not at all” or “I don’t think it does.” These explanations differed by age, occupational prestige, and length of board service. Younger women and women of color, marginalized by even smaller numerical representation, were able to recall instances of gender salience. For them, “gender matters.” Gender Accomplished One third of the regents who defined their board experience as “gender neutral” were the most prestigious and, in several cases, longest-serving members of their boards. They had been pioneers at a time when gender discrimination was being challenged in legal battles and when gender integration into major policy-making bodies was new. In response to


whether gender mattered in her experience as a board member, one woman responded, “It has been irrelevant really. My experience in having a tough time being a woman on the board goes back to 1970s when I was the first woman elected to (a political position). So those days had plenty of issues at that point but I’ve been at this for a long time now and in community work and political work so at this point it’s just not a factor.” Modern consequences of gender seem trivial in comparison to the overt sexism in which these political veterans began their careers. Their assessment of the role of gender may be due to the more covert nature of institutional sexism in boardrooms today. Since accomplished women can be found in all areas of public higher education administration and all committees and leadership positions within policy boards, the issue becomes one of competence and experience rather than gender. The continued reality of being in the numeric minority on boards, gender-traditional committee membership for most women on the boards and ongoing differences in women’s and men’s abilities to donate to political campaigns and chosen professions indicate continuing effects of gender. But these women discounted the effects of gender in the present. They seemed to have a “been there, done that” attitude and refer to their experiences with gender as an issue in the past. As one trustee stated, “I am not the right person to talk to who is sensitive to gender because I’ve been in this business so long.” This regent acknowledges that some women may be intimidated by the male-dominated environment in which she operates, but with her commitment and accomplishments, she has emerged as a strong and capable leader and her gender is not a factor on the board. “Gender accomplished” women were able to both identify the absence of gender saliency on their boards and recognize the potential implications gender may have for other women. Women who have become leaders in their occupations and communities are more likely to become board chairs and/or chairs of major committees. However, although they have “accomplished gender” and overcome the barrier of gender in the boardroom, their accomplishments may serve to make continuing issues invisible. Some women, in “accomplishing” gender, may “flee any association with even vaguely feminist issues and remain vociferously committed that gender has no bearing on the major issues a trustee considers” (Howard, 1984, p. 32). As a result,


gender issues may be raised by less powerful female board members and receive lower priority on a board agenda. As strong leaders, gender-accomplished women in our study assert gender neutrality for their boards. For them, the boardroom is not a male domain or a gendered domain but a neutral public domain. In this setting everyone—women and men—is called upon to offer her or his best talents for achieving the important mission of public higher education.

Gender Neutral Judith Glazer-Raymo (2008a) found that the women trustees with whom she spoke were clear about the challenges of exerting power and influence as regents and explicit about their commitment to help shape the legacy of female board members to come. Most women in our study, including the gender-accomplished women described above, seemed sincere in concluding that gender had no effect on their board interactions. As noted above, some cited examples of ability to engage in masculine conversation through their own experience with sports or employed masculine language (using chairman instead of the more inclusive chair), but more commonly, they made straightforward claims that the operations of their boards were gender neutral, with some providing evidence of collegial relationships with male board members. At times the observations about gender neutrality were followed by contrasting statements, using examples that suggest how gender may be affecting board culture. The contradictions in their comments regarding gender neutrality suggest the ability to believe in two opposing thoughts at one time—or doublethink. For those who described their boards as gender neutral, it did not seem problematic to hold contrasting views. Consequently, while the sincerity of their beliefs is not in question, the fact of gender neutrality is. The claims that gender both does and doesn’t matter are mutually exclusive—although of course gender does not always matter in the same ways. Because most respondents discounted the importance of gender in this setting but simultaneously acknowledged its importance, we question the actual meaning of gender impartiality. “Gender neutral” respondents were diverse in their descriptions of why gender didn’t matter on the board. They largely pointed to collegial and productive relationships with male regents, the absence of a gendered


board committee structure, and commitment to balanced representation as evidence of a gender-neutral board environment. When asked whether it is important to achieve a balance of region, gender, and people of color on her board, a senior trustee replied, “I think all of those. All of them. People are very conscious and certainly our governor is very conscious of the balance with those that are on the board and making it as balanced as possible. When I get off the board, there will be no women, unless he appoints a woman.” This regent is both confirming the importance of diverse board membership and at the same time emphasizing that she is the only female member on her board. Priorities of representational balance cannot be reflected with only one woman on the board. When asked if she thought that being the only woman was problematic, her response was “No.” Such seemingly contradictory attitudes were common in the responses of most women. For example, while other regents expressed that gender did not affect board interactions, they still had a desire to see more women appointed, with some recognizing the potential impact on policy and board culture. For the majority of regents who claimed gender neutrality, the statements of desire for more women board members were consistently coupled with the sentiment that gender did not matter in every day board practice. Women consistently gave examples of collegial relationships with men on their boards as evidence of a gender-neutral atmosphere. In order to explain her feeling of equality with other board members, one regent stated, “I am actually closer to the men than I am to the women.” Whether it was a professional friendship or a story concerning how men on their board were more sensitive to issues of higher education relative to other men or women, regents who claimed their boards were gender neutral pointed to their experience with “good men” to demonstrate it. This regent went on to say, “I feel like they accept me and we have a positive working relationship. And I don’t think it happens all over but like I said right now on our board we have very accepting men.” While we do not doubt the genuine experience that their boards are respectful of women and that gender is a “nonissue,” a statement alluding to men having the power to “accept” (and therefore potentially reject) their female counterparts illustrates the complexity of gender in the boardroom. Gender as a part of board culture is not necessarily visible. Rather than the influence of gender on public higher education policy boards meaning


overt sexism toward female members, many functions of gender simply go unnoticed. When we asked, “how does it feel for you to be a woman on your board?” we were not looking for examples of discrimination. Yet some women responded to the question by assuring us that the men on their board were not sexist. Gender would matter, in this view, if women were aware of negative experiences with gender. We agree with Judith GlazerRaymo when she states, “that gender matters even when it is not articulated, that thinking in existential terms, one’s gender, whether male or female, is part of and defines our identity” (2008a, p. 185). Thus, to speak about gender is not necessarily to focus on individual sexist behavior. Rather, the issue becomes who feels comfortable speaking at meetings, the networks women have, the committees on which men and women serve, the amount of time regents are able to give, or the amount of money they are able to donate. On the surface, these ideas could seem unaffected by gender. However, these normal functions of public boards tell us a great deal about how gender is constructed and reinforced in our culture. Regents both choose and receive committee assignments based on personal preference and professional background. In our sample, most women (including some who have or are currently board chair) serve on committees related to academic affairs rather than finance. As one woman stated, “I think there is a little bit of mommy in me that gravitated me toward the Academic Committee.” However, being siloed into academic committees (by preference and/or appointment) may decrease their effectiveness overall, especially if decisions about finance and budgets require a major portion of board attention. Regents understand this priority, and when asked if interviewees had recommendations for aspiring female regents, several suggested having a strong familiarity with accounting and finance. At the same time, many of the women we interviewed see their expertise in higher education policy rather than finance as an asset. A board member in our study summed up her lacking finance ability positively, saying, “I don’t have the financial background, but when it comes to a topic that deals with the background that I come from, I probably carry more weight because I’ve been there, and done that.” In reference to her board, one regent claimed that the women’s occupational background and presence on academic committees “showed that women know much


more about higher ed. than men.” While this clearly is a very valuable skill to bring to the board, and essential to responsible oversight of university programs, in an era when state budget shortfalls present financial crises, it seems likely that those with more financial expertise will have increasing power to shape board decisions. One regent with strong business credentials herself stressed the need to recruit both women and men with business backgrounds because of the current financial situation. According to Kiersh (2009), women are less able than men to contribute significant dollars to political campaigns. Because one’s appointment as a regent, trustee, or director is often tied to fundraising ability or personal contributions to political campaigns, fewer women may be appointed. For less affluent women who may be appointed to meet other statewide goals, the board experience can be intimidating. Although highly successful and educated, one regent recalls her feelings when first appointed to the board of higher education in her state: “These people have been in the community and they have made their connections . . . and they sit on many other boards. This is the first board that I was ever appointed to so it was very overwhelming initially.” Because navigating a world of affluence is unfamiliar territory for some regents, assimilation into board culture can be hard. On state university governing boards, regents will not be aware of the many ways gender matters unless they are looking for or have personally experienced them. Importantly, although these examples show how women are affected by the gendered spaces they govern, “they want to be seen as directors first and women second. They want to be known for their competence on board issues rather than feminists” (Burke, 1993, p. 30). A failure to analyze why more men have been appointed to their boards than women allows the primary identity as board members to remain unchallenged. In a society that emphasizes independence and an ability to succeed as an individual, the notion that one’s membership in a category might convey privilege and power (or the lack of it) raises questions about merit as the determinant of success. It is therefore not surprising that many women assert that their boardrooms are, and should be, gender neutral. Gender Matters Although the majority of respondents note no difference in treatment between male and female regents, the women of color and younger women we interviewed identified their age, gender, race, and socio-economic


class as barriers to full board participation. The experience of an older, wealthier, white woman on a state board is very different from that of a young woman or woman of color. While often explicitly appointed to the board to bring perspectives valued by stakeholders in higher education, if their contributions are not valued equally to older, white, and affluent members, they will experience greater marginalization. The youngest woman we interviewed was a student regent on her board. She recounted numerous instances of interactions in the boardroom and at public events that objectified her by gender. Whether it was a passing comment about her undergarments, reference to her beauty as a factor in her board appointment or accusations (by other students) of sleeping with the governor in order to be appointed, it was clear that gender influenced her relationships and position on the board. The power differential that allows older, white, and wealthy male board members to feel comfortable commenting on a younger women regent’s appearance reflects the sexual objectification that young women must overcome to be taken seriously in professional arenas. For this young regent, finding commonality with fellow board members was difficult. As she states, “I don’t play golf so it’s kind of difficult, you know, to find common ground between myself, a twenty-yearold female in college, and a seventy-year-old male millionaire.” Unlike older regents, young women’s struggle to have successful interactions as board members is complicated by differentials in power, age, and gender. Not only do they experience less common ground with the other members of their board, but these regents may also have more restrictive time constraints. Younger women are juggling both the effort to make progress in their careers and, for some, significant family responsibilities. The time they have to spend as board members is limited. These positions are time consuming and voluntary, and several regents noted that they devote sixty hours or more a month to board responsibilities. Women with families and career responsibilities feel the pinch on their boards. One stated, “As an individual, for me, with balancing kids and work—sometimes I’m reading the materials the night before, glancing at it in traffic (not very safe), but I just wish I had time to develop myself more to be able to speak publicly about the issues and therefore be a chair of a committee.” In order to be powerful board members, women must be at a place in their lives in which they can dedicate significant time each week to board service, including the time-consuming but essential work of networking.


Younger women and women of color are thus more likely to see gender as a factor on their boards but be less able to do anything about it. They state that that they feel responsible to remind other board members of their underrepresented constituencies. For example, one woman acknowledged her presumed status as the only debt-carrying member of her board, “These people (older board members) don’t have a concept of academic debt because they make a lot of money and it is not an issue for them. Not everybody has that luxury, so I try to always remind them of that while also trying to keep his or her respect.” That she feels the need to be careful in her message about debt offers further evidence about the difficulty of bringing other aspects of one’s identity to the board. Her social position, influenced by her unique life experience, differs from that of the more affluent board members. However, advocating too strongly for actions to address the dilemmas faced by others in her situation risks her expected board member identity and being seen as a crusader for social justice or a single-issue person. Muting her identity as a mother with debt seems important to maintaining her board member identity and other board members’ respect. As one regent stated in regard to advancing issues of inclusion, “I also think you approach these things not as an ideologue. You get known as a one-issue person and I think that makes you ineffective when you DO want to be an advocate around an issue that is particularly provocative or relates to gender.” Despite the importance of assessing whether university systems are treating all students equally, when compared to capital projects or program reviews, issues of inclusion become special-issue concerns. For the two women of color we interviewed, the interplay between their race and their role on the board required significant emotional work and produced a double bind. They knew they were expected to bring a “diversity” perspective to the board. However, they could not stress this too much or they would be seen as “biased.” As one woman interviewed recalled, she had to “fight against the bias” that she favored underrepresented groups. “Oftentimes if asked questions . . . as a matter of fact someone (from a legislative body) asked a question about grants and opportunities for small business owners in our state. And the representative automatically assumed I was speaking about minority businesses.” This assumption that women of color are going to only represent marginalized constituencies, coupled with the political culture of boards that negatively sanctions “rocking the


boat,” makes navigating board membership more complex for a woman of color than for the white businessman sitting next to her. This difficult balance between board respect, activism, and perception can be detrimental to the underrepresented constituents of state systems. Since trustees are so often male (and white), it is easy for a woman trustee to feel the intense marginality of her position, and to compensate by either assuming a male perspective on every issue, or by ostentatiously separating herself from the kind of activist woman who makes many men in power uncomfortable. (Howard, 1984, p. 31) Some women counteract their marginalization in an attempt to be seen as “race and gender neutral” at all times and cite specific examples of their conscious attempts to be perceived as impartial to any constituency. Consequently, they do not raise issues of inequity easily. Being a token is analogous to the assumption that you will automatically advocate for groups who share your status. This does not seem to be a judgment made on those in the majority for their advocacy of the status quo—which overprivileges certain groups. However, just as white women regents wish to be seen as talented and successful board members rather than as women regents, so do women of color. Whichever route these women choose to navigate, the expectations are clear. They need to choose their words and causes carefully, “Because when you really speak, people do listen to you because they want to know what the Black Woman is saying.” Although there are added pressures to being a female board member for some, the overall experiences of the women we interviewed were unequivocally positive. These women loved higher education, were appreciative of the opportunity to serve their states, and respected their colleagues on the boards. While some wrote letters to their governors and held informal conversations advocating for more women to be appointed to the boards, others were content with the teams on which they served—even if there were few or no other women. Women regents, trustees, directors, or commissioners are not a socially aligned block. They are diverse in their views toward gender and higher-education governance. A board member’s willingness and likelihood to be cognizant of the effects of gender or race in this environment depends, as we have argued here, on her social position and life experience. In the end, it is not the gender of the board member that makes a


difference in policy making and governance; it is the diversity in history and perspective she or he offers.

Conclusion 3:15 p.m. We have concluded the formal business, and the chair announces that we have about 15 minutes for public comment, noting that each speaker will have a maximum of three minutes to address the board. Several students have signed up to urge the board not to raise tuition, including an older white man with bushy hair and beard wearing a T-shirt and ill-fitting jeans. He speaks last, reinforcing the comments of previous speakers. When the board chair reminds him that his time is up and he needs to stop, he reacts by saying loudly: “NO! You have had a long time to speak today and I have listened to you. I will finish what I have to say.” He continues, and is again asked by the chair to end his comments. In response to this firm request, the man surveys the assembled board with a hostile glare and proclaims: “Look around this table! You should be ashamed! You have two women here and one man of color? What does that say about your priorities???” —Rosemary

This public comment violated the board’s civility norms and carefully crafted meeting script and likely reinforced for many the reason the board provides a short time at the end of meetings for those “on the ground” to speak. This performance was uncomfortable to experience, with a valid message about equity in representation lost in the delivery. Here was a “crazy man,” describing a tableau that can be difficult for board members to acknowledge and on the public stage. It reminds us that the board member identity is crafted to reinforce a public culture promoting serious and respectful consideration of policies with wide-ranging application, where answers to uncomfortable questions can be sought before meetings and integrated into the formal script. The considerations of these boards are weighty, and the women regents with whom we spoke took their responsibilities very seriously. It is not news that context affects behavior or that women who are using their talents to further higher education goals should expect their skills rather


than their gender to be the focus. However, operating always at the general policy level may mean that women who do wish to focus on issues of inclusion will not have a legitimate or regularized venue for doing so. How might the trustee in our sample who repeatedly advocates for more appointments of women to her board become effective? What policy outcome could be a positive consequence of efforts by the regent who tries to help wealthy board members understand the struggle of people, like herself, who are deeply in debt after pursuing their academic or professional degrees? Is their advocacy simply another version of public comment, but at a higher level? Whether appointed by governors or elected, trustees, directors, or regents have important fiscal and pedagogical prerogatives. As we have argued, the policy decisions of these directors are shaped by their histories, identities, and experiences within the higher education environment. As such, the diversity of governing boards can powerfully influence the university systems’ guiding principles and the kind of approaches they take to the policy concerns over which they have control. This research suggests that without thoughtful action by state, national, and federal decision-making bodies, women will remain in the numerical minority on statewide boards of higher education and both the culture and structure of boards will further marginalize underrepresented women. We believe navigating the restrictive appointment process, environment, and composition of boards will continue to be easier for gender-accomplished women and the dominant white male elite unless some action is taken. At the state level, public policy boards of higher education are in need of a reflection mechanism that allows for more than ritualized analysis of standard board performance. Thoughtful critiques of all aspects of board culture and leadership will enable their members to see how standard board procedures reinforce the structures of white male dominance. Instead of relying on established networks of accomplished men, governors should appoint more highly accomplished women, not to tokenize specific demographics but to achieve honest diversity in board governance. Several countries have recognized the need to mandate movement toward greater gender diversity on corporate boards. In the United States, there are some states that require gender equity on public higher education policy boards. If all boards of higher education are to achieve representational balance, federal legislation may be needed to mandate the appointments and election of qualified women to state boards.


Women have made progress and continue to increase their participation and leadership within state systems of higher education. Their ability to govern effectively, despite the cultural and structural barriers we have identified, is admirable. Although the view from thirty thousand feet is not always clear, what is evident is women directors’ commitment to carrying out the best interests of their states for those on the ground.

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8 Slaying Two Dragons: For Black Women Leaders in Education, Gender Equity Is Only Half the Battle M. Cookie Newsom

Being a black woman in academe is not an easy thing. We are double minorities but frequently find ourselves being expected to ignore one of our identities, either our gender or our race. If we involve ourselves in “women’s issues,” there is rarely any discussion in the room of race and racism; if we involve ourselves in antiracist work, there is rarely any discussion of sexism. In many ways the question asked by Sojourner Truth so many years ago, “Ain’t I a woman?” is still very relevant today. A prime example is the manner in which the existence of women of color is frequently ignored. It has become common usage in many circles, including the media, to use the term “women and minorities” to describe demographic characteristics. What is meant, of course, is white women and minorities, but because for some strange reason it has evidently come to be viewed as impolite to say “white women”; the language is, as usual, adjusted to the detriment of the minority, effectively neutering all women who are not white. Black is one category, woman is another category, and never the twain shall meet in many articles, books, and public media. Frequently we are told what “women” think or who they are inclined to vote for or how their lives are going, when the women they are talking about are almost exclusively white women. As Terhune (2008) says, “Too often

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the experiences of Black women are homogenized within the race and the nuisances of gender and class are glossed over or diminished” (p. 547). In addition to the propensity to lump all blacks into an amorphous mass where gender is ignored, black women have to battle to get their white sisters to understand that racism and sexism are two sides of the same coin, and that black women are subject to both and are therefore generally unwilling to address one without addressing the other. This is an old battle that can be traced back a long way to some of the struggles experienced in early attempts to ally white women and black men and women in civil rights efforts. The experiences of white women and the experiences of black women, while we share some things in common, are not identical. Audre Lorde (1984) expresses it this way: As white women ignore their built-in privilege of whiteness and define woman in terms of their own experience alone, then women of Color become “other,” the outsider whose experience and tradition is too “alien” to comprehend. (p. 114) One would think that since we are all women, our white sisters in the academy could be counted on to understand and offer sympathy and assistance. While there are certainly times that this happens, it is not, sadly, the general pattern. Racism and sexism are both components of our lived experience on college campuses. As Simien and Clawson (2004) state: Black feminist consciousness stems from the understanding that black women are discriminated against on the basis of both their race and gender. The recognition of the simultaneity of oppression faced by black women is not captured by the dominant conceptualization of group consciousness. As a result the empirical study of black feminist consciousness has been neglected. (p. 793) When black women are acknowledged as present in the academy—distinct from their white peers—far too often it is as the stereotypical “angry black woman” (ABW). Strangely, while engaging in this type of categorization, those dubbing black women as angry never seem to delve into the reasons some of us may be justified if we do express anger. The ABW, a mythological creature created partially out of white guilt and fear and

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partially out of pandering black entertainers, is simply viewed as irrational; anger is part of her personality, not something rooted in justifiable frustration with a system that seems determined to keep her an outsider. If black women express concern or objection to language, policies, or procedures that they view as racist and/or sexist, they are viewed as not being team players, as difficult, or as not a “good fit” for the institution. Ironically, the leadership of many majority white institutions profess to want diversity and inclusion, all the while frequently marginalizing black women in jobs that actually have no power to truly effect change. In the majority of white institutions, for example, the person in the president’s office is almost certain to be a white male. An article by ASHE (2009) reports: June (2007) reports on the state of affairs regarding diversity among college presidents, noting that the profile of the typical president has remained the same over the past twenty years. That is, the typical president is a married, older White male with a doctorate. Minority representation in the college presidency has lagged behind White women as well. Prior experience as a president is increasingly becoming a preference, thus calling into question the future for people of color in these positions who are less likely to have that previous experience. (p. 1) When the frustrations of the black women at this circumstance are expressed, shoulders are shrugged and they are simply labeled as being of the angry ilk. More tractable black women are pointed to as the example that should be followed, those that go along to get along. In other words, just do what we want and we will reward you for it; try to push the envelope and prepare to pay the price. Williams (2001) says in her article “The Angry Black Woman Scholar”: My experience of feeling privileged, then having the privilege snatched away when I pushed beyond the boundaries, is consistent with institutional practices that welcome diversity as long as it is prepared to assimilate to a mainstream norm. In the current discourse of a diversity-aware academia, women of color are positioned to seek favor with powerful white men who can grant privilege or take it away. (p. 90)


Being a tenure-track or tenured professor or college administrator—the categories that the women in this chapter fall into—is indeed being privileged. Like everything else, however, privilege is a matter of perspective. I can feel privileged and yet resent the fact that some of my white sisters and almost all of my white brothers are much more privileged, often with the same or less education and experience. The myth of the meritocracy is strong in academe; we presume that those who do well and prosper do so because they are more skilled, when in fact many, if not most, times they are simply more privileged. White faculty and administrators also tend to have more financial resources than black faculty and administrators, having benefited both from the inherited wealth historically denied many blacks, higher salaries in some cases, and from less debt upon graduation, student loan, and otherwise (Merchand, 2010). Add to that the fact that whatever my demeanor, behavior, or tone, I am at risk of being declared an ABW as soon as I open my mouth to express my opinion, and the role of the black woman at white institutions of higher learning becomes a truly daunting experience. You are theoretically there, at least partially, to represent blacks in general and black women in particular, but if you advocate for social justice, equity, and fairness you are “angry.” Kretsedemas (2010) says: Much of the recent criticism of black media stereotypes has focused on portrayals of women. Some scholars and media critics have argued that these media depictions have become distinctly more negative over the past two decades and that stereotypes of black women have begun to eclipse the more familiar stereotype of the aggressive black male. A common theme of these recent stereotypes is that of the angry black woman. (p. 142) It is a quietly kept secret in higher education that the more a black woman can “pass” as a white woman, the easier her path will be. This can be accomplished in several ways, or more accurately, in a matrix of ways. Those with light skin have a decided advantage from the beginning. If they are “articulate and clean,” chalk up another advantage. The ability to “fit in” includes not being overly assertive, not speaking in a loud voice, not being too opinionated—at least not if you disagree with the white hierarchy—and (most importantly) agreeing as often as possible that there


is absolutely nothing wrong with ways in which the leaders of the institution deal with race and racism. Lorde (1984) says: Traditionally, in American society, it is the members of oppressed, objectified groups who are expected to stretch out and bridge the gap between the actualities of our lives and the consciousness of our oppressor. For in order to survive, those of us for whom oppression is as American as apple pie have always had to be watchers, to become familiar with the language and manners of the oppressor, even sometimes adopting them for some illusion of protection. Whenever the need for some pretense of communication arises, those who profit from our oppression call upon us to share our knowledge with them. In other words, it is the responsibility of the oppressed to teach the oppressors their mistakes. (p. 114) Lorde is, as usual, able to express what many, if not most, black women in higher education have felt but been unable to express so eloquently. We do have to adopt the manners and language of white society to have some illusion of protection from their view of us as alien. So black women in the academy have to face being viewed as “other” in myriad ways—we are women, but not white women, and therefore not mainstream, we are highly educated and skilled, but “difficult.” My hope is that this chapter will shed some light on the experiences, insights, and perceptions of black women in the academy. In the book All the Women Are White, All the Blacks Are Men, But Some of Us Are Brave, Carroll, (1982) says: Four years ago, if anyone had said to me that the Black woman in higher education faces greater risks and problems now than in the past, I doubt I would have taken the remark seriously. I would have marveled at the rhetoric and pointed to federal legislation enacted on the crest of the civil rights movement of the 1950s and1960s, and nodded proudly at the few Blacks in token positions in major institutions. . . . A great deal still needs to be done. I would have said, but Blacks, including women, have come a long way. In 1972, after four years of teaching and working in a university administration, I would nod my head in ready agreement if the same remark were made. My mind was changed . . . Black women in higher education are isolated, underutilized, and often demoralized. (p. 115)

184 Women as Leaders in Education TABLE 8.1 Respondents’ information Pseudonym

Age

Degree

Employment: Institution Type

Job Category/Title

Helena

49

PhD

Public-Research1

Associate Professor

Annette

63

PhD

Public-Research1

Associate Professor

Chantal

46

BS

Public-Research1

Director

Monique

35

MA

Public-Research1

Assistant Professor

Malia

57

PhD

Public-Research1

Vice President

Mary

49

JD

Public- HBCUa

Associate Dean

Sarah

59

PhD

Public-Reseach1

Professor

Anna

50

PhD

Public-Research 1

Dean

Athena

62

PhD

Public-Research 1

Director

Carolyn

53

MA

Public-Research 1

Director

Danielle

53

MPH

Public-Research 1

Associate Director

a

Historically black college or university

Unfortunately, those words, written in 1972, seem to be equally true in 2010. For this chapter I interviewed ten black women colleagues1. Their stories, along with mine, will make up the bulk of the chapter. These are stories that we do not often get a chance to tell for fear of being labeled an ABW, not a team player, or not a good fit. See Table 8.1 for respondents’ information. Reviewing the interviews, several themes emerged quite early. Gathered into broad categories they are: I. Incidents of gender and/or racial bias in undergraduate and graduate school II. Incidents of racial and/or gender bias in employment including bias against research interests that have to do with race or other aspects of diversity 1

All of the women were given aliases so that they could feel free to express themselves without fear of retribution, also their job descriptions, although accurate are less specific as to discipline, department, etc. for the same reason.


III. Being the only one or one of a few IV. Importance of mentoring The average age of my respondents is 52. This may raise the question of generational differences: Are older black women more likely to have found the academy a hostile place? I might give that question some credence were it not for the continued stream of articles written by younger black women of the academy and my interactions with black women graduate students and postdoctoral students that seem to reflect the existence of the same issues in 2010 that some of us experienced in 1980. The manifestation of those issues may be quite different. One of the respondents, Anna, told me of having to confront Confederate flags at her undergraduate institution and enduring the presence of a fraternity pledge activity called the “Five screaming niggers party.” That would not happen on most campuses today. We have driven racism underground, but we have not eradicated it; it is expressed in more subtle but no less demeaning and debilitating ways on campuses every day. For example, one black woman, an associate vice chancellor, told me of standing in a crowd last fall to watch the university football team march to the stadium on game day. She does quite a bit of work with athletics and many of the players were stopping to greet her, frequently with hugs. An older white woman in the crowd observed this and remarked to her, “They all seem to like you. Are you the cook?” This is the type of microaggression that black women in higher education have to deal with on a regular basis, along with the sexism that our white sisters endure. Not surprisingly, all of the women I interviewed expressed some degree of frustration with their treatment in the academy. The lone participant from an HBCU had spent most of her career at a majority white institution, transitioning to an HBCU only two years ago; so among all of the women we probably have more than three hundred years of experience on predominantly white campuses as students, faculty, or administrators.

I. Bias, Bigotry, and Disparate Treatment in the Educational Experience In the first thematic category, incidents of bias during their undergraduate or graduate programs were shared. Several of the respondents reported


being excluded from group activities by their white classmates. Study groups, sharing old exams, and so forth were not available to them, impacting their opportunities to interact with white classmates and excluding them from some of the advantages of group preparation. Sarah: “As far as interactions with classmates, I was never invited to the various campus study groups, I worked alone. My white classmates never sought me out and they never believed that I was doing better than most in our classes. College was, in that respect, a lonely sojourn.” Nor was Sarah the only person to experience this feeling of isolation and difference from her white classmates; Chantal describes a similar situation: Chantal: I accepted admission to a large majority institution and later was accepted into a professional program that had two African American students, including me, in a student body of approximately one hundred and twenty students. Roughly, eighty percent appeared to be upper-middle to upper-class Caucasian students. This was the typical student demographic. The program was rigorous. There were numerous study groups with people collaborating and sharing information. I was not invited to any of these group learning opportunities; therefore, I would ask my colleagues if I could come and they would occasionally allow me to join them. Also, I was told that I could not make copies of old exams that were being widely circulated via the class, because the exams belonged to someone else. Unfortunately, many of the respondents reported encountering even more egregious examples of bias and disparate treatment in their own undergraduate and graduate experiences. Athena: “When I was in my doctoral program I received an A on a paper in a statistics class. I was the only person in the class to receive an A. When we had a break and everyone was comparing grades one of the white women in my cohort looked at my paper and sniffed ‘He just gave you an A because you are the only black person in the class.’ So, black students are often in an untenable situation on a white campus. If we are good students we are judged to be getting special


treatment, if we struggle it is because we are inherently inferior. If the evidence is clear that we are earning our grades then the escape clause is used ‘you are not like most blacks.’ ” Anna: When I was in graduate school pursuing a Master’s Degree, a faculty member was very interested in meeting me after he read my research interests and my academic record. I was excited too. When I met him, introduced myself, he was in disbelief, and in fact questioned me as if I was some imposter. Eventually, I filed a grievance against him, and I won. He did not pass me on one of my papers. When I took my comprehensive exams, I asked for all of ours to be graded blindly, and to be typed. I received highest honors with basically the same information that I had used in my paper. When that occurred, and he found out it was me, he was gently asked to leave. Of course, no one initially believed me. After this situation came to light, not only did they believe me, they worked hard to make sure he left and it did not get public. Malia: In graduate school race and gender was a critical factor in admissions, class assignments, work groups, research projects teams, and housing. I remember clearly that my roommate expressly asked to be moved to another room because of the race difference. Housing refused so she ended up leaving school in the early part of the term and moving back to New York. In the classroom I found that my experiences were very different from my white classmates and my view of the world was also. The idea of social justice and inequality was not really brought into any conversations unless I or the one other person of color (a black man) put it there. Then it was there as an appendage to the real discussion—no one ever picked up our line of thinking. Our contributions would just fall to the floor and the discussion went on as if we had not spoken. However, that did not happen in written assignments or research papers; which had the disadvantage of having no impact on the classroom discussion and fueled the concern over why I was making the top grades in the toughest classes or from the toughest professors on the graded assignments. Helena: When I attended graduate school it was even more obvious the role that race played in acceptance and retention of minority students.During the admissions process, it was understood that only


a finite number of black students would be admitted. Once admitted the black males would have the most difficult time throughout our training. I remember an instance where a faculty member (white male) had an opportunity to help me with a patient that was straightforward, but when I presented the patient he began ranting and raving in front of the patient accusing me of not being prepared. The patient was scared to death and asked to be reassigned to another student because he felt that I did not know what I was doing. He was reassigned to a classmate (white female) with the same skill level and the same faculty member who then sat down and performed the procedure for the student and gave her a good grade. I ended up writing a letter to the dean and copying the chancellor about this incident and the dean met with me apologizing profusely and vowed I would never report to that faculty member again during my matriculation and he kept his word. In situations where the grading was subjective, it was very obvious and many times blatant where the faculty member would sit down and then do the work for the student (usually a white female) and the student would receive an A. I sat next to students on many occasions where the faculty member would sit down and help do the work and give the student an A or B and then evaluate my work and give me a C or B—(this happened to all the other black students on many occasions as we talked about it when we would get together). Sarah: Both my African American ethnicity (sociological race) and female gender played big roles in my education. With my instructors, I was consistently underrated so, in every class, on the first day of class, I would make it a priority to introduce myself to the instructor, sit in the front of the class, and essentially convey to them that I was not going to be their “C” or “D” student. I was going to be their “A” student, so they should discard whatever assumptions they had about my abilities and recognize my intentions to excel. Usually this worked but I feel that I was rarely given the benefit of the doubt with my professors. So when I did receive a compliment or some other gesture of kindness from a professor, I would memorize the words or the event, playing it over and over in my mind to reinforce my sense of selfworth. When I took classes in the social sciences, the prejudice against me as an African American and a woman was more evident


than in the life sciences, but the bias against me and my abilities, insights, and perspectives was always there. I can count on one hand the exceptions and to this day (40 years later) I can remember the names of any exceptional professors and the settings within which, for that moment, I felt respected and my intellect valued. These experiences, some of them decades old, are still fresh in the minds of these black women who are working on our university campuses. It would be disingenuous to presume that memories of these kinds of incidents during our own undergraduate and graduate years do not have any impact on our perceptions, behaviors, and expectations in our current jobs. Nor are they isolated incidents in the lives of many black women on college campuses. One professor describes an incident that made her leave a predominantly white campus. Williams (2008) recounts several racist incidents that happened to her, but it was an affront to one of her students that finally made her leave: But I do know that the incident that finally made me leave involved one of my students. She was walking to class one day when a car drove up, and the occupants yelled, “Go back to Africa, n*****” and then used a spray gun to shoot her with paint. She ran to my office in tears, and I immediately called the police. But she refused to file a complaint, afraid of what would happen if she stirred things up on campus and in the community. The police and administration let the matter drop, and there was nothing I could do to convince anyone that such behavior should not be tolerated. On that day in 1999 at the ripe old age of 29, hope for me died. (p. 20) On many college campuses all over America today, such incidents as those described by my respondents and by the author of the above-cited article are happening regularly. One of the reasons higher education is able to pretend that such incidents, if they come to light, are isolated and rare is the unwillingness of many, like the young woman described above, to file formal complaints or bring public attention to the events. There are several reasons for this, including accounts I have been privy to where students are cautioned against “stirring up trouble” lest it follow them and impact their future academic or professional careers. In other words, they


are frequently told to just deal with it and let it go, no one wants to give a job or an internship to a “troublemaker.” How many times, one has to wonder, can you just let it go before it changes how you view the world in general and academe in particular? Perhaps one of the reasons we have so much difficulty convincing black women to consider entering the professorate is that they do not want to revisit a place where they did not feel welcome and valued when they were undergraduates or graduate/professional students.

II. Bias, Bigotry, and Disparate Treatment in Employment The events of bias and disparate treatment follow black women in the academy into their professional lives as well. Articles are abundant that describe some of the humiliating and debilitating events that happen to African American women on college campuses, yet they are still viewed, like the events experienced in undergraduate and graduate programs, as isolated and rare. The fact is that incidents from microaggressions to overtly racist acts happen on college campuses daily. As the respondents’ comments below show, they are all still all too common. Anna: Race and gender have had a definite role in my career. It has opened the door for my first job in higher education because I was such an “anomaly,” as one person said to me. He had never met such an educated, articulate, innovative black woman in his entire life. It has also worked against me. It appears that being a black female, who is articulate and capable also can be a hindrance especially if you talk too much and don’t go along to get along (I was told that at my last job as the reason I was not given a promotion). I have also found being single can be a point of contention. I have had my work schedule altered because after all I don’t have a spouse or children so I should be the one to attend the late night and weekend functions. Danielle: I understand clearly the environment in which I work: white males and females with preconceived thoughts and committed opinions about people of other races and origins. What is ironic: gender orientation is widely accepted; however, people of color still remain on the bottom rung of the ladder. Recruitment for African Americans is nil to none. I have been told, just recently that, “there is just no one


who is qualified.” As an Associate Director, I have not been allowed to chair or sit on search committees. I have been told that I was “hard to manage,” merely because I query that, which I do not understand. I am a consummate team player, however, I speak up when injustice occurs and it occurs very often. I have seen students of color condemned, lied on and even dismissed because “they just did not fit.” I have seen professionals who were told to go home and never return, without a reason as to why. When I asked about the matter, I was labeled “insubordinate” and “stirring up matters.” Subtle inferences were made that it “could have been you.” Control by fear is the name of the game. I do not exaggerate. I have seen psychological and political games played like nobody’s business. It is the nature of the beast in my unit where there are less than 5% African American professional staff members. Mary: Race played a large role in my employment experiences.This is as true of my earlier employment as it was for my more recent employment. In my role as recruiter for my universities I think it was important for me to be seen by the public as an example of a minority “friendly” institution. I think that at least initially, my salary was lower than my white co-workers. That had to do with both my race and gender. Malia: Race and gender have opened the door for me to be considered and it has closed the door for me to be considered further. Race and gender are in full effect during salary decisions because salary decisions are in large measure discretionary and beyond the consideration of merit based on performance. My goal is to be present in every room—gender and race. Bigotry, name calling, regionalism, nationalism, remains a vibrant part of the academy in the classroom, in the work place, in every place and every corner. Political correctness has put a mask on this ever present problem created by and feeding greed. Monique: As a young Black administrator, I feel that I am challenged by students (Black and White) in a different way than my White colleagues. I currently supervise a White woman that serves as my administrative assistant; when we’ve attended events together, people have assumed she was in my position and that I was her


subordinate. When I taught in our program, I often felt the most resistance from White males in terms of their questioning of course assignments, validity of readings and assigned projects, etc. Helena: I have many examples of race playing a significant role in my career. I recall when I was completing one of my graduate programs and was interested in pursuing a career in academics. I made an appointment with the dean of the school and told him I was interested in pursuing an academic career. I informed him that I knew about a junior-level position that was open in one of his departments and was interested in applying. He basically told me he was not hiring anyone as junior as I was for the position and that there was a real need for African Americans in my area in the private sector and that is what he would recommend for me. I was later made aware that the dean was interviewing my classmate for the position I had inquired about. The person was a white female with no graduate education and identical other experience to mine. In fact at that time she was going back for a second interview. I confronted the dean and he denied it of course, but after the confrontation and exchange of letters between myself and the dean, the position was instantly frozen and my classmate was hired into a visiting position (which can be appointed by the dean) for a year and then hired permanently after she was allowed to gain the on the job experience. It was not until I received my PhD was I deemed worthy to be hired as a faculty member where a significant number of my white colleagues were deemed worthy right after graduation and to this day have attained no other degrees that what they initially received. They have continued to move up the academic ladder and through the tenure process uneventfully. Annette: The university setting is not friendly toward African American females. I believe we are marginalized as we look at salaries, opportunities available to others as they move through the tenure process. For example, the younger white junior faculty have received a semester off to prepare for their 3rd-year review or tenure review. This was not offered to me during that time period. Athena: My frustration with the role of race in my career is that I am expected to be black, but not too black, strong, but not too strong and


to always consider the wishes and desires of the white people on campus first if I want to be successful. No matter what documentation you can provide to support your position on an issue, if it is at odds with what the white majority believes to be true no evidence to the contrary can change their minds. The idea that racism is dead, that only five or six toothless people in Snake’s Navel Arkansas or some other backwater, are racist and that all the other documented incidents of racism are either fabricated, blown out of proportion or the result of black women being “too sensitive” is prevalent. On many campuses pointing out racism is deemed more egregiously wrong than committing racist acts or saying overtly racist things.

III. Being the One and Only or One of the Few It is not surprising that a number of the respondents expressed dismay at being one or only one of a few minority members of the faculty or administration. It is well known that the numbers of historically underrepresented minorities among tenured and tenure-track faculty are dismally low. As one article states, “While the numbers of undergraduate and graduate students of color on college campuses have risen over the years, the growth in the numbers of faculty of color has lagged far behind” (Jayakumar et al., 2009, p. 539). Minorities only account for 16 percent of tenured and tenure-track teaching positions in America’s university and college campuses2. Blacks only account for 5.3 percent of that 16 percent. If we presume that approximately half of the professors listed in NCES data are female—or we can conjecture that there are more black female professors—that still means black women account for less than or slightly more than 3 percent of all professors in America. Black administrators are hardly present in larger numbers (see Table 8.2). Being the only one or only one of a few brings specific stressors to your daily existence. Not only are you aware that you are being considered the representative of your entire race, you lack colleagues and peers to share concerns with, bounce ideas off of, or commiserate with when one of the incidents outlined above occurs, as they so frequently do. You are expected to 2

National Center for Education Statistics

194 Women as Leaders in Education TABLE 8.2. Percentage of full-time administrative positions 1998 Race/ethnicity

%

Black

6.5

Hispanic

2.6

Asian/Pacific Islander

2.7

American Indian White

.6 87.6

Source: National Association of Student Personnel Administrators Salary Survey, 1999.

give the “black view” in any committee, board, or meeting you are part of and yet expected to reassure your white colleagues that all is well. Failure to agree that things are fine on the campus can get you labeled, once again, as “difficult.” For the women in my study, being the only one, or one of a few, carried certain disadvantages. These ranged from isolation and loneliness to bearing the burden of representing an entire race and gender to feeling invisible. Chantal: I’ve been on faculty for thirteen years and I am the first and still the only campus-based African American faculty member in our department in a top-ranked program in the south. Out of fairness, this is typical for most majority schools for my profession. For the first few years, I was not provided with the same opportunities to collaborate and work on scholarly projects. Often, some of my colleagues would try to avoid me. I made them uncomfortable, because they clearly did not interact with very many African American people. This was evident, when I would attend weddings and other events away from work, and I was still the only minority. That was very telling. They simply lacked exposure. I felt sorry for them. They were missing out on amazing perspectives. How can we, in academia be held in such high regard if our perspectives are so narrow . . . hmmm? When I entered in the classroom to teach, some of the students looked surprised to see me. The room fell silent immediately and they would stare. Imagine one hundred and forty students staring. It was amusing. Helena: As I look around our university, we still have not been able to address the problem of recruitment and retention of African American


faculty members period. This is how far behind we are with this issue. It is quite common to see our white female counterparts in leadership positions across campus from department chairs to deans, and chancellors. It appears that only a few black faculty only one or two are tapped to take any leadership positions. I do not believe at all that African American faculty are not qualified, it just does not seem to be a priority for the university and individual units when considering filling such positions. I believe until there is a genuine interest in improving the number of black faculty, the issue of empowering black women in education will be lost in the translation. Anna: Since I was the only black and female in my masters program, I was often called on by classmates and professors to provide voice to those topics as it related to course materials. I remember one professor in a class on the politics of poverty asking me to share the view of “my people” on a particular subject. Up to that point, I had worked hard to be “invisible” so I could just get through with the program and move on with my career and life. I had spent the last two years of my undergraduate experience fighting and I was tired. However, something exploded inside of me when he asked me that question. My mind was racing, and I decided to ask him to be more specific about what he meant by “my people.” I wanted and needed clarification in order to properly answer his question. I probed deeper and deeper with each answer he provided until he finally gave up and asked to speak with me after class. That interaction set the tone for the rest of that class and proved to be a turning point personally and academically. I was no longer asked to be part of study groups, and when it came to prepare for the comprehensive exams (where one typically prepared for in groups because of the nature of the materials) I had to do so on my own. Well, I passed with highest honors, and used research materials from non-traditional sources as well as those from our standard texts (I even quoted Huey3). Athena: Being a black female on a predominantly white campus means having to be constantly vigilant. You are, whether you want to accept it or not, being viewed as a representative for your race and you have to keep in mind constantly that any misstep may have 3

Huey P. Newton, co-founder of the Black Panther Party.


implications not just for yourself, but for future hires or other opportunities for other blacks in the future, particularly for black women. Monique: I was often the only Black person in my class (I was 1 of 3 Black women in my program; there were no men of color), so I often felt the “pressure” to be the Black representative in the room. I often had White classmates and professors literally turn in my direction for a response to anything that came up in class that related to Black folks! I even had faculty tell me after the first couple weeks of any given semester that they were glad I was in the room “to represent the Black voice.” Carolyn: I have experienced feeling invisible and being ignored in meetings because someone didn’t want to hear what I had to say. I felt tremendous pressure to make sure I did everything so there wouldn’t be any question about me being less than capable because of my race. Being one of a few or the only one is very challenging in academe besides the aforementioned tendency of being overwhelmed with the need to represent your gender and/or race on committees, boards, and other groups; there is the sense of isolation that comes along with being “different.” Higher education communities operate on relationships. The ability to get something done, to find resources, to establish partnerships is all dependent on knowing people and having at least a collegial relationship with them. If the climate is exclusive, hostile, or unwelcoming to black women, it impacts not only the daily lives and morale of the black woman administrator or faculty member but also her ability to accomplish her duties and goals. The hierarchical nature of higher education is also a barrier. If a dean or chair or other person in authority does not like black people, it is very difficult to get upper-level administration to do anything about it. There is presumption of a meritocratic authority, that the person in charge has to be, as one president told me “trusted to run his/her shop.” Yet most institutions do very little to train their supervisors in the areas of either racism or sexism. The idea that EEO and other offices exist to address blatant racism (or sexism, come to that) is great in theory, but in practice filing a formal grievance is a risky business.

IV. Importance of Mentoring Virtually all of the respondents mentioned the importance of mentoring, particularly by other black women. Mentoring in the framework they


mentioned included not only academic and career advice and support but also friendship and commiseration. When you are a double minority on campus, it is too often true that the only person who can truly understand your frustrations, challenges, and barriers is another double minority. Anna: I think having a greater presence of black women in higher education in a wide array of positions is definitely a big plus. We need the critical mass. However, these women need to be empowered by their other sisters. There should be a connection where stories are told and help provided in problem solving and understanding institutional culture. Mary: I think it gets easier as more of us get into the field of higher education.It helps significantly to know that there are others out there like you with whom you can share your experiences. Monique: The most beneficial resource I have found is the informal support networks that have been created with Black women in the academy and connecting with mentors. Much of the empowerment I have experienced has come from Black elders and peers in the academy that have offered their support and guidance. Annette: Black women have to share information and support each other. Support could include mentoring, writing together, sharing the secrets of the political process of the university. If you don’t know the political landscape, there are lots of minefields. Black women in the academy carry some heavy burdens, from being the representative for all black women, and in some cases all blacks, to having to deal with the stereotypes, xenophobia, and racism that are all endemic in higher education. Two years ago I was on the dissertation committee of a young black woman who wrote her dissertation on black women K–12 administrators. Her position was that they had at least two jobs, that of the administrator and that of being the social justice conscience of the school, the students, and the community. I would suggest that black women in the academy have myriad jobs, most of which one will not find listed in any job description. So, how do we make the academy a better fit with black women? My suggestions:


•

Make certain all members of the campus community understand that being black is not monolithic any more than being white is; that we are not all alike and will not all fit your stereotypes.

•

Stop asking black women to be white women by pretending addressing “women’s issues” without addressing racism is appropriate.

•

Acknowledge the requirements of black women to do more than the jobs they were hired to do; they also have to be mentors, be social justice advocates, and serve on committees and boards to “represent” and educate others about race and gender.

•

Investigate reasons that black women are criticized. We are not perfect, some criticism is no doubt valid, but make certain the criticism is not based in something other than ability and performance.

•

Take allegations of racism seriously and investigate them aggressively— we are NOT in a postracial society by a long shot.

•

Help black women find mentors—they do not have to be other black women, but they do have to have some understanding of race and racism.

•

Help the campus community understand that being a team player does not require ignoring racism and sexism when it is observed.

•

Hire more black women in decision-making positions.

The academy will continue to be a hard row for most black women to hoe. There is no question that apart from a few chosen (and chosen for reasons that are not always valid) superstars, black women, as shown by the experiences of the respondents, have to work twice as hard to be considered half as good as our white sisters. I look forward to the day when it is possible for a black woman in the academy to be viewed, to paraphrase Martin Luther King, by the content of her character and the level of her scholarship and performance and not by the color of her skin. As a final note, almost all of the women thanked me for allowing them to tell their stories. They used words like “liberating” and “cathartic” to describe the experience. I hope that more research is done on black women in the academy so that voices too long ignored can finally be heard.


References ASHE Higher Education Report. (2009). Special issue: Ethnic and racial administrative diversity: Understanding work life realities and experiences in higher education, 35(3), 1–95. Carroll, C. M. (1982). Three’s a crowd: The dilemma of the black woman in higher education. In G. T. Hull, P B. Scott, & B. Smith (Eds.), All the women are white, all the blacks are men, but some of us are brave (pp. 115–28). Old Westbury, NY: Feminist Press. Jayakumar, U., Howard, T., Allen, W., & Han, J. C. (2009). Racial privilege in the professoriate: An exploration of campus climate, retention and satisfaction. Journal of Higher Education, 80(5), 538–63. Kretsedemas, P. (2010). But she’s not black! Journal of African American Studies, 14(2), 149–70. Lorde, A. (1984). Sister outsider. Freedom, CA: Crossing Press. Merchand, A. (2010). Black graduates owe more debt than white, Asian, or Hispanic graduates. Chronicle of Higher Education. Com. Retrieved August 12, 2010 from http://chronicle.com/article/Black-Graduates -Owe-More-Debt/65253/. Reason, R. (2000). NASPA Salary Survey 1999–2000: Comprehensive report. Retrieved August 12, 2010 from http://www.naspa.org. Simien, E. M., & Clawson, R. A. (2004). The intersection of race and gender: An examination of black feminist consciousness, race consciousness, and policy attitudes. Social Science Quarterly, 85(3), 793–810. Terhune, C. P. (2008). Coping in isolation: The experiences of black women in white communities. Journal of Black Studies, 38. Retrieved from http://jbs.sagepub.com doi: 10.1177/0021934706288144. Williams, C. (2001). The angry black woman scholar. NWSA Journal, 13 (2), 87–97. Williams, T. (2008) Reflections on a personal, historic, movement. The Jepson Blog. Retrieved September 6, 2010, from http://blog.richmond .edu/jepson/2008/11/11/one-week-after-reflections-on-a-personal -historic-moment/.


9 Academic Leaders with Disabilities: How Do We Know If We Are Winning When No One Is Keeping Score? Rhoda Olkin

This chapter is about women with disabilities as leaders in academia—not specific people, but the issues that arise for any woman with a disability rising through the academic ranks and into leadership and administrative positions. First, I discuss why we might think about people with disabilities categorically when addressing academia. Second, I outline the numerous potential barriers for people with disabilities in leadership roles. Throughout the discussion I use examples from my own life, but only inasmuch as I believe they are not idiosyncratic to me or to my particular disability (polio and mobility limitations). Third, I make ten recommendations for academia to adopt to increase the chances for women with disabilities to participate in leadership roles. One thing is clear about women with disabilities in academia: there are no data. This is perhaps the most salient point that underscores all that follows. Women with disabilities in academia have not been tabulated, monitored, discussed, or written about. There are programs for advancement of women in academic leadership (Baker, 2009). For example, the percentage of women in senior academic positions in New Zealand, Australia, and Canada has gone from 5 percent in 1960 to 20 percent in 2008. Furthermore, there are efforts to increase the number of people with disabilities in certain fields; more attention has been paid to this issue in the STEM fields 201


(science, technology, engineering, math); there is relatively little being done in social sciences to increase participation by people with disabilities. Yet the confluence of gender, disability, and academic careers has not been subject to any scrutiny. The absence of information about academic leaders with disabilities implies that the questions of proportional representation, affirmative action, and hiring goals are not being asked with regard to people with disabilities in academia. This absence—the failure to see people with disabilities as a minority group about whom we need information for the purpose of greater representation—is rampant in academia. Thus it becomes necessary in this chapter to tread new ground. But readers should be aware that empirical support is scanty at best, and many of the issues I raise here remain ripe for investigation.

Why Talk about Female Academics with Disabilities? Many discussions of diverse groups start with statistics about the size of the group, as if prevalence is a rationale for inclusion. I could do the same—19 percent of the noninstitutionalized population have a disability (U.S. Census Bureau, 2001), and 50 percent of all families are directly affected by disability. But whether there are few or many women with disabilities in academia is not the point; democracy is protection of the minority from the tyranny of the majority. Furthermore, I do not believe that numbers are the sole or even main rationale for focusing on people with disabilities in academia. If we buy the basic premise that diversity is valuable for institutions that are at the forefront of progressive thought then ostensibly women with disabilities would have much to contribute. But to ensure women with disabilities in leadership positions, there must be women with disabilities early in the pipeline, and that pipeline should not leak. Academic institutions can have subtle ways of being gendered (Kantola, 2008; Saunderson, 2002), and I would posit that they also have ways of being able-ist. In the following sections I explore the many barriers in academia for women with disabilities.

Barriers to Academic Leadership Roles There are numerous barriers for people with disabilities in academia, at whatever faculty rank or level of administration. I divide these barriers into four areas: (a) logistics directly related to disability; (b) financial

Academic Leaders with Disabilities 203

and budgetary constraints; (c) interpersonal, social, attitudinal, and perceptual prejudices; and (d) the confluence of disability and other aspects of identity. Logistics Logistical barriers are in many ways the most salient to outsiders (i.e., persons without disabilities). First is simple access to campus. You might think, thirty years after the Rehabilitation Act (1975) required accessibility of institutions receiving federal monies (virtually all universities and colleges), and twenty years after passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act (1990), that all campuses would be physically accessible. But accessibility is a relative term. Take, for example, the University of California at Berkeley, which was the birthplace of the disability rights movement. Despite ideal weather, the campus is difficult to access: not all buildings are accessible, hilly terrain and great distances make going from one place to another difficult, there are historical buildings that cannot be altered, many places on campus are not reachable by car, and parking is at such a premium that a parking spot is the gift given to Nobel prize winners. Furthermore, what is accessible to someone who uses a wheelchair is different than for someone who is ambulatory but limited by endurance. A person with paraplegia may be able to open a bathroom door, but a person with limits to hand strength may not be able to open that same door. The definition of accessible might address the width of the door, but not the ease of opening it or the necessity of an automatic door opener. Administrators are fond of touting the ADA compliance of the campus, but this is in many ways a nonsensical notion. The ADA does not address such specifics (state building codes do). Rather, it requires reasonable accommodations on the basis of disability, and as we’ve seen, what works for one person may not work for another. To give a concrete example, my university installed an automatic door opener for the outside door to the main building. There were two problems. First, the button to activate the door was small and required finger dexterity and strength. Second, the door opened into the cafeteria, which was accessible when empty but difficult to navigate and mostly inaccessible when crowded. If it therefore didn’t work for me, then claiming ADA compliance is irrelevant. When I think about what physical accessibility means for me, there are layers to be dealt with. First priority is where I can park and its proximity


to my office. The route from parking to my office has to have curb cuts and an automatic front door opener to my building. The elevator has to have space for me to turn around in so I can reach the button. The next area to be considered is my office, which needs space for a wheelchair. My desk is a specific nonstandard height. Then I need bathroom access, which necessitated putting in an automatic door. I need a plug to charge my wheelchair. The emergency plans have to include how I would leave my second-floor office and exit the building. I need my classes to be scheduled in such a way that I can use a particular room that has been made accessible for me. These considerations just cover the bare minimum of needs. Suppose, for example, I need to attend a meeting on the first floor. If it is a long meeting, I usually try to get it changed to the second floor, because the first floor bathroom is much less accessible. If I have to meet with people from one of our other campuses, I try to have the meeting on my campus so I don’t have to travel and in a room that will be comfortable for a long meeting. Any off-campus meeting has to be scouted for accessibility before it can be booked. Since people without disabilities have trouble really knowing what accessibility entails, I often have to be the one to do the scouting for the parking, the entrance, the slope of the ramp, the size of the bathroom, and other factors; changes to routine require extra work on my part. Faculty often hold events at different arenas on campus or even away from campus. Off-campus buildings may be less accessible or even completely inaccessible. For example, my first year of teaching a faculty retreat was held at the Chancellor’s house; I could not attend because his house was up a flight of steps. Winter holiday lunches were hosted at restaurants, some of which were not accessible (or said they were and then turned out not to be). Whenever an event was held elsewhere, I had to do extra work to assess access. I might call the location or ask a staff person to inquire about access and parking. Sometimes I would even scout a location in advance to see where to park and how to access the building. Even after all this, I might have to enter through the kitchen, past the garbage, and separately from my peers. These extra tasks and attention are particularly stressful for newer faculty. They isolate her and make her disability a more salient feature to others. Faculty work on average a fifty-five-hour week (O’Laughlin & Bischoff, 2005). Administrators and those in other leadership positions (e.g.,


program chairs, department heads, union presidents) may work even more hours. The commitment of time, energy, and personal resources expected in academia, especially in leadership positions, is extraordinary. When I began teaching in graduate school, I figured out that for every threehour class, it took me approximately twenty hours of preparation, and I taught four classes a semester. As any new faculty member can attest, this is probably common. The sheer volume of work is difficult to manage. Later, as one advances in rank, the expectations for research, presentations, and mentoring increase. Thus, even as course preparation gets easier, other aspects of the job increase. This work demand may not be feasible for women with certain types of disabilities. Many physical disabilities incur fatigue and weakness; how might a woman with multiple sclerosis, polio, muscular dystrophy, lupus, rheumatoid arthritis, or a host of other disabilities manage the time demands of work? In addition to fatigue and weakness, many disabilities incur pain to varying degrees. Pain might not seem like much of a barrier; one can be in pain and work. But if you’ve ever had a toothache for several days, you know that even relatively small amounts of pain can be distracting. Chronic pain doesn’t need to be intense to be debilitating; it’s the chronicity that wears one down. Some disabilities are unpredictable. For example, multiple sclerosis and lupus can be episodic; Crohn’s disease can flare up unexpectedly. One way to live with these kinds of disorders is to have a lifestyle that doesn’t overtax you and that allows for down time as needed. Travel, meetings, and work demands of leadership positions may dictate a schedule with peaks (e.g., a two-day retreat; travel to another campus; attendance at conferences) from which there is scant time to recover, and these peaks can exacerbate the chronic condition. Aging compounds all of the difficulties of disability, predominantly fatigue, weakness, and pain. For example, in the past decade there have been several opportunities for me to be considered for program director. I have not put myself up for the position because I didn’t think I could physically manage the three-year commitment. There were numerous problems. One was that I would move from a nine-month/year to a twelve-month/year contract. Second, I would be expected to be on campus at least four days a week, which not only made a long work week but added to commute times. Third, I would be working many evenings and weekends. Do I even need a fourth reason? Ironically,


I might have been able to manage this when much younger, but of course then I wouldn’t have been experienced enough to take the position. Furthermore, I had young children and would not have wanted that great a job commitment when they lived at home. Now that they are grown, I am older too, and therefore much more fatigued and limited in mobility and stamina. As seen in this section, the physical aspects alone of leadership positions entail considerable barriers. Do these barriers mean that women with disabilities should not take on leadership roles? Of course not. But leadership positions have many requirements that make them hard for a woman with a disability. The problems are compounded as we look at other types of barriers in the next sections. Financial and Budgetary Constraints There is a simple truth, which is that disability often costs money. Even for my relatively minimal needs, my university has spent money to install an automatic door opener on the front door and the women’s bathroom, bought a new desk for my office and tailored it to my needs, purchased several tables that are wheelchair accessible for conference rooms, and paid for me to have a monthly parking pass at a privately owned parking lot next door. There are other expenses as well. When I go to a conference, I often have an extra night in the hotel, use valet parking, and sometimes take an assistant. A critical question is where this money comes from. Universities have funds for an office of disability services, but this serves students; where does money for faculty and administrators come from? Unfortunately, it often comes from the general budget rather than a percentage set aside for reasonable accommodations (RA). This means that money for RA directly subtracts from other departmental needs. For example, I wanted to stay overnight in a downtown hotel about an hour from my home because my talk was scheduled for 8:00 AM. First I asked for and got approval from Human Resources, but HR doesn’t have a budget, so the request was forwarded to my Dean. Because the RA was approved, he really had no choice but to fund it. A few months later I learned that we had no money to hold our faculty retreat off campus; we needed an amount roughly equivalent to my one night’s stay in a hotel. There are three obvious problems here. One is that the money had not been set aside and thus had to be found from a budget that had already


been slashed. In austere times, finding even a few hundred dollars can be difficult. Second, the money spent on RA directly affected the department’s ability to pursue other activities. Third, I was made aware (as were others) of the lack of funds and the ostensible reasons for it. This prompted me to call university council to request a line item in the budget for RA. I explained the necessity of insulating faculty with disabilities from any backlash for requesting RA. Fortunately, she agreed with me and about six months later this item was added to the budget for the following year. A similar issue arises when submitting grants for outside funding. To include researchers with disabilities often requires that some RA are made. Thus it is prudent to include these as a line item in the budget for the grant. To give a ballpark figure, when I submit grants in which I want participants with disabilities, I make the amount for RA 4 percent of the total budget. When researchers with disabilities are included, I make it 1 percent of the budget. This covers not only any accommodations I need to conduct the study but also accommodations when I disseminate results of the study. Conferences are an area where accommodations are often needed. When considering the cost of attending, I have to include extra expenses. I might rent a scooter that can be delivered to the hotel. I tend to use room service when I’m fatigued. I take taxis when others might take public transportation or walk. I tip the people who push the wheelchair in the airport. These are usually out-of-pocket expenses for me, either adding to the cost of the conference or subtracted from any honorarium I might receive. If administrators travel for the job, these types of expenses must be considered. Is the university willing to pay for these? Interpersonal, Social, Attitudinal, and Perceptual Prejudices Most people with disabilities would cite interpersonal interactions as the most problematic, troublesome, and annoying aspect of having a disability (Olkin, 1999; Yuker, 1988, 1994). Physical access allows one in the door but doesn’t dictate a welcome environment. One of the first things noticeable would be the absence of other faculty and administrators with disabilities. This absence has several ramifications. When you are in the meetings, it will be up to you to raise disability issues. And since the absence of disability is rarely observed, if you are not in the room, no one else will raise these issues. When


advocating for changes that remove barriers or foster a more disabilityfriendly environment, you may be the lone voice. And you will have to be that voice often. You risk becoming seen as a one-note administrator, the one who keeps bringing up the same issue all the time. This could lead to others viewing you through a narrow lens as the disability person and nothing else. Such pigeonholing could affect your prospects for promotion. The administrator with a disability needs to be vigilant for activities in the university that could have a differential effect on students, staff, or faculty with disabilities. For example, recently my university established a new grading policy whereby grades of Incomplete would be noted next to a final grade once the incomplete was remediated. This policy was decided by the President, Provost, Deans, and Registrars and did not include anyone from Disability Services. When I heard about the policy, my immediate concern was students who took a leave or extended time due to medical or disability issues. I was told that students could petition for an exception to the policy. However, I saw this as yet another burden placed on students with disabilities, as well as sending the message that once again students with disabilities were exceptions. These kinds of examples can create cognitive dissonance for women with disabilities in academia (Kjeldal, Rindfleish, & Sheridan, 2005). Although written policies cite relevant laws, and there are statements about nondiscrimination on the basis of disability, actual practices and procedures and common microaggressions (Sue, 2010) counter the notion of equity. There will never be a critical mass of people with disabilities in faculty or administrator roles, and in fact there may not be any academic leaders with disabilities in your institution. The presence of women leaders creates the perception of a more women-friendly environment (Sanders, Willemsen, & Millar, 2009). I surmise that the presence of academic leaders with disabilities would likewise create a more disability-friendly environment. The absence of such leaders can lead to perceptions of stigma. Being groomed for promotion is one place where mentoring is a valuable advantage. Mentoring of women faculty benefits both the women and the university through retention, more grant income, and promotion (Gardiner, Tiggemann, Kearns, & Marshall, 2007). But you will be lucky to have a female mentor, and very unlikely to have a mentor of either gender with a disability. A sounding board for vetting your ideas and a place for feedback about how you are perceived can be important tools in the


ladder up. However, your mentor may likewise see you as being too focused on disability. There are other interpersonal barriers for women with disabilities in academia. Being the public face of the university and a fundraiser are areas in which stereotypes and stigma can play large roles. Disability is often used as a scare tactic in advertising, the thing to be avoided by safe driving, attending to health, abstaining from drugs. Similarly, disability is used to evoke pity and thus money (e.g., the Muscular Dystrophy Telethon). These images of disability as something to be feared or pitied are legion and can complicate the role of an administrator with a disability. She may have internalized some of these images. Even if she has not, when fundraising or doing other types of public relations for the university, these ubiquitous images can be raised in others’ minds. Responses can range from outright dismissal to subtle expressions of pity to exaggerated admiration. People with disabilities are constrained by affective prescriptions and restrictions. An early work in this area discussed the requirement of mourning (Wright, 1983). This requirement stems from the idea that those without disabilities view disability as a tragedy and think that they themselves would not be able to handle having such a burden. They thus infer that the person with the disability feels similarly and is in mourning for the loss disability incurs. If in fact the person with the disability is not demonstrably in mourning, then he or she is seen as having overcome great odds to be not depressed and must have special or super powers of emotion. This creates a dialectic such that persons with disabilities are seen either as appropriately depressed (the requirement of mourning) or as superordinate people (what Olkin, 1999, called the requirement of pluckiness); in either case they are not viewed accurately or individually but rather as representatives of a category. If people with disabilities should be either depressed or plucky, they also have a prohibition against anger. When a person with a disability is angry, there is a tendency to label that person as maladjusted or as having failed to accept the disability (whatever that might mean). But the pervasiveness of microaggressions makes anger a probable response. Microaggressions (Sue, 2010) are subtle acts or slights perpetrated by the dominant culture that make a member of a minority group feel wounded. In the case of disability, there are two differences. First, the act might be by another person of the same minority, that is, a person with


a disability. Second, the act might not be by a person. For example, if I encounter a door that I cannot open, there is no specific person who is carrying out a microaggression at the time of the encounter. However, many microaggressions do involve another person. For example, about once a week someone at my school says something to me about the speed of my wheelchair (e.g., “don’t run me over,” or “you could get a speeding ticket”). A few times a month the sole handicapped stall in the bathroom is taken by an able-bodied person when there are many other empty stalls available. About twice a semester the wheelchair-height table I use when teaching is moved to another classroom. In some cases I can see the perpetrator; in other cases the person is not visible to me. The prohibition against anger coupled with daily microaggressions requires careful affective management by a mature person and is yet another distraction for the woman with a disability in a leadership role. Disability is rarely included as a topic of diversity in undergraduate or graduate programs (Bluestone, Stokes, & Kuba, 1996; Green, Callands, Radcliffe, Luebbe, & Klonoff, 2009; Hogben & Waterman, 1997; Kemp & Mallinckrodt, 1996; Olkin & Pledger, 2003). This may be because disability is rarely seen as an advantage but rather as an absence or a deficiency. Thus it is relegated to abnormal psychology, special education, or courses about specific so-called special populations (e.g., autism, learning disabilities, intellectual impairment). If this is how undergraduates become exposed to disability, it can discourage students with disabilities from thinking of themselves in leadership roles. The absence of instructors, mentors, and administrators with disabilities, plus the silence about people with disabilities as a minority group, can have a chilling effect on students early in the pipeline. Couple this with the pervasive negative images of disability in the media and we can see how people with disabilities are not groomed for leadership roles. Most academic leaders start out as assistant professors and are promoted through the ranks and into administrative roles. One portion of retention and promotion decisions comes from teaching evaluations. Results of studies on effects of gender on teaching evaluations are equivocal, but the better-controlled studies suggest that there are no differences (though the questions asked on evaluations are a key variable, inasmuch as these questions are not gender-neutral; Huston, 2005). Studies on effects of being an instructor of color generally show some negative bias


in student evaluations if the students believe the evaluations are not going directly to the instructor, though effects vary by ethnicity of the instructor (Huston, 2005). Style of teaching (strict or lenient; warm or cold) and course topic also interacted with instructors’ ethnicity. What we see from the results of these studies is that gender, ethnicity, and style can affect teaching evaluations. Unfortunately, we know nothing about the effects of instructors’ disabilities on evaluations by students. The interaction among disability, gender, and ethnicity is hard to gauge. But given the results cited above, we might surmise that disability is not neutral, and its effects on student evaluations would vary with other attributes of the instructor as well as with teaching style and discipline. Because we are not collecting data on women with disabilities in academia, there are many things we don’t know. Unfortunately, we probably don’t know what we don’t know, that is, because the questions have not yet been asked, there is a void regarding what questions are important, what data tell us that leads us to new questions, and what areas we ought to explore further. Disability and Other Identities Women with disabilities are, obviously, women, with all the issues well documented for women in academia. Although the issue of balancing roles for women in academia has been well explored, the balancing act has not been eased. The effect of child rearing on women’s careers has been documented (Armenti, 2004; van Anders, 2004) and would perhaps be even greater on women who take on leadership roles. How might disability interact with these already conflictual roles? Again, this is an area in which there are scant data, despite the fact of 8 million families with children under 18 who have a parent with a disability, or 11 percent of all families (LaPlante, Miller, & Miller, 1992; Toms-Barker & Maralani, 1997). But several studies indirectly suggest that being a mother with a disability requires more time and attention than can be easily balanced with a career. For example, several studies on mothers with disabilities had participants with master’s degrees, all of whom had stopped out of the workforce during the early and preteen years of their children (Cohen, 1998; Conley-Jung & Olkin, 2001; Kirshbaum & Preston, 1998). Another study showed that families with teenagers wherein the mother had a


disability had incomes of about $15,000 less per year than friends in their neighborhood, in part because mothers had stopped working (Olkin, Abrams, Preston, & Kirshbaum, 2006). So it would seem that even welleducated mothers with disabilities step out of the workforce as long as there are young children in the home. Parenting with a disability is an area in which there are few structural or emotional supports. Combine this with working with a disability in a time- and energy-demanding career in which there are few role models and many demands, and the sheer volume of demands may be too much to juggle. Thus the forced choice between mothering and academic career may be more salient for women with disabilities. Women with disabilities may be persons of color, lesbian or bisexual, foreign born, or have other identities that intermingle with being a woman and a person with a disability. Some of those identities may carry privilege (e.g., heterosexual; native born) and others may engender stigma and discrimination. Although there is some literature on lesbians with disabilities, it is neither empirical nor about academia. The confluence of gender, disability, other demographic variables, academia, and leadership roles is an untapped area for research, understanding, and ultimately movement forward toward more equitable institutions of higher learning. Toward that goal, here are some recommendations for institutions to consider to make the environment more hospitable to women with disabilities wherever they are in the pipeline.

Recommendations 1. Lead, don’t follow. Institutions of higher learning should be leaders in accessibility and disability-friendly environments. At the very least, this requires early adoption of new technologies that allow greater access for people with disabilities, innovation in teaching methods, means of job restructuring, and equitable rubrics for retention, tenure, and promotion. 2. Make disability part of the dialogue. All nondiscrimination statements, if they specify protected groups, should include disability. Affirmative action should be specified for women and for people with disabilities, with the express goals of increasing numbers of each. Policies for accommodations should be well delineated and published appropriately and ubiquitously in print and online materials. Diversity training should include gender and disability.


3. Collect and understand the data. This is one way to include disability in the dialogue. Having data on the number of women with disabilities at various ranks and in administrative roles makes disability a more salient factor. Data may have to be aggregated to protect individuals’ confidentiality; collecting data across campuses and institutions is one way to get greater estimates without jeopardizing identities. 4. Plan for disability costs. The institution’s budget should have a line item for reasonable accommodations that is a percentage of the overall budget. Those monies should be available to any level of faculty and administration and should not detract from other budgeted items. 5. Restructure job demands. Leadership positions may have to be reconfigured. Job sharing is one method. A similar method is job restructuring such that the job is broken into different parts and each part assigned to different people. In job restructuring, the main position would be parsed for those parts that would make it unmanageable for the woman with a disability, and those parts would be parceled out. 6. Train search committees. From writing the advertisement to conducting interviews, there are steps that can make the institution more welcoming to women with disabilities. For example, ads could state that reasonable accommodations are available in the application process. If the statement women and minorities are especially encouraged to apply is included, this should be changed to women, people with disabilities, and other minorities are especially encouraged to apply. Help the search committee with where to place ads to attract women with disabilities and to change wording that might be unintentionally off-putting to potential candidates with disabilities. Make sure the committee knows what questions can and cannot be asked in an interview. Simple points of etiquette should be reviewed (e.g., discuss whether you should shake hands with someone with limb differences; make the interview room readily accessible without having to rearrange the furniture when someone arrives in a wheelchair). 7. Equity requires consistent efforts. Develop a multiyear plan to recruit, retain, and promote women with disabilities. Consider all aspects of leadership roles, from mentors to institution president, and how the job descriptions might invite or deter women with disabilities. Be vigilant to include disability when discussing diversity.


8. Be accountable, starting at the top. Institutional cultures cannot be more inviting than the top level of administration. Thus from the president on down, every level of administration and leadership role must be on board with not just the talk but also the walk of diversity as a valuable asset for the institution. 9. Have written, clear, and consistent procedures for exceptions. Institutional policies are predicated on equality and fairness; reasonable accommodations are predicated on individualization and equity. Discussion of these ideas should be part of the diversity dialogue to avoid having women with disabilities seen as having so-called special treatment. Procedures for women with disabilities to do things differently, be innovative in their job duties, and use assistance as needed should be clearly delineated. Acceptance that one size never fits all should be a part of the corporate culture. 10. Do debriefing after failures and learn from them. Rather than hide mistakes, they should be viewed as valuable opportunities to make corrections. This fosters an openness to experimentation and risk taking that is necessary if the institution is to be a pioneer (see recommendation #1).

Conclusions When discussing women with disabilities in leadership roles in academia, several factors are paramount. First is the relative invisibility of these women, such that there is an almost total lack of data about numbers or characteristics of such women. Second, as outlined in this chapter, there are many barriers for women with disabilities as women and as people with disabilities and in the ways in which these two variables interact. Third, although academia prides itself as a bastion of equality, subtle but pervasive factors have favored those in more privileged positions, namely men and able-bodied persons. Given these facts, we can see that fostering women with disability in leadership positions in academia is not going to spontaneously happen. Rather, it will take concerted efforts on the parts of current leaders, instructors, researchers, mentors, and people with disabilities themselves, bolstered by appropriate policies and procedures, to achieve greater representation.


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Kantola, J. (2008). “Why do all the women disappear?” Gendering processes in a political science department. Gender, Work, and Organization, 15(2), 202–25. Kemp, N. T., & Mallinckrodt, B. (1996). Impact of professional training on case conceptualization of clients with disabilities. Professional Psychology: Research and Practice, 27, 378–85. Kirshbaum, M., & Preston, P. (1998). Keeping our families together: A report of the national task force on parents with disabilities and their families (National Institute on Disability and Rehabilitation Research grant # H133B30076). Berkeley, CA: Research and Training Center, Through the Looking Glass. Kjeldal, S. E., Rindfleish, J., & Sheridan, A. (2005). Deal-making and rule-breaking: Behind the façade of equity in academia.Gender and Education, 17(4), 431–47. LaPlante, M., Miller, S., & Miller, K. (1992). People with work disability in the U.S. Disability Statistics Abstract No. 4. Washington, DC: National Institute on Disability and Rehabilitation Research. O’Laughlin, E. M., & Bischoff, L. G. (2005). Balancing parenthood and academia: Work/family stress as influenced by gender and tenure status. Journal of Family Issues, 26, 79–106. Olkin, R. (1999). What psychotherapists should know about disability. New York: Guilford. Olkin, R., Abrams, K., Preston, P., & Kirshbaum, M. (2006). Comparison of parents with and without disabilities raising teens: Information from the NHIS and two national surveys. Rehabilitation Psychology, 51(1), 43–49. Olkin, R., & Pledger, C. (2003). Can disability studies and psychology join hands? American Psychologist, 58(4), 296–304. Rehabilitation Act of 1973, Public Law 93–112. Sanders, K., Willemsen, T. M., & Millar, C. (2009). Views from above the glass ceiling: Does the academic environment influence women professors’ careers and experiences? Sex Roles, 60, 301–12. Saunderson, W. (2002). Women, academia, and identity: Constructions of equal opportunities in the “new managerialism”—A case of lipstick on the gorilla? Higher Education Quarterly, 56(4), 376–406.


Sue, D. W. (2010). Microaggressions in everyday life: Race, gender, and sexual orientation. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley. Toms-Barker, L. T., & Maralani, V. (1997). Challenges and strategies of disabled parents: Findings from a national survey of parents with disabilities. Oakland, CA: Berkeley Planning Associates. U.S. Census Bureau. (2001). U.S. Census 2000, Demographic Profiles. Retrieved October 6, 2010, from http://www.census.gov/main/weee/ cen2000.html. van Anders, S. M. (2004). Why the academic pipeline leaks: Fewer men than women perceive barriers to becoming professors.Sex Roles, 51(9/ 10), 511–21. Yuker, H. E. (Ed.). (1988). Attitudes toward persons with disabilities. New York: Springer. Yuker, H. E. (1994). Variables that influence attitudes toward persons with disabilities: Conclusions from the data. Psychosocial Perspectives on Disability, A Special Issue of the Journal of social Behavior and Personality, 9, 3–22. Wright, B. (1983). Physical disability: A psychosocial approach (2nd ed.). New York: Harper & Row.


10 Inclusive Leadership: Helping Women Negotiate the Labyrinth of Leadership in Higher Education Brenda L. Berkelaar, Katie Pope, Beverly Davenport Sypher, and Monica F. Cox

Increasing numbers of women have reached top leadership positions in colleges and universities in the United States. Currently, women occupy 23 percent of academic presidencies (American Council on Education [ACE], 2007) and 38 percent of provost or chief academic officer positions, the most likely position from which institutions find new presidents (King & Gomez, 2008). Despite this progress, women remain significantly underrepresented in upper levels of academic administration, a situation that many argue “places serious limitations on the success of educational institutions themselves” (West & Curtis, 2006, p. 4). According to large national surveys sponsored by the ACE, the percentage of women in upper administration is substantially less than the percentage of female students, faculty, and staff (King & Gomez, 2008). Also, women are less likely to occupy the key line positions from which educational institutions typically select presidents, provosts, and vice presidents (King & Gomez, 2008). Since the late 1990s, the proportion of women in academic presidencies slowed or stagnated, particularly among large national universities (ACE, 2007). In many ways, this pattern mimics the lower numbers of women in executive-level positions in Fortune 500 companies as opposed to businesses overall (Eagly & Carli, 219


2007a). Despite projections, continued progress toward equal representation is neither guaranteed nor clearly evident (see Eagly & Carli, 2007a, 2007b). The question becomes: How do we reinvigorate progress toward an inclusive model of academic leadership that better represents the institutional constituents these individuals lead? In this chapter, we outline the problem of the underrepresentation of women in formal academic leadership positions and describe opportunities and challenges for realizing more inclusive leadership in higher education. The chapter concludes with a case study of Purdue Women Lead, a faculty development program at Purdue University introduced to educate, encourage, and recognize women leaders. Purdue Women Lead provides one model for helping to develop women’s leadership capacity through education, collaboration, research, and recognition.

A Brief Primer on Academic Leadership In describing leadership positions in higher education, we are referring to those employees primarily responsible for advancing a vision, making and implementing decisions, and securing and managing financial resources for colleges and universities. Although there are similarities between formal academic leadership positions and those in corporations, the titles, positions, responsibilities, and structure do differ. Although they may also vary from institution to institution, positions in academic administration typically include the roles and associated responsibilities described below: The president (sometimes called the chancellor) is the chief executive officer of the college or university, typically reporting to the Board of Trustees. A series of vice presidents handle areas ranging from finance, research, fundraising, information technology and human resources to physical facilities, compliance, diversity, and marketing and media. The provost, (alternatively called the chief academic officer or the vice chancellor or vice president of academic affairs) is second in command and typically responsible for all academic matters relevant to both students and faculty members. In larger institutions particularly, the provost may lead a number of associate and vice provosts who manage different areas (e.g., faculty affairs, student affairs, enrollment management,

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diversity, engagement, and sometimes global affairs). Below these upper levels of academic administration are academic deans who have responsibility for a significant area or academic unit such as a college or school (e.g., Dean of the College of Engineering, Dean of Arts and Sciences, and Dean of the Business School, Medical School, Law School, and others), or a functional area of administration (e.g., Dean of Students, Dean of Libraries). For deans particularly, the division and type of responsibilities varies widely between institutions. In addition, larger institutions may have associate or assistant deans who are responsible for specific administrative areas (e.g., research, undergraduate studies). Finally, department heads or department chairs administer or lead individual departments. Although some institutions include other academic administration positions (e.g., director or chief of staff), the five described above—president, provost, vice presidents, deans, and department chairs or heads—exist in most institutions of higher education, although the specific division and type of responsibilities may vary to some degree. The typical and traditional career path for someone pursuing a career in academic administration is fairly linear, most often starting with tenure as a faculty member (ACE, 2007; Birnbaum & Umbach, 2001; King & Gomez, 2008). The tenure process differs between institutions, but typically it requires earning a doctoral degree and six years of successful performance in research, teaching, and service. When tenured, a faculty member is typically promoted to an associate professor. Approximately six years after one is tenured, he or she is considered for promotion to full professor, the highest possible rank for a faculty member. Seldom are faculty appointed to deanships or higher postings before becoming a full professor. Most individuals in upper levels of administration follow career paths that include department head or chair and a deanship or vice presidency. For those who eventually become president, most have previous experience as a provost or vice president, and a growing number of sitting presidents have served as presidents at other schools (ACE, 2007). Although there are exceptions to this pathway (e.g., multiple deanships or provost positions at successively larger schools or even some corporate experience), the consistent profile evidences a fairly significant underrepresentation of women.


Inclusive Leadership in Higher Education The notion that institutions of higher education should be inclusive institutions grows out of a value for diversity and an appreciation of difference: Inclusive institutions help people feel connected and sustained as they grow and achieve. These institutions celebrate, promote, recognize, and make visible their efforts to support all stakeholders, including those who have been historically underrepresented. Inclusive institutions ensure that everyone has a voice and an opportunity to speak. Providing women leaders access to opportunities for career success is a key component for strengthening inclusive leadership. (Sypher & Pope, 2009, para. 3) An inclusive leadership perspective is therefore “concerned first and foremost with inclusion, both in its processes and the ends for which it strives” (Ryan, 2006, abstract). Our focus is not simply an increase in numbers of women leaders only, although numbers matter and are certainly a commonly used measure of success. Rather, we want all groups to have an equal opportunity to influence the visioning, decision making, strategic planning, and day-to-day focus of education institutions in particular. Increasing representation for one group and potentially other underrepresented groups benefits the organization at large. Connecting notions of inclusion to leadership recognizes that organizations benefit from strategically identifying, recruiting, and/or developing women and other underrepresented faculty as leaders, tapping into and developing the full spectrum of leadership capacity and organizational possibility. The implication is that a lack of women in formal positions of authority is an obstacle to fulfilling the potential and promise of higher education for students, faculty, staff, administration, and society (see Touchton, Musli, & Campbell, 2008). Inclusive leadership as manifested in gender representation affects institutions, society, and individuals’ institutional, social, and individual benefits. In effect, colleges and universities may lose access to a larger talent pool from which they can recruit and develop the most qualified leadership talent (Rhode & Kellerman, 2007). A culture of equal opportunity reduces attrition, increases commitment, and decreases the costs of replacing talented personnel (Rhode & Kellerman, 2007). Furthermore, in


higher education, recent research suggests that having women in significant leadership positions increases the number of female faculty (Ehrenberg, Jakubson, Martin, Main, & Eisenberg, 2009). This in turn has social implications, since the number of female faculty can help increase the number of female students within a field, a concern of particular importance for many STEM (science, technology, engineering, and math) fields where women remain underrepresented and the shortage of qualified STEM graduates threatens the future economic potential of the United States (Committee on Science, Engineering, and Public Policy, 2007). Individually, women leaders given equal opportunity to develop leadership capacity and to occupy leadership positions receive a number of tangible and intangible benefits including a sense of purpose, intellectual stimulation, positional influence, and power to help shape change and other financial and nonfinancial rewards (Ciulla, 2000). Without opportunities to lead, these are benefits they might otherwise never experience despite leadership capacity and competency.

Despite Challenges: An Opportune Time for Inclusive Leadership As mentioned previously, diversification in the highest levels of academic administration remains slow or even stagnant. In 1986, 92 percent of academic presidents were white, 91 percent were male, 8 percent were domestic minorities, and 8 percent were female. In 2006, 86 percent were white, 77 percent were male, 14 percent were domestic minorities, and 8 percent were female (ACE, 1986, 2007). Despite this increasing inclusiveness, the percentage of women presidents has not increased in more than two decades. Moreover, they are less likely to hold upper leadership positions in doctorate-granting institutions, or even four-year colleges, as compared to higher education institutions overall. Although the number of women in presidencies at doctorate-granting institutions increased from 4 percent to 13 percent from 1986 to 1996, in 2006 that number remained at 13 percent (ACE, 1986, 1996, 2007), well below the percentages of women graduating with doctoral degrees or represented in the ranks of undergraduate and graduate students and faculty. In addition, the representation of women in mid-level and upper-level administrative positions is not equal to that of men (West & Curtis, 2006). Most presidents come


from previous presidencies or provost positions and 50 percent of other senior administrators are promoted from within the ranks of the particular institution (King & Gomez, 2008). Therefore, the presence of a particular group in key line positions at any institution of higher learning is critical to achieving inclusive leadership at all higher education institutions. Most standing and recent academic presidents and provosts previously held tenure-track faculty positions (King & Gomez, 2008). Yet the growth we see in women leaders in higher education does not parallel the growth of women attaining advanced degrees, presumably the starting point for such a role. At the undergraduate level, women represent more than half of bachelor degrees overall (ACE, 2010), and at the graduate level, women represent 60 percent of the total population (ACE, 2010), even though some disciplines have greater proportions of females than others. For example, in fields such as education, nursing, pharmacy, and veterinary medicine, women are more highly represented, yet as of 2000, women were less represented in fields such as engineering, the physical sciences, and business (see ACE, 2010; Etzkowitz et al., 2000), fields in which many standing presidents in top national universities completed their studies (Sypher & Berkelaar, 2010). Similar to statistics about women in graduate education, women continue to be less represented in faculty ranks than male counterparts, particularly at doctoral-granting universities and particularly in STEM disciplines (Chliwniak, 1997; West & Curtis, 2006). At doctoral universities, women held 34 percent of all faculty positions (41% assistant professor positions and 24% of full professor) in 2006. In terms of evaluating equity, doctoral universities are significant because of their large numbers of faculty members as compared to other colleges and universities (West & Curtis, 2006). Despite the underrepresentation of women, this is a time of unique opportunity for better realizing inclusive leadership. The academic presidency in the United States is at a point of imminent turnover. Academic presidents are significantly older as a group, with 49 percent of presidents 61 years of age or older (ACE, 2006). Even though the average tenure of the average academic president has increased from an average of 6.3 years in 1986 to 8.5 years in 2006 (ACE, 1986, 2007), the average tenure of provosts (5.2 years) remains among the shortest of all upper administration positions (ACE, 2007). This short tenure may be a result of provosts being tapped for presidential positions since fewer former


presidents are available to fill the increasing presidential openings (King & Gomez, 2008). Or it may be a function of provosts’ alleged decreasing interest in being a college or university president (Hartley III & Godin, 2010). Nonetheless, the argument remains that more women at every level increases the possibility of more women leaders. Consequently, the growing proportion of women in graduate ranks and among tenured faculty provides an increasing pool of potential leaders insofar as retention and development efforts continue to improve. Nonetheless, a number of visible and less visible barriers challenge women who seek to navigate the labyrinth of leadership. In asserting that for women, the pathway to leadership positions is not a pipeline, nor limited by a glass ceiling, but a labyrinth, Eagly and Carli (2007a) note that the path is not impossible to navigate but is full of visible and invisible obstacles that undermine leadership ascension. That is, A labyrinth is not simple or direct, but requires persistence, awareness of one’s progress, and a careful analysis of the puzzles that lie ahead. … For women who aspire to top leadership, routes exist but are full of twists and turns, both unexpected and expected. Because all labyrinths have a viable route to the center, it is understood that goals are attainable. The metaphor acknowledges obstacles but is not ultimately discouraging. (p. 64) We find that moving away from the metaphor of a glass ceiling or pipeline to the image of a labyrinth is useful for a number of reasons. The pipeline metaphor, although useful, still assumes that one need only get into or fill the right pipeline to ensure adequate leadership representation or development. The notion of the glass ceiling suggests that the obstacles to career progression are visible. It “give[s] the illusion of opportunity for women” (Buzzanell, 1995, abstract), so long as women break though the barrier. However, thinking about the challenge of underrepresentation as a glass ceiling does not address some of the invisible and visible obstacles and increased challenges that might impede formal leadership progress. Some of these challenges and obstacles for women center on previous experience in key line positions, isolation, and pioneerism, the double bind of leadership, educational experiences, family, and personal issues, and lack of leadership training.


First, women are less likely to hold key line positions like provosts or deans, the positions from which future presidents are often recruited. For example women hold only 38 percent of Provost positions and 36 percent of deanships (King & Gomez, 2008). More typically, women leaders are in positions least likely targeted for provosts and presidents. For example, 55 percent of chief of staff positions are women, and 57 percent of chief diversity officers are women (King & Gomez, 2008). Clearly, there are fewer female candidates in positions targeted for senior-level hires. Second, women face “pioneerism” and isolation as they attempt to succeed as faculty members, especially in the fields where they are most underrepresented (e.g., STEM), and also when trying to negotiate the labyrinth of leadership. In their roles as pioneers, women might be the first or only woman to enter a field or to represent women professionally in a certain environment. Research demonstrates increased physiological stress associated with being the only or one of few representing a social group within a setting (Murphy, Steele, & Gross, 2007). When part of an underrepresented group, women often need to demonstrate competence in their respective fields at levels much above the expectations set for their peers (Stanley, 2006). Pioneerism is compounded when a women is also a member of an underrepresented racial or other minority group. Furthermore, women who are pioneers also often experience isolation. As recently as 2010, the National Research Council’s survey on Gender Differences at Critical Transitions in the Careers of Science, Engineering, and Mathematics Faculty noted that women faculty were less likely to engage with their colleagues in professional conversations than their male counterparts, although the reasons for this difference are not provided in the survey. Similar findings have been reported among women in various disciplines and of different races and ethnicities (e.g., ACE, 2010). Whatever the reason, an unwillingness or inability to engage colleagues in conversations about their work and/or the lack of access to key social networks reduces the potential for successful career and leadership development (Ibarra & Hunter, 2007; see also Kouzes & Posner, 2002). There has long been a gender gap in access to informal leadership networks (Ibarra, 1997; Ragins, 1998). Research suggests that the development of informal networks, whether similar to or different from those of other groups (e.g., men) offers benefits in terms of leadership development and success (Ibarra, 1997; National Research Council, 2010; Ragins, 1998). Given this challenge, women are often encouraged


to be proactive about finding out pertinent information and about identifying mentors who can demystify the promotion and tenure or succession process. In addition, policymakers often recommend that administrators become aware of a lack of access by women to such conversations and to the likelihood that they will experience isolation. This model, however, is not as effective for women who are in top-level administrative positions who may lack peers able to offer mentorship, especially in difficult situations. Women administrators can often be the “first” at their institutions, and they too can experience isolation and the stress and lack of support that entails. Third, women often face a double bind when entering formal leadership positions. A double bind occurs in situations where an individual experiences contradictory demands. For women, society’s expectations of being a good leader often conflict with being a good woman and certainly a good mother. Society expects women to be communal, self-sacrificing, and helpful, traits typical of traditional roles and desirable in women; yet these same traits undermine the respect of women in leadership positions, since society often expects leaders to be agentic, assertive, directive, and/or dominant (Eagly & Carli, 2007). As a result, women leaders often face criticism and resistance if they demonstrate this masculine leadership style, but they are also deemed less competent if they enact communal rather than agentic behavior. Conversely, men tend to be rewarded for both communal and agentic behavior (Eagly & Carli, 2007). Therefore, resistance to women leaders is common in part because this double bind violates social expectations for success. Fourth, the lack of women presidents might be linked to the lower proportions of tenured and tenure-track female faculty members despite high numbers of female undergraduate and graduate students. Women may be reinforced by educational and classroom experiences to behave in a way that discourages leadership behavior (Chliwniak, 1997). Additionally, particularly in male-dominated disciplines, women might not even be taught by a woman faculty member or identify a woman who might serve as a role model during their undergraduate or graduate studies (e.g., Etzkowitz et al., 2000). For this and other reasons, women often do not want to pursue faculty careers or the kind of faculty careers that lead to upper-level leadership positions. There are, for example, more women in nontenuretrack and part-time positions than men (King & Gomez, 2008), and more women than men choose to “off-ramp” on their way to tenure. This


illustrates the complexity of the leadership labyrinth and the need for multiple efforts on different fronts to encourage women to develop the skills and abilities necessary for leadership and to encourage their interest in pursuing leadership positions and the path via which they are obtained. As pointed out earlier, research suggests that increasing the number of female faculty can lead to increased numbers of women in academic leadership; however, research also suggests the increased numbers of women in academic leadership lead to increased numbers of women faculty. Fifth, family and personal issues inordinately burden female as opposed to male faculty members. Even though men share increasing burdens for home and family, women tend to carry the majority of the responsibility for home life, including household responsibilities, childcare, and aging parental care (Eagly & Carli, 2007b; see also Kellerman & Rhode, 2007). These demands often occur at the same time that faculty face pressures to achieve tenure, potentially interfering with research and teaching success necessary for promotion and tenure. Because of the challenges that many women faculty face in these areas, women in graduate school often report that they are not attracted to tenure-track positions (Mason, 2009). Those that are may face assumptions that they are less committed to their careers because of competing demands. That being said, many institutions continue to improve the institutional culture to better meet the unique challenges of particular groups such as women by improving parental leave policies, adjusting the tenure clock, and working to change assumptions that commitment can be evaluated on the basis of physical presence rather than work products. A final challenge is a lack of leadership training at all levels of higher education. In the same way that many faculty often do not receive formal pedagogical training as graduate students or early career faculty, many also do not become trained formally for leadership positions (Cox, Cekic, & Adams, 2010). This compounds lack of access to key line positions that provide opportunities for experiential learning, experience, and the social networks important and often necessary for leadership development and promotion. Without such training, faculty may not be selected to serve in leadership positions, or they may not gain access to the relational connections that smooth the career transitions. Plus, with an absence of leadership training, sensitivity to gender issues and deliberate efforts to encourage and to include women in higher education leadership may be missing.


All of these challenges present means of postponing, diverting, complicating, or even ending women’s paths through the labyrinth toward leadership in higher education. They highlight the myriad of concerns necessary to develop inclusive leadership in the higher education environment. Although each of these challenges is presented individually, they interact and intersect, forming a complex labyrinth that limits opportunities for women to develop or contribute their leadership capacity in formal positions of authority.

Women at Purdue University In the last five years, women and minority men have constituted more than half of new faculty hires at Purdue University (Purdue University, 2008a), the result of concerted efforts on the part of university leadership to pursue the inclusive vision laid out in Purdue’s recent strategic plans. In fact, a primary goal of the current strategic plan is to create: learner-centered, inspiring, and nurturing educational communities marked by human and intellectual diversity, and the promotion of a dynamic culture of equity and inclusion for all people, in a pervasively supportive climate that fosters excellence of students, faculty, and staff. (Purdue University, 2008b, p. 4) As noted earlier (Sypher & Pope, 2009), Purdue engaged in various converging efforts to encourage and develop an inclusive talent pool, including preparing women and members of other underrepresented groups to engage in formal leadership positions. “Although Purdue has long led the nation and the world in scientific discoveries that are changing lives and solving human problems, we also aspire to be a leader among our peers in terms of inclusive leadership” (Sypher & Pope, 2009, para. 1). As of 2007, women held a minority of all formal leadership roles, including 12 percent of department heads and 42 percent of deanships, despite representing 42 percent of undergraduate students, 38 percent of graduate students, 31 percent of faculty, and 58 percent of staff (Purdue University, 2008b). Even though women held 43 percent of professional staff positions, which include program, center, and project directors, as well as nonacademic directors and vice presidents, only a few held top leadership roles in their respective units (Purdue University, 2008b).


To increase the numbers of women in leadership positions, we must make institutional changes, including but not limited to providing opportunities for women to develop their individual leadership capacity. Social networks may help develop leadership capacity, opportunity, and confidence. They can provide social support and informational resources that help navigate the leadership labyrinth or negotiate the double bind women experience. Social networks and the alliances they can create also can provide emotional support by creating a community to combat the effects of isolationism and pioneerism. They also can provide instrumental support by giving women access to resources and expertise that helps leaders solve particular problems and make informed decisions. Connecting with other women as peers and mentors can help women better realize formal and informal opportunities to develop as leaders, pursue other leadership positions, and be effective at the leadership positions they occupy. These possibilities are what led Purdue University to create Purdue Women Lead, an alliance of women leaders who participate in educational workshops, research-focused “brown bag” events, expert-led seminars, and opportunities to build alliances with other women campus leaders.

Campus Women Lead Given the current economic challenges and competition for the best students and faculty, colleges and universities need competent, qualified leadership more than ever. Strategic efforts to increase the representation of women in upper-level administration should support existing as well as future leaders in an effort to expand the pool of targeted recruits for twenty-first-century leadership challenges. Purdue University is working to contribute such a pool. With a generous gift from a committed alumna who had a successful career as a pioneer in her own field, Purdue created the Susan Bulkeley Butler Center for Leadership Excellence. The mission of the center is to enhance collaborations and build alliances that benefit women leaders. For its inaugural event in 2008, the Butler Center, in partnership with the Women’s Resource Office, sponsored the American Association of College and Universities’ Campus Women Lead program. Emerging out of the work by a group of veteran administrators and faculty members who participated in the National Initiative for Women in Higher Education, Campus Women


Lead seeks to help women individually, collectively, and strategically develop inclusive leadership in institutions of higher education. The program promotes “a women-led agenda for the sustained transformation of higher education for the twenty-first century” (http://www.aacu.org/campuswomen lead/). Purdue’s Campus Women Lead program was a two-day workshop facilitated by Dr. Gertrude Fraiser and Dr. Kathy Wong, who hold tenured positions at the University of Virginia and the University of Western Michigan, respectively. The goal of the workshop was to help participants understand how to increase their spheres of influence by building alliances and understanding their own and others’ perspectives, values, and intentions. We invited sixty participants to share and prioritize key intervention areas and possible solutions. Faculty leaders participated on the first day and staff leaders attended the second day. For subsequent activities, faculty and staff leaders were invited to participate together, knowing that some events may be of greater interest to one group or the other. For example, faculty concerns often center on how to balance administrative opportunities with the research and teaching that brought them to the academy. Staff members appear more concerned with promotion opportunities within their sometimes limited spheres of influence. Both groups, however, share concerns about work/life balance, isolation, support, and leadership opportunities. Over the course of the two days, we came to see that each group, while working in different day-to-day environments, faced comparable challenges regardless of where on campus they worked. Moreover, each group had informational resources and expertise necessary for the other to succeed at the same university. As noted in an earlier assessment of the event: In those two days, we knew we had created something special. We thought we had successfully selected participants when sixty campus women leaders quickly acknowledged their invitations. But we knew we had filled an unmet need when nearly every person arrived at 8 a.m., after travelling through knee-deep snow and blizzard winds, to take part in a program none had ever heard of. With BlackBerries in hand and cell phones buzzing, some participants said they could stay only for the morning. By the end of the day, almost all attendees remained in the room. Inspired by insightful and sensitive conversations … participants


committed to continuing the work they had started after the workshop’s end. (Sypher & Pope, 2009, para. 11) The discussions over these two days revealed that participants wanted to “work together more,” to learn “how to move from ideas to action” with “more knowledge about leadership.” They wanted “more opportunities for ‘how to’ ” and welcomed the opportunity to interact with other women knowing that “they weren’t alone.” The Butler Center provided a platform for launching a collective effort to promote alliances that support women’s talent for and interest in leadership opportunities.

From Campus Women Lead to Purdue Women Lead With Campus Women Lead, the various Purdue offices came together to leverage their resources and respective expertise, increase the potential impact of the program, and better realize their shared goals of promoting educational opportunities for women. Consistent with the charge from Campus Women Lead to view the workshop as the start of an ongoing process rather than a one-off event, the outcome of these collective efforts was the creation of Purdue Women Lead, an alliance to create a leadership community where women could learn from one another and grow. The Butler Center and the Women’s Resource Office launched Purdue Women Lead to provide support to women in formal leadership positions at Purdue, targeting women at the director level and above for its initial efforts. The goal is to encourage women leaders to build alliances, develop spheres of influence, and better understand the institutional landscape. In its first year, we structured Purdue Women Lead activities in direct response to issues participants shared in our initial two-day gathering. They expressed an interest in having a “time to connect with other women on campus,” have “open and honest discussions,” “share similar experiences,” and “build alliances.” The opportunity “to interact with other professional women” offered sufficient motivation for many to continue to attend subsequent events, to invite others to join, and to suggest the kind of activities that would interest them. They wanted to further develop themselves as leaders, have more “best practices time,” and learn “specific strategies” to balance the rewards and challenges at work and home. In response to this feedback, we offered monthly workshops, seminars,


keynote speakers, webinars, and faculty research presentations on a range of topics. For example, in the late spring and fall of 2008, luncheons gave participants the opportunity build networks and learn from women researchers on Purdue’s campus. Topics included Adult Child and Parent Relationships, Civility in the Workplace, and Work–Life Balance. In the spring of 2009, Purdue Women Lead hosted a webinar series on women and leadership led by Purdue alum Rebecca Shambaugh, president and CEO of SHAMBAUGH Leadership. These webinars were free to participants who came during lunch to discuss such topics such as building networks, communication skills, conflict resolution, and change management. In the summer of 2009, a focus group of women participants helped plan Purdue Women Lead projects for the subsequent academic year. Also, women who had not been invited to the initial Purdue Women Lead program expressed interest in participating as news of the events spread. These women also offered suggestions to help set our direction for future programming. The most common theme in suggestions from both groups was an opportunity to meet with other women leaders in more informal settings. Developed in response to this desire, a reception was held at the home of the Butler Center Director at the beginning of the new academic year. It drew the largest number of Purdue women leaders of any event to date. Attendees were delighted to have the opportunity for an informal gathering to meet and talk with other women leaders about topics ranging from professional to personal. The event gave women from different areas and levels of the university the chance to converse and build connections rarely found in the confines of their daily routines. Perhaps one of the longest-lasting imprints of this event, consistent with responses to Campus Women Lead and many other PWL events, is that participants now have a greater network of peers to rely on, whether it be for advice, support, or to get something instrumental accomplished in their work. From the initial sixty women at the Campus Women Lead workshop, we invited an additional sixty women, most of whom were invited by other participants or heard about it via word of mouth. This doubled our initial participant numbers in just one year, with numerous women continuing to express interest in developing their leadership capacity through educational and relational events.


Reflecting on Lessons Learned Purdue Women Lead is a work in progress. With much qualitative evidence to demonstrate its short-term success, additional assessments and time will reveal how successful the program is in developing and supporting women leaders. Entering the third year of the program, key emphases involve addressing the growing the number of participants, developing activities of interest and advantage, and assessing the benefits of the program and what can and should be done to further strengthen it. The growing interest in Purdue Women Lead from groups both inside and outside of Purdue suggests its potential benefits are heightening the awareness and recognition of women leaders and meeting their needs for growth and development and connection with other women in similar positions. For those interested in developing inclusive leadership programs, we have found the following benefits of Purdue Women Lead that might have transferability to other similar programs.

Providing the Opportunity to Form Connections Women who are leading or interested in leading want to connect with others because they realize the importance of building relationships that matter. In describing what they gained or learned as a result of participating in Purdue Women Lead, many of the participants talked about cultivating new relationships, expanding their networks, and recognizing that “I am not alone.” The most common theme from the first two-day event in 2008 was excitement about simply being in the same room with other women leaders on our campus. Due to Purdue’s size and diversity, our women leaders tend to be organizationally and geographically dispersed; their locations and responsibilities are arranged in such a way that provides little opportunity to meet face-to-face. Moreover, so much of our work is done electronically. We often know someone only from e-mail. Providing leaders with networks often allows for greater success because they get to know people who can provide informational resources and social support necessary for problem solving, reality checks, and mentorship. Purdue Women Lead has created a context in which smart, creative, interesting women can connect with others. One unique component of Purdue Women Lead is that these networks are institution specific. Most leadership programs for women focus on leadership more generally.


While Purdue Women Lead includes discussions of general leadership issues, it also engages the particular context of Purdue to make leadership development more accessible and applicable to the everyday world of Purdue women leaders.

Know Who You’re Not When we first solicited input on the scope and focus for Purdue Women Lead, some women suggested that Purdue Women Lead should be an oncampus women’s lobbying group. However, others resisted and felt this function might dilute the group’s initial mission. The decision was made to keep the focus on education and alliance building to help leaders succeed. While the group would not shy away from raising concern about women’s issues, we found success in narrowing our focus at least initially on a particular audience with particular educational and social support needs.

Greater Inclusion and Targeted Specialization Women need leadership development opportunities at all stages of work life, not just when one reaches or is within reach of particular job titles or roles. To enable a strategy of long-term inclusive leadership success, we need to develop leadership capacity in women at all levels, from the undergraduate student to the university president, in order to ultimately increase women’s representation and success in leadership positions. When we launched Purdue Women Lead, we intentionally selected those women in current leadership roles to participate, in part because their own stories told us they needed this program to improve their work environment. In truth, it was also because we needed to start somewhere, and inviting women at the director level and above was a manageable way to kick off the program. However, since the time of our first event in 2008, our numbers have grown because women across the university have asked to participate or PWL members have invited other women in their departments to join our events. Even as more women participate, we also recognize the need to allow women in similar roles to network and peer mentor each other, which is what led us to launch our newest program for women department heads. Women department heads are a small minority and while several have been in place for several years, others are brand new to their roles, and until now there has never been a venue for them to get together. Gathering all the women


department heads for lunch once a semester, we provided these women with an opportunity to ask questions of each other, discuss best practices, and explore common challenges and problem-solving strategies.

Managing Growth and Sustaining Legitimacy As with any program, there are continuing challenges to be addressed and met. Two key issues are (a) managing growth and (b) sustaining legitimacy. First, what happens if we continue to be successful? Although the growth of Purdue Women Lead is an optimistic sign, we also recognize the issues inherent in supporting an ever-growing participant pool. First, we must allow for those women at certain levels to have access to their peers with opportunities to discuss issues of concern with some level of confidentiality. The women’s department head lunches are such an initiative. However, we must also allow women in mid-level leadership roles to have access to top administrators and each other to develop mentoring networks even while recognizing the already demanding lives of women in top leadership positions. The demands to meet the needs of specific groups at specific times in their careers call into question whether we can continually adjust and design our programs to meet the needs of a diverse participant pool or whether we should stay small and focused and work with women leaders already in position. Second, how do we sustain the legitimacy of Purdue Women Lead in order to achieve our goal of inclusive leadership? Improving and enhancing assessment protocols to incorporate a longitudinal review of the tangible and intangible benefits of program participation is necessary. Moreover, are we doing what we need to be doing to achieve this goal? The initial answer is “no.” To date, we have focused on developing the leadership already in place. Will these programs help other women decide to take on leadership positions? The answer is not clear. In five years’ time, will we see any increase in the number of women leaders at the director’s level and above? Will we learn that women who do step from faculty or staff roles to administrative positions feel more confident in their abilities? Will we see more women leading from within, regardless of their formal roles on campus? These are the questions we must begin to apply to our work now to better assess Purdue Women Lead in the years to come. Although increasing the number of underrepresented leaders is


one goal, measuring the confidence, skills, and success of those already in leadership positions is another. Continuing to refine our mission and goals and assess the degree to which they are met will be critical to the longterm legitimacy of the program.

Conclusion Looking at numbers and statistics tells us part of the story about women’s leadership in higher education. While the number of women receiving PhDs has increased, this does not directly correlate to an increase in women leaders throughout higher education. The labyrinth that women must navigate from graduate student to university president and everywhere in between is built both through institutional climate and culture as well as more individual-level concerns about work life environment and access to social networks and leadership support. One way to help manage the challenges facing those working through the leadership labyrinth is to offer programs that provide support and access to social networks that offer opportunities to grow and learn. Purdue Women Lead is one program addressing these issues locally; Campus Women Lead is one of the array of national programs engaged in the same work. As mentioned earlier, we need more institutional models serving a broader range of employees across the spectrum of their career. Men must also be included in discussions to enlist them as change agents and supportive mentors who can promote women’s leadership and help women leaders succeed. Furthermore, special consideration must be given to intersections of gender and race, as well as other identities, to determine the best ways to assist women of color, women of diverse religious backgrounds, and all women in navigating and simplifying the leadership labyrinth. The solutions are many and in some ways unique to the institutions. What is certain is programs such as those described here must flourish to increase the potential for more women leaders and more success in their leadership opportunities.

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American Council on Education. (1996). The American college president. Washington, DC: American Council on Education. American Council on Education. (2007). The American college president: 2007 Edition. Washington, DC: American Council on Education. American Council on Education. (2010). Gender equity in higher education: 2010. Washington, DC: American Council on Education. Birnbaum, R., & Umbach, P. (2001). Scholar, steward, spanner, stranger: The four career paths of college presidents. Review of Higher Education, 24(3), 203–18. Buzzanell, P. M. (1995). Reframing the glass ceiling as a socially constructed process: Implications for understanding and change. Communication Monographs, 62, 327–54. Chliwniak, L. (1997). Higher education leadership: Analyzing the gender gap. ASHE-ERIC Higher Education Report, 25(4). Washington, DC: George Washington University. Ciulla, J. B. (2000). The working life: The promise and betrayal of modern work. New York: Random House. Committee on Science, Engineering, and Public Policy. (2007). Rising above the gathering storm: Energizing and employing America for a brighter economic future. Washington, DC: National Academy Press. Cox, M. F., Cekic, O., & Adams, S. G., (2010). Developing leadership skills of undergraduate engineering students: Perspectives from engineering faculty. Journal of STEM Education, 11, 22–33. Eagly, A. H., & Carli, L. L. (2007a). Women and the labyrinth of leadership. Harvard Business Review, 85(9), 63–71. Eagly, A., & Carli, L. (2007b). Through the labyrinth: The truth about how women become leaders. Boston: Harvard Business Press. Ehrenberg, R. G., Jakubson, G., Martin, M. I., Main, J. & Eisenberg, T. (2009). Do trustees and administrators matter? Diversifying the faculty across gender lines. IZA Discussion Paper No. 4664. Available at SSRN: http://ssrn.com/abstract=1530668. Etzkowitz, H., Kemelgor, C., & Uzzi, B. (2000). Athena unbound: The advancement of women in science and technology. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.


Hartley III, H. V., & Godin, E. E. (2010). A study of chief academic officers of independent colleges and universities: Who are they? Where do they come from? What are they doing? Where do they want to go? Washington, DC: Council of Independent Colleges. Ibarra, H. (1997). Paving an alternative route: Gender differences in managerial networks. Social Psychology Quarterly, 60, 91–102. Ibarra, H. & Hunter, M. (2007, January). How leaders create and use networks. Harvard Business Review, 40–47. King, J., & Gomez, G. G. (2008). On the pathway to the presidency: Characteristics of higher education’s senior leadership. Washington, DC: American Council on Education. Kouzes, J. M., & Posner, B. Z. (2002). The leadership challenge (3rd ed.). San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Kellerman, B., & Rhode, D. (Eds.). (2007). Women and leadership: The state of play and strategies for change. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Mason, M. A. (2009). A bad reputation. Chronicle of Higher Education, 55(22). Retrieved July 10, 2010, from http://chronicle.com/article/ A-Bad-Reputation/44843/. Murphy, M. C., Steele, C. M., & Gross, J. J. (2007). Signaling threat. How situational cues affect women in math, science, and engineering settings. Psychological Science, 18, 879–85. National Research Council. (2010). Gender differences at critical transitions in the careers of science, engineering, and mathematics faculty. Washington, DC: National Academies Press. Retrieved July 10, 2010, from http://books.nap.edu/openbook.php?record_id=12062 &page=R1. Purdue University. (2008a). Purdue data digest 2007–2008. Retrieved July 10, 2010, from http://www.purdue.edu/datadigest/archive.html. Purdue University. (2008b). 2008–2014 New synergies: Purdue University’s strategic plan. Retrieved July 10, 2010, from http://www. purdue.edu/strategic_plan/documents/StrategicPlanBrochure.pdf. Ragins, B. (1998). Gender gap in the executive suite: Ceos and female executives report on breaking the glass ceiling. The Academy of Management Executive (1993–2005), 12(1), 28–42.


Rhode, D. L., & Kellerman, B. (2007). Women and leadership: The state of play. In B. Kellerman & D. L. Rhode (Eds.), Women and leadership: The state of play and strategies for change. San Francisco, CA: JosseyBass. Ryan, J. (2006). Inclusive leadership and social justice for schools. Leadership and Policy in Schools, 5(1), 3–17. Stanley, C. A. (2006). Faculty of color: Teaching in predominately white colleges and universities. Bolton, MA: Anker. Sypher, B. D., & Berkelaar, B. (2010, April). An examination of the pathways to academic administration: Academic disciplines, prior positions and time in position for nationally ranked and CIC provosts and presidents. Research report presented at the Committee on Institutional Cooperation Academic Leadership Program, Seminar III at Purdue University. West Lafayette, IN. Sypher, B. D., & Pope, K. (2009). From Campus Women Lead to Purdue Women Lead: A new program for inclusive leadership. On campus with women, 38(1). Retrieved July 2, 2010 from http://www.aacu.org/ocww/ volume38_1/feature.cfm?section=2. Touchton, J., Musil, C., & Campbell, K. (2008). A measure of equity: Women’s progress in higher education. Washington, DC: Association of American Colleges and Universities. West, M., & Curtis, J. (2006). AAUP faculty gender equity indicators 2006. American Association of University Professors. Retrieved July 2, 2010, from http://www.aaup.org/NR/rdonlyres/63396944-44BE-4ABA -9815-5792D93856F1/0/AAUPGenderEquityIndicators2006.pdf.

11 Relationship Building and Higher Education Women: Stories and Observations Penelope M. Earley, Jane H. Applegate, and Jill M. Tarule

In two earlier works (Applegate, Earley, & Tarule, 2009; Tarule, Applegate, Earley, & Blackwell, 2009), we explored aspects of gendered leadership, using narrative analysis to identify and describe themes that characterize women leaders. The first study of women higher education leaders identified several themes: the importance of proximate and nonproximate support networks; the power in being marginalized; the intersection of personal and professional lives; and the ability to nurture power (Tarule et al., 2009). A second study (Applegate et al., 2009) further documented challenges for women in education, including experiences of both K–12 leaders and emerging leaders in postsecondary education. From these narratives a new theme—visibility—emerged. That is, in some instances, women were made to feel invisible, whereas in others they chose to use invisibility as a leadership tool. A related and disturbing theme was the consequence of surplus visibility (Patal, 1992, in Applegate, Earley, & Tarule, 2009). Surplus visibility occurs when a woman is elevated into a role held previously by a man and perhaps because of the newness of the situation, every detail of the woman’s life and decision making receives extraordinary, and often negative, scrutiny. We note media attention to women presidential and vice presidential candidates as examples of surplus visibility. Continuing our inquiry on women as leaders, in the current study we turn to how women leaders build and sustain relationships. Women often 241


are identified as concerned with relationships and many works on leadership—both how-to books and empirical studies—suggest relationship building is essential for a successful leader (see, for example, Fullen, 2001; Gardner, 2007; Hanh, 2007; Kellerman & Rhode, 2007; and Wheatley, 2006). Despite work that differentiates female and male leadership styles, we find little in the literature that describes the ways in which relationship building is reflected in the actions of senior women leaders. The works of Eagly and Johannesen-Schmidt (2001), Eagly, JohannesenSchmidt, and van Engen (2003), and Eagly (2007) have been useful in framing our thinking about the need to study and develop relationship theories pertaining to women leaders. Eagly and colleagues suggest women’s leadership is often described in communal terms: concern with the needs of others, nurturing, sympathetic, and the like; whereas male leaders are seen as agentic: forceful, independent, daring, self-confident, and assertive (Eagly & Johannesen-Schmidt, 2001, p. 782). Drawing on the political science and organizational theory literature, these two authors identify three leadership categories: transformational, transactional, and laissez-faire. Eagly et al. (2003) explored these three categories in further detail using a meta-analysis and determined that women were more likely to exhibit characteristics of transformational leaders. These include willingness to consider new perspectives and problem-solving strategies, a focus on mentoring, and attention to individual needs. Eddy (2009) directly addresses gender differences in leaders’ relationship building, suggesting that, “Men realize the value of relationship building, traditionally a female characteristic, but have the advantage of still being seen as [a hero leader] at the same time” (p. 24). She continues, “men . . . often used relationships to foster and build on their hero image. . . . women, instead used relationships to foster more of a fit within the institution, with an eye toward the development of community” (p. 24). In essence, one can argue that for women, relationship building is central to being a successful leader, whereas for men, it is a tool to achieve personal or organizational goals (p. 25). Even though the capacity to build and maintain good relationships in the workplace can be viewed as critical for transformational and other leaders, it still is not uncommon for a woman leader to be accused of being too concerned about how others are reacting to her leadership, too concerned with being liked, and not adhering to the classic advice given

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to new leaders, “If you want to be loved, get a dog.” Women leaders have been identified as having a style that is “more democratic and participative, compared with men’s more autocratic and directive styles” (Carli & Eagly, 2007, p. 139). It is acknowledged that democratic, participatory processes require establishing good workplace relationships, but the question of interest to us is how women leaders approach this task. For this study we invited five senior women higher education leaders, including current or former university deans, provosts, vice presidents, or presidents, to provide a description of a critical event in their work in which the process of building relationships was a significant factor. As Carter (1993) observes, narratives and the analyses of them are both objects of inquiry and a method to study them. Narrative inquiry, as described by Marshall and Rossman (2006) “ . . . assumes that people construct their realities through narrating their stories.” (p. 117). The addition of our own narrative inquiry analyses of these stories adds interpretive depth that holds promise as a contribution to an expansion of gendered leadership theory. To that end, we three authors analyzed each of the stories. We then pooled our individual findings and through a process of consensus identified themes that illuminate relational leadership. We begin with a summary of the five critical incident vignettes. We note that when invited to describe an event, each woman observed that the difficult part of the task was deciding which event of many to describe. One vignette, Diane’s, recounts how a woman used relationship building to neutralize a negative member of a university task force. The others, Madeline, Polly, Rosalind, and Susan, recount events involving their roles as leaders. Three of these women describe leadership challenges when they moved to a new university as a senior administrator. Two informants, Susan and Polly, struggled to lead from a deficit position, that is, a more senior leader at their university either did not support their efforts or, in the case of Susan, challenged and undermined her.

Five Women’s Stories Diane’s Story: The Minority Report Diane is a former administrator and now a member of the faculty at a large public institution. She was invited by the provost to be part of a five-person


task force to gather information from each academic unit for the university’s new strategic plan. Each task force member was a senior member of the faculty who had served in one or more administrative roles. Two were women, three were men. The task force was charged to design a system to gather information from across the campus, to analyze the data, and to create a synthesis for the president to include in her report to the Board of Regents. At the first task force meeting, one of the members, Bob, said he would ask a few of his campus colleagues their opinion on the new strategic plan and further suggested that because he would contact people he knew, he could get the information and write the final report in a few days. Diane felt that gathering input from a broader group of faculty and administrators would better reflect the pulse of the faculty and help build a sense of community on campus. Bob was adamant that his approach was best and continued to remind everyone that given his thirty years at the university, he had a better sense of history than anyone else in the group. Both Bob’s and Diane’s proposed approaches were submitted to the provost, who indicated he wanted input from the entire campus, not just part of it. Bob was irritated and argued that the task force members should resign in protest. His attitude bothered the other four members. At that point Diane redirected the conversation away from who supported which approach to a discussion of the expertise that each task force member brought to the assignment. Through her quiet, professional leadership, she was able to reinforce the value of each person. By doing this, she began to build a team and became the de facto leader of the group. Over the next six months, the task force gathered data. But at every point along the way, Bob publicly or privately criticized the group and its work. As might be expected, four of the five members of the task force developed a sense of ownership in the process that they believed generated excitement about the future of the university across campus. All task force members participated in the writing and editing of the report, but at the end of the day, Bob decided to write a minority opinion. In it he recounted his dissatisfaction with the process and what he perceived as a lack of attention to the history of the institution. The report with the minority opinion went to the provost and from there to the president. Four task force members were disappointed when she submitted the strategic plan to the Board of Regents and only a one-paragraph summary of the task force report was included.


Months later, the president told Diane that she was delighted with the report and the careful way it captured the voices of faculty and administrators. However, she felt it was not politically wise to send the report to the Regents with Bob’s minority opinion. Arguably, everyone won and everyone lost. Diane was able to build an energized team to gather the opinions of the faculty and administrators. Her leadership style and sense of enthusiasm were contagious and the faculty were pleased to have their opinions seriously considered. Bob also won. He wanted to derail the work of the task force and, ultimately, he did because the report did not go beyond the president’s desk. As a result, the campus lost an opportunity to demonstrate to the Board of Regents that the faculty and staff wanted and could be participatory members of a campuswide effort to enhance the work and reputation of the university. Madeline’s Story: Undermined from Within Madeline spent six months visiting the campus before she moved to the provost position. Getting to know people in the administration led her to suspect that, initially, her relationship with Charles might be difficult. Charles, she learned, had been an internal candidate for her position and had served as interim provost for the past year. Knowing from her own experiences that her arrival might be difficult for him, Madeline scheduled a meeting to clear the air. Since he now had to report to her, she thought it might help for the two of them to acknowledge, together, that this kind of transition of power may be hard and troubling. She went on to express her hope that they would have a good working relationship and knew that she would need his knowledge and institutional history. Charles was curt, asserted that everything was fine, and cut the conversation short. Madeline was surprised by his response, but she chose to believe that, indeed, everything would be fine. But things were not fine. There were too many incidents when his apparent hostility toward her made learning the new job harder. Charles would not respond to her requests for information or when he did, he provided only partial information that did not include sufficient detail for her to understand the issue fully or to make a reasoned decision based on evidence. In addition, he would sometimes launch into what felt like a lecture to her about how she should act.


At one public meeting with other university administrators, Charles responded to a question Madeline asked with a long and, for her, irrelevant lecture, implying she did not know what she was talking about. Later, some of the other administrators shared that they were uncomfortable with the content and tone of his actions. It seemed that Charles’s challenges, and possibly some outright sabotaging of her efforts, were increasing. She worried that she would not be able to construct the collegial professional relationship the two of them needed to advance the goals of the university. She also recognized that as the new leader, she needed positive working relationships with everyone who reported to her and knew that Charles’s actions were not invisible to them. Meanwhile, Madeline assessed the administrative organizational structure and decided that it needed to change to accomplish what she envisioned for the university. The change would impact current positions, including Charles’s. Madeline felt that she needed to tell Charles about her vision and to forewarn him that when reorganization occurred, his position would be affected. She also realized that there could be a new role for Charles as a senior member of the administrative team. Madeline chose to address this change in her regularly scheduled meeting with Charles to convey that this was not to address their difficulties but rather to address her developing vision for the university. Upon hearing her ideas, Charles did not want to discuss his position at all. Instead, he critiqued her proposed structure and for the next few weeks repeatedly tried to show her how it would not work. Madeline noted his ability to once again sidestep engaging with her by dismissing her and her ideas. His behavior immobilized her for a few days as she tried to figure out if there was a way to mend this relationship. Increasingly it seemed that she was going to have to terminate him and sought advice from an attorney. A week later, in an unscheduled meeting, Charles acknowledged that he knew that sometimes he could be difficult. Albeit brief, the conversation represented for Madeline the beginning shreds of the dialogue she felt was needed for them to move forward and to work together effectively. Polly’s Story: A Politician’s Ward Having been a dean and vice president for academic affairs at SCC, a state university, Polly interviewed for new jobs with confidence. Her SCC


experience had been a success. One of her proudest accomplishments was the collaboration she created among the vice president and the deans, which was particularly effective in budget planning and resource allocation. Her effectiveness was captured by one professor who told her, “You have the whole place thinking in new ways.” Polly was delighted to be invited to interview at PNS, an urban campus, whose recently departed president had led the university to national and local prominence. As she was considering the position, a university president told her, “It’s the most interesting provost’s position in the country.” But her idealized view of the campus was challenged in the first interview she had with the deans and the president’s executive council. It was the most unruly group she had dealt with in all her interviews. Two deans quarreled openly about whose faculty was paid the least, while two others tangled with the chair of the search committee over a budget issue. Fielding increasingly hostile questions from the group, she felt she had not been among such a group of unruly “boys” since teaching a high school social studies class, many years earlier. Despite doubts, she took the job. Immediately, she was visited by both faculty and non faculty who had been receiving favors from the previous provost. One group, editors of a regional journal in the discipline of the previous provost, wanted their $70,000 a year budget enhanced. Another visitor, also with personal ties to the former provost, wanted to ensure his yearly $30,000 stipend to facilitate university/community partnerships, although he was unable to tell her what partnerships he facilitated. He did mention that his wife had multiple sclerosis. She reflected on these meetings, “My god, this place is run like some sleazy politician’s ward!” To address the “begging system,” she sought to institute a transparent budget process and to build a team with the deans. With a hefty budget surplus that year, and despite the fact that the president had had no budget process the preceding year, he agreed to her request for a universitywide budget process and to stop dealing with budgets requests in an ad hoc manner. The deans were leery, but as a comprehensive budget was developed, they realized that their academic units actually benefited. Other attempts to create a new culture included scheduling regular lunches with each dean and a series of deans’ informals, monthly gatherings in a club during which there was no agenda and an agreement of confidentiality. The hard-won, carefully crafted budget process was dropped when cuts became necessary and the campus reverted to the culture of “inside deals


and old boys’ networks.” About this time, Polly met with a campus visitor who reported that a senior dean had said to him, “Here the provost is staff to the president.” It captured for her why transparency and collaboration had been so challenging and ultimately unsuccessful. Rosalind’s Story: Closing the Engineering Program Rosalind described an event when she became provost of a small public comprehensive university in the Midwest. She values shared governance and asserts that building understanding and trust is a daily effort, but once established, those relationships are sturdy enough to be drawn on when there is hard or difficult work to be done. Therefore, academic program planning and similar decisions should be placed in the broader context of developing strong relationships with faculty members and the various faculty bodies. An early challenge was the future of the underenrolled engineering program. Historically, engineering was seen as a potential niche for the campus, located in a region with significant manufacturing operations. However, this program never developed the strength necessary to sustain it, although community members often commented on the need for more engineers. Working closely with the chair of the academic planning committee, a review was conducted of all academic programs, identifying programs that required additional resources and those that were underutilized. Engineering was at the top of this list. She recounted a two-year process during which she involved faculty and administrators in the engineering program to consider a variety of options, including what might be done to bolster the program. At the same time, major budget reductions intensified the pressure to discontinue institutional support for small, underenrolled programs. She worked to involve faculty in determining the future of the program. Many difficult issues needed to be resolved. Would there be positions in other university units for engineering faculty if the program were discontinued? How would the university care for students already enrolled in engineering? Rosalind realized that a senior member of the engineering faculty was angry and defensive about the scrutiny given engineering. She spent carefully planned time to develop a strong working relationship with him, wanting him to understand that his opinion and contribution to the


university were respected. Eventually he came to understand that both of them would have liked the situation to be different but that there was no option but to close the program. One difficult issue was to find an appropriate place for the engineering professor to continue his career. Rosalind approached the chair of the physics department, who agreed to invite the engineering professor to join that department. Although initially wary, Rosalind explained that, “He shared with me that he was glad to move to a department where he was so well regarded. And, he thanked me for the respect with which I handled the entire matter.” Reflecting on this experience, Rosalind felt her relationships with individual faculty members, many of whom were seen by their colleagues as leaders, were very important to the final outcome. Allowing time for full discussion in many quarters, an important component of the organizational culture, was certainly a factor, as was creating a context in which all faculty members who were directly impacted by the decision could say that they were treated well, even if they did not support the outcome. She concludes, “For me, it is the web of relationships that make organizations, and perhaps also their leaders, function. Dealing with people and making decisions in one arena impacts many others, sometimes in ways that cannot be anticipated. It is the relationships that hold everyone together and make it possible to move things forward. And, it is these relationships that keep me coming to work every day.” Susan’s Story: Ambushed Susan is a dean of education and the highest-ranking female administrator on her campus. She described receiving an e-mail calling her to a meeting with the provost and president. The e-mail mentioned that “Given our precarious economic condition, we must be active in looking forward to ways that we can further develop the College and University.” She was alarmed not only by the content of the e-mail but also because the president had a history of criticizing members of his administrative team based on anecdotal or flawed information. The meeting was held in a large formal conference room set up so that she was forced to sit in a way that made her feel as if she were on trial. The president spent over an hour presenting charts that showed declining trend lines and minimal details on how or when figures had been


pulled. Susan was not offered any time to present contextual information, nor was there any discussion of how she might work with the president and provost to address the data and subsequent perceptions. She was told not to share the data with others. She left the meeting angry and feeling betrayed. The following day she spoke with the provost to explain her discomfort at the antagonistic rather than collaborative tone of the meeting. Although he acknowledged her concerns, he offered no support. Susan worked diligently to develop a presentation that answered points missing from the first meeting. Two weeks later, in the same conference room, she presented her data to the same administrators. She tried to check her defensiveness at the door while specifically highlighting the details and contextual information not included in the president’s presentation. She concluded with a list of solutions and a draft that defined the evidence of what it would look like if the teacher preparation program retained its moniker of the premier teacher preparation program in the state. After agreeing upon next steps, Susan began to plan how to immerse the provost front and center in each step and the actions needed to address the president’s negative perceptions. She felt that whatever steps were taken to elevate the program in the president’s eyes needed to be a joint effort between the provost’s office and her own. Susan and the provost co-hosted a luncheon that honored the program’s longstanding history and reputation and announced steps that the university would take to support their continued strength as a leading teacher preparation program. Susan continued to involve the provost and to brief him regularly. A year later, Susan had the satisfaction of providing an updated set of data that showed the progress made within twelve months. Adding Our Perspectives All of the vignettes prepared for this study were longer in their original form and were summarized for the purpose of this chapter. The summaries above capture essential details of the events and later, in the analysis, we add the voices of these women leaders through the use of quotes from the longer versions of their stories. To preserve confidentiality, the names and identifying circumstances were changed. We believe there are more lessons to be learned from these five rich vignettes than we have space


to analyze. With that in mind, we divide our analysis into two parts. The first is a discussion of the role circumstances or context played in each woman’s use of relationship building. In the second, we turn to the elements we concluded were consistently important in how these five women viewed, built, and sustained relationships.

Power Plays, Blockers, and Warning Signs Leadership never is context free. Rosalind observes it is important to build positive, trusting relationships before difficult decisions must be made. But even in ideal circumstances, events may conspire to undermine a leader’s success—whether the leader is female or male. We identified three contextual factors within these five stories, individuals who are intent on making power plays, negative forces that blocked, or attempted to block, forward progress, and warning signs that the situation at hand may be more difficult than originally anticipated. Power Plays and Power Players Looking at the experiences of Diane and Madeline, each was forced into the position of having to lead and build relationships in an environment in which one individual engaged in power plays, attempting to gain authority and/or to cast himself as a hero, as the person who had the best information, the most extensive knowledge of the university’s history, and the organizational skills to do the job. We see in the story of Diane that when Bob was not successful in getting his way, he engaged in a number of behind-the-scenes maneuvers to sabotage the efforts of the task force and ultimately, by writing a minority report, he succeeded in diminishing the report’s impact. In the case of Diane, because everyone on the task force was a senior professor, they all had equal power. Thus, when she became the de facto leader, she had the support of three of her colleagues but no administrative tools to sanction Bob’s actions. Madeline, on the other hand, faced open hostility from Charles, a man who was a lower-level administrator than she. His actions “ . . . continually challenge[d] [my] decisions and ideas” in public settings, threatening to undermine her work and her new position of authority. Diane was in a situation where the task force would disband in six months; however,


Madeline was in a permanent leadership role. As such, her relationship building needed to be transparent and collaborative because these relationships had to stand the test of time and become part of the culture of the university. As Rosalind observed in her story, “Trust is developed through the course of daily events.” Madeline’s attempts to build a collaborative culture were undercut by Charles’s behavior. Madeline speculated that Charles “was feeling furious at her and vulnerable for having been unable to get the affirmation he was seeking.” This description could also apply to Bob, who became increasingly angry when the task force members did not accept his ideas. Both Madeline and Diane recognized that a confrontation with their nemeses would escalate rather than resolve the situation. Diane was able to simply ignore Bob and work with the remaining members of the task force. Because Charles was a part of her administrative team, Madeline could not avoid him. Instead she offered opportunities for conversation and ultimately there was a breakthrough of sorts. Nevertheless, although she was grateful when Charles acknowledged that he was difficult to work with, she wondered if an improved relationship “would really pan out or if the next time that we had to meet or disagree, the old responses would return and they’d be back in the same dysfunctional place.” Because a university provost or president determines if a dean will stay or be removed, Susan was in a vulnerable position when her president and to some extent the provost behaved as power players—that is, individuals who are in a position of authority and who believe their role entitles them to criticize those administrators below them and do so without an obligation to gather solid information first. Because she was not new to the university, she had “ . . . spent considerable time attending the president’s cabinet and witnessed four occasions when my president formed a negative perception about a woman’s leadership capacity and the reputation lasted until the person either left, retired, or was dismissed.” Nonetheless, forewarned was not forearmed. Susan could not forestall what she felt was an ambush. Her strategy to deal with a president who tends to act before gathering necessary information was two-fold. She first provided evidence that would correct or at least counter the president’s perceptions. She then worked to build a strong working relationship with the provost. Because criticism was leveled both at Susan and at her college, she felt betrayed and very angry. Wisely, in subsequent meetings with the president and


provost, she deliberately “ . . . checked her defensiveness at the door,” realizing that in a contentious situation, the president always would win.

Blockers and Negative Forces Each of the five women confronted negative forces or blockers. For Susan, Madeline, and Diane, the blockers were humans who used personal power or power tactics in an attempt to challenge their leadership. Polly faced a cultural blocker that enabled deans and others to engage in begging rather than strategic budgeting. The culture was a powerful force that hit her in the first meeting with the deans: I had not been among such a group of unruly “boys” since I taught a freshman social studies class in a wealthy suburban high school two decades earlier. The class met following lunch and the 25 boys and six girls were nearly impossible to control. What, I asked myself, explained such behavior? Rosalind quickly identified her potential blocker, a senior member of the engineering faculty who did not want to see the program closed. By recognizing a blocker, involving him in the discussions about the fate of the program, and “ . . . respect[ing] his many contributions to the university,” she was able to avoid a situation in which the faculty member might have resorted to power plays. The difference between events as related by Rosalind and by Susan is stark. Rosalind, a provost, described her leadership style as: From day one, a high priority for me was forming strong relationships with the faculty, both in groups and as individuals. I have found that shared governance is most effective when understanding and trust is developed through the course of daily events, so that these may be drawn upon when a problem or crisis arises. The seating arrangements in the room in which Susan’s president and provost presented unfavorable information about her college revealed that those administrators did not acknowledge or value relationships. Susan wrote:


The meeting room was set in a very large hollow square and the other three administrators were already seated, one to the right, one to the left, and one straight ahead, all at least 15 feet apart from each other. I assumed a seat on the remaining fourth side of the hollow square closest to the door and mentally reflected on the interrogation style of the meeting arrangement for an agenda that was suppose to focus on solutions. I considered my own leadership style and the way in which I would have set up the meeting format where I could be within arm’s reach of the person with whom I was meeting. As Rosalind asserted, having invested in establishing positive relationships and in community building, when the difficult decision to close the engineering program needed to be executed, she was able to do so without rancor. Reflecting on this event, she wondered: Could I have forced a decision earlier, and just moved the faculty members involved? Perhaps, but not without damaging relationships with key faculty who were influential in many parts of the university, relationships that were critical in moving other parts of the agenda forward. Early Warning Signs Three of the women described events that occurred shortly after moving to a new position. Madeline and Polly struggled to enact change and neutralize blockers. Rosalind faced a failing department and appeared to avoid public rancor on her campus by making relationship building a first and high priority so when the decision was made to close the engineering department, she was able to find new and welcoming assignments for the senior faculty who were displaced. It is of interest to us that both Polly and Madeline’s vignettes describe observing what might be problematic undercurrents at their universities before they were offered a leadership position. Polly wrote, that “My idealized view of the campus was challenged” in her job interview with top administrators: This was the most unruly group I met in more than 20 interviews I had in the three years I searched for a presidency or vice presidency. The


dean of education and the dean of fine arts quarreled openly about whose faculty was paid the least. Similarly, Madeline introduced her description of her trials working with Charles by admitting that she “ . . . suspected in the early visits to the institutions, before [I] had formally taken the job that this was going to be a difficult relationship.” We do not know what all these women thought before they entered their institutions, but why, we wondered, did these two bright, perceptive women decide to take positions that might prove to be particularly difficult? We have a sense of Polly’s motivation, who reported seeking advice from colleagues and that “A former university president told me, ‘it’s the most interesting provost’s position in the country.’ ” Moreover, the former president of the university was credited with bringing national visibility to the institution. Madeline’s narrative does not address her decision-making process. However, we speculate that she persisted in attempting to forge a “productive working relationship with Charles” because the total university context persuaded her she could make the position work. Her story concludes with uncertainty amidst a glimmer of hope. Similarly, Polly thought she could change the culture at her university by employing strategies that were successful in her previous job. However, when the university faced budget cuts, her plan for a comprehensive budgeting process ended. She concluded, “The culture of inside deals and the old boys’ network combined with a weak president was so strong that once resources declined, the campus reverted back to where they have been.” Institutional culture and context exert powerful forces on building and maintaining relationships. Polly reminds us that sometimes leadership strategies do not transfer from one context to another. The attitudes of Susan’s president, Bob, and Charles demonstrate that individuals who enjoy using power plays likely will not be persuaded to change through dialogue alone. Finally, if a leader moves into a position where she suspects there will be significant challenges, developing collaborative relationships may take more time than she expects and opportunities may come in unexpected forms.

Time, Flexibility, Opportunity, and Persistence In addition to the lessons associated with the environment or context, there are four themes in the stories that emphasize an aspect of how these


women went about building effective relationships. Each theme presented below suggests a lesson about what matters and what is critical in creating effective relationships at work. The Rule of 1,440 There are exactly 1,440 minutes in a day; no more. Building and maintaining relationships take time. Rosalind identified early in her position the need to make wise use of diminishing resources. “Slowly, the dean and I began to connect ongoing conversation to resource allocation. I got to know the department chair quite well [too]. . . . The chair, the dean and I had ongoing conversations regarding the future of the program.” After two years of dialogue with all of the affected parties, Rosalind was able to close a program with minimal adverse results and she reflected, “I think that my relationships . . . were very important to the final outcome. Allowing time for full discussion in many quarters, an important component of the organizational culture, was certainly a critical factor.” Madeline was startled by the amount of time it took for her relationship with Charles to begin to show potential for the kind of “ . . . relationship she wanted with the person in his role: a collegial professional relationship in which dialogue supported exploration and creativity while also providing data and the institutional history.” Instead, she met defensiveness rather than cooperation until she wondered if investing time in relationship building would ever be productive. “A few weeks later she was in his office on a quick errand and got a strong sense that he wanted to talk about something.” She again opened the communication door to him and he walked through, initiating the level of communication she had wanted from the beginning. Perhaps he needed time to adjust to a shift in his role and to come to terms with it. The Strong Tree Bends in the Wind Recognizing alternative leadership styles and being flexible enough to meet others where they are so problems can be solved is a second element in the search for solid relationships. Clearly, in Susan’s case, she was blindsided by the data and the approach taken by her provost. She quickly saw that their styles were different and she knew that if she were to forge a


relationship where she could be heard and respected, she would need to meet the provost on his ground using the language (data) that he would understand. Although she “ . . . felt [her] blood pressure rise and her defensiveness reach an all-time high,” she masked her feelings and began thinking strategically of a way she could shape the enrollment argument differently. She drew on her communication skills, calling the provost and requesting a meeting. She sought support from the institutional research office and she began shaping her message with more detailed data. Finally, she included additional details and contextual information and brought her own list of solutions to the table. Knowing a presentation alone would not be sufficient to counter negative impressions, she “ . . . continued to involve the provost in each step of our strategy and to brief him regularly on our progress.” Polly also recognized that to build relationships in her new institution, she would have to think differently about the leadership styles at work on her campus where processes and styles were quite different from those with which she was most comfortable. Seeing her leadership as process oriented rather than product driven, Polly needed to address the budget from two vantage points, that of the institutional president and that of the deans. In presenting her position to her president, she requested a universitywide budget process where there had been none. The deans needed to be convinced that there was more to be gained by working together as a team than by each dean standing on his or her own: In addition to building a team around a budget process, I tried various ways to get to know the deans. I had regularly scheduled lunches with individual deans in order to hear what was on their minds. I instituted a series of deans’ “informals.” We gathered monthly for a glass of wine in one of the city’s private clubs. We had no agenda and agreed that what was said in the room, stayed in the room. There Must be an Opportunity in Here Somewhere A third element in relationship building is the ability to grasp the unexpected opportunity. In Diane’s story we see how a member of a committee can assert a position that created conflict and how Diane’s actions made it possible to:


redirect the conversation away from who supported which approach to a discussion of the expertise that each task force member brought to the assignment. Through her quiet, professional leadership she was able to reinforce the value of each person. By doing this she began to build a team and became the de facto leader of the group. By doing this, Diane created an opportunity for task force members to feel positive about their work and as a result moved forward with their work, ignoring the negative background noise from Bob. By establishing an academic planning committee, Rosalind created an opportunity for faculty to have input into decisions about the fate of small programs. This was critical to her goal of faculty buy-in and support for her ultimate decision about engineering: My approach to this issue was quite general at first. Working closely with the chair of the academic planning committee, we conducted a review of all academic programs, identifying those that required additional resources as well as those that were underutilized. Members of the committee were quite vocal about programs where small numbers of students resulted in light teaching loads. The inequalities for faculty members were a matter for continuing discussion. As the process moved from the formal review through hours of informal meetings and conversations, she was able to see the opportunity for action. She concludes: Dealing with people and making decisions in one arena impact many others, sometimes in ways that cannot be anticipated. It is the relationships that hold everyone together and make it possible to move things forward. And it is these relationships that keep me coming to work every day. The Little Engine that Could was Right Relationship building is not a tool to gain advantage nor is it something to do on Tuesday, then check off the list. Good relationships are an investment that, as we observed in Rosalind’s story, will yield results during difficult times. Like the train in the children’s story, The Little Engine that


Could, had to keep moving to make it up the mountain, relationship building and maintaining cannot stop but must be integral to the professional life of a successful leader. Rosalind defines relationships as central to why she wants to remain a provost. “I am,” she asserts, “far more interested in building relationships inside an organization and making things change as a result of a shared understanding of the need to move in a particular direction.” Leaders who value building and maintaining relationships will be persistent in their efforts to build strong alliances that promote working together toward a shared vision, a common goal. Belenky, Bond, and Weinstock (1997) draw on the literature on black women’s leadership to identify skills needed for the development of people and communities. Calling it a “tradition that has no name,” these leaders “ask good questions and draw out people’s thinking. They listen with care. To better understand what they are hearing they try to step into the people’s shoes. . . . [T]hen they look for ways to mirror what they have seen, giving people a chance to take a new look at themselves.” (p. 14). Diane’s ability to integrate Bob’s dissenting voice ameliorated conflict so that the team could begin to form and to work on the task at hand. Rosalind explained it is critical to create “an environment where each of the faculty members who were directly impacted by the decision could say they were treated well, even if they did not support the outcome.” Being treated well, feeling heard, feeling valued—all contribute to the development of sustained working relationships and to the capacity for all to be able to negotiate issues and conflict toward achieving better decisions. When leaders create and nurture these relationships, each member of the team will have an attitude that, “I think I can.” Creating these positive, lasting relationships and outcomes often relies on developing a dialogue. Madeline seeks to establish the dialogue with her colleague Charles by first having a clearing-the-air conversation, albeit ineffective. Diane leads her group to focus on gathering information from across the campus, which allows their work to move forward, whereas Susan asserts the importance of the quality of the dialogue in relationships when she describes how she approaches a challenging meeting: “I frequently review related information prior to a discussion and try to anticipate what else should be shared or whose perspective is missing from the dialogue.” Rosalind reflects that “allowing time for full


discussion in many quarters” was critical in the process of closing a program while sustaining good relationships with and among those affected. Polly engaged the deans in an extended discussion about how the budget process should and could work and notes that as time went on, the dialogue among herself and the deans “finally got to the point where we could discuss . . . differing views.” Both Diane and Polly teach us that dialogue is hardly always easy or without conflict. But by finding ways to maintain the relationships through thick and thin, their approach to leadership engages others in a way that is markedly different from engagement in a command-and-control, authoritarian environment. But creating and allowing a multifaceted dialogue toward building sustained relationships and groups also takes time. Polly invested evening time as a way to create dialogue toward sustained relationships with the deans, inviting them to gather off campus with an agreement that there was no agenda and “what was said in the room, stayed in the room.” Although she felt their conversations progressed, she noted that this group seemed to never relax together as a group, that they “never let their hair down and joked” as another group she had worked with had been able to. For these five women leaders, a critical aspect of their leadership was being persistent about creating and facilitating healthy, sustained relationships.

Some Final Observations In closing, what are the lessons from these five leaders about how to cope with the contextual forces and processes for creating, maintaining, and sustaining lasting relationships? First, institutional culture and context exert powerful forces on building and maintaining any relationship in higher education. Although contexts vary, women must be aware and mindful of institutional history and how that history becomes interpreted. Second, recognizing power and all of its facets is critical for a woman leader, and relationship building has to account for elements of power. Whether the relationship is with a person in a higher position of power, with a colleague of equal stature, or with a person who reports to the leader, elements of position, politics, and persuasion must be considered if barriers are to be overcome. Third, all work environments have challenging relational dynamics. Whether they are apparent in taking on a


new role or whether they are discovered along the way, we need relationship-building strategies to help us negotiate the minefields that exist in higher education and elsewhere. Finally, having good communication skills, taking time to listen, and being patient and flexible all are attributes we observed in these women leaders. As we learned from Polly, who successfully built relationships in one institution, the same strategy had a different result in another one. Susan has begun a multiyear effort to change the perceptions of her president and Madeline believes there may be an opportunity to build a positive working relationship with Charles. But their stories are unfinished and, optimistically, we believe they will succeed. Yet, pragmatically, we recognize it may not be so.

References Applegate, J., Earley, P., & Tarule, J. (2009). Support for women leaders: The visible and the invisible. In C. Mullen (Ed.), The handbook of leadership and professional learning communities (pp. 151–60). New York: Palgrave. Belenky, M., Bond, L., & Weinstock, J. (1997). The tradition that has no name: Nurturing the development of people, families and communities. New York: Basic. Carli, L., & Eagly, A. (2007). Overcoming resistance to women leaders: The importance of leadership style. In B. Kellerman & D. L. Rhode (Eds.), Women and leadership: The state of play and strategies for change (pp. 127–48). New York: Wiley. Carter, K. (1993, February). The place of story in the study of teaching and teacher education. Educational Researcher, 22(1), 5–12. Eagly, A. (2007). Theoretical rationale for sex differences and similarities in leadership style. Psychology of Women Quarterly, 31, 1–12. Eagly, A., & Johannesen-Schmidt, M. (2001). The leadership styles of women and men. Journal of Social Issues, 57(1), 781–97. Eagly, A., Johannesen-Schmidt, M., & van Engen, M. (2003). Transformational, transactional, and laissez-faire leadership styles: A meta-analysis comparing women and men. Psychological Bulletin, 129(4), 569–91. Eddy, P. (2009). Leading gracefully: Gendered leadership in community colleges. In D. Dean, S. Bracken, & J. Allen (Eds.), Women in academic


leadership: Professional strategies, personal choices (pp. 8–30). Sterling, VA: Stylus. Fullen, M. (2001). Leading in a culture of change. San Francisco: JosseyBass. Gardner, H. (2007). Five minds for the future. Boston: Harvard Business School Press. Hanh, ThichNhat (2007). The art of power. New York: HarperCollins. Kellerman, P., & Rhode, D. L. (Eds.). (2007). Women and leadership: The state of play and strategies for change. San Francisco: Wiley. Marshall, C., & Rossman, G. (2006). Designing qualitative research (4th ed.). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Tarule, J., Applegate, J., Earley, P., & Blackwell, P. (2009). Narrating gendered leadership. In D. Dean, S. Bracken, & J. Allen (Eds.), Women in academic leadership: Professional strategies, personal choices (31–49). Sterling, VA: Stylus. Wheatley, M. (2006). Leadership and the New Science. San Francisco: Berrett-Koehler.

12 Complexities of Female Leadership for the Novice Leader in Higher Education Settings Tanisca M. Wilson

Female leadership has been a topic of interest to researchers for quite some time. Research that explain differences in male and female leadership styles is plentiful (Bensimon, 1989; Chliwniak, 1997; Marion, 2002). Despite theoretical explanations about women leaders, novice female leaders can still struggle with navigating the political and ethical terrains in higher education settings. Higher education is an everchanging environment that demands visionary leaders who understand that its culture is rigid, inhibiting, and progressive. For the purposes of this chapter, novice female leaders are defined as women who have been in higher education for five years or less and who have authority to evaluate, supervise, hire, or terminate others. These women can be successful leaders when they recognize and know how to overcome the complexities of female leadership. Although there is no one-size-fits-all theory, Lussier and Achua (2004) point out three variables that can have a significant impact on a leader: the leader’s personality and preferred style, the followers’ preferred style, and the environment in which the leader is situated. According to Gardner (1990), leadership is the process of persuasion by which an individual (or leadership team) induces a group to pursue objectives held by the leader. But, for novice female leaders, this simple definition of leadership can still present issues for women because it does not give suggestions for how women should lead nor does it address the issues that are unique to 263


females. To influence peers, subordinates, and other constituents, novice female leaders must have a clear understanding of the political and organizational structure in which they work. There are four suggestions that may prove beneficial to the success of the amateur female leader: (1) Learning the culture of the institution in which she works, (2) observing where opportunities and limitations exist in the organization, (3) building meaningful relationships with superiors and staff, and (4) networking and forming alliances with the appropriate people.

How to Undertake and Lead Change The culture of an organization is its collective essence, and, in a sense, its personality. From a change perspective, the culture reflects the interrelationship of shared assumptions, beliefs, values, and behaviors that are acquired over time by its members (Conner, 1993). Culture change in organizations can be very difficult, but success cannot be sustained in an organization unless there are some appropriate changes to culture. Although scholars do not agree on what specifically constitutes organization culture (Smircich, 1983), they acknowledge that organizations have cultures and that culture produces patterned behaviors that influence meanings people attach to organizational events. When undertaking change in an organization, the female leader needs to understand the history of her organization, the pattern of the behaviors of people, the symbolic meanings of specific events, and her position as the change agent. It is within an organization’s culture that women can meet with the most resistance to their efforts to make a positive impact on an organization. Some cultural conflicts that can exist for women leaders in higher education settings are: •

Women are expected to not be firm, assertive, or as aggressive as their male counterparts. If they are, they are unfavorably perceived by others.

•

Women are not expected to exhibit their feminine traits in maledominated settings. For example, they are expected to wear black or dark colors to meetings, to only speak when asked, and to not resist the majority vote.

Complexities of Female Leadership for the Novice Leader 265

•

Staff, peers, and others show more respect for directives given by male leaders than female leaders.

•

Women leaders are viewed as tokens, and they are not taken seriously by their superiors, staff, or peers.

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Women leaders are perceived as emotional beings who anger easily and make decisions based on emotions, not facts.

To determine if these cultural conflicts exist in an organization, a good idea is to probe into the history of your department and especially your position within the organization. Ideally, some of the questions about an institution’s history can be answered in an interview. But realistically, most cultural conflicts are not discovered until one has agreed to take the position. The department directors, especially males, are excellent candidates for such an inquiry. Ask questions such as: •

What major projects have been undertaken in this department to help the institution with its strategic goals? This question will help to determine if the organization or your department is accustomed to dealing with change. If the department has been stagnant in progressive change, it could be an indication that the organization is resistant to change and that the organization is used to operating according to the status quo.

•

Who led those projects and what concerns arose about them? This question can help to determine if the strategic approach of the department was successful or not successful. Also, it can help leaders avoid possible pitfalls in the future.

According to Lick and Kaufman (2000), two-thirds of change efforts fail because of leaders’ actions, or a lack of them, for the following reasons: •

Leaders have not reframed their own thinking and that of their institution relative to major change.

•

Leaders have implemented a strategic planning approach that is incomplete and inadequate for the systematic change required.


•

Leaders have not provided or implemented a detailed and structured transition plan for identifying and implementing change.

As a “newbie” to leadership in higher education, a woman must recognize that observation is a key tool for success. Observing the culture, people, and behaviors of an organization allows for planning a success strategy. Know the key players in your organization and be mindful that a key player does not have to be someone with a fancy title. A key player could be someone who has a major influence in the community and not necessarily in your organization. Know the influencers and know the followers. Know the history of the program, department, or organization in which change should be created. Some people resist change not because it is not needed but because the change is occurring to something they initiated. The relationship between leadership and organizational roles reveals that leadership is not confined to certain roles in an organization (Ogawa & Bossert, 2000, p. 53). For the novice female leader, this means that she does not have to be limited in the changes she needs to initiate, manage, or follow through on because of her newness to an organization. However, it is wise for her to understand her position as a “newbie” and to know when the timing is appropriate to be a change agent. For the female leader, knowing when to act as well as what to act on and to whom to present the actions are critical for successful leadership. To acquire skill for such an action, women must have an intimate understanding of the culture of their organization.

Avoiding Political and Ethical Pitfalls The relationship between sex-role stereotypes and leadership is complex and has not been fully defined. However, older research studies have made connections between sex- role stereotypes and self-concepts (Broverman, Vogel, Clarkson, & Rosenkrantz, 1972; O’Leary, 1974). According to these studies, many women internalize societal sex-role stereotypes and attitudes. In educational settings, this could still be the case and could possibly present traps for failure for novice female leaders. Historically, women, even those in leadership positions, have been expected to be mild mannered, agreeable, and easygoing. This expectation comes from women as well as men. In political organizations, women who frequently display mild-mannered attributes when the situation calls for assertiveness


can find themselves in a political demise. Higher education institutions are political organizations, some more than others. Politics deal with power, conflict, and coalition (Bolman & Deal, 2003). This, in and of itself, can present an issue for the novice female leader. The historical account of women and power puts women at a disadvantage because women have struggled to acquire power, or more simply put, women have struggled to have the power of independency that is equal to their male counterparts. Another possible disadvantage for the “newbie” who must learn how to survive and be successful in political organizations is the fact that she is new and may not have had the opportunity to form alliances with the appropriate people. In their explanation of a political framework, Bolman and Deal (2003) explain that politics is the practice of allocating scarce resources, which contributes to conflict in organizations. How and to whom those resources are allocated comes down to one thing: power. There are eight variations of power: (1) position power is authority that comes with titles (Maxwell [1993] contends that this variation of power is the least influential); (2) information and expertise is the power of knowing how to get information to solve important problems; (3) control of rewards is the ability to deliver jobs, money, political support, or rewards; (4) coercive power is the ability to constrain, block, interfere, or punish; (5) alliances and networks that help to get things done; (6) access and control of agendas is power given to individuals who are intimately connected in political systems; (7) control of the meaning and systems is power exercised by elites who have the ability to impose meaning that defines identify, beliefs, and values; and (8) personal power is the ability of individuals to use charisma, energy, stamina, political skills, and good communication to accomplish a vision. Position power is the most likely source of power that a novice female leader will have as a newbie in leadership. The authority that accompanies the position must be visible in order for the leader to be taken seriously by peers and subordinates. The longevity of a leader’s success is dependent on how well she exercises her authority and the rapport she builds with her constituents. Autocratic leadership, cracking the whip, is a common mistake of new female leaders, and this style of leadership, as well as coercive power, should be used sparingly. Both can be detrimental when on the political turf because your staff can be your main source of support


or resistance when political stakes are high. In any leadership position, the goal is to acquire personal power, but to do so will take time and experience. It is unrealistic to assume that a leader can exclude herself from the practice of politics. Female leaders in higher education must know how to survive the political terrains of their organizations, even if they do not like it. Simply put: know the game even if there is no desire to play it. To avoid political pitfalls in your organization, know what the scarce resource is and examine your stake in it. For example, a scarce resource could be the opportunity to acquire a company vehicle for your department, a grant that can only be given to one department, or an opportunity to hire more staff for your department. As a novice female leader, always know your role in the stakes. It could be that you are needed just for support. If this is the case, it is advisable to consider if the alliance being formed can be beneficial to your future interests. For example, if the group or individual you are supporting has the right intentions, and if the group or individual could be of assistance to you in the future, then create a bargaining opportunity. In layman’s terms, be sure the group or individual knows that your support is a “You owe me one.” In the game of politics, do not give and lose the opportunity to get. However, there will be times when the scarce resource is of little or no importance to you. In such cases, exclude yourself. As a novice female leader, it is not wise to have frequent involvement in the political area because it could hurt your chances of promotion in the future. In the world of politics, which is an integral part of higher education institutions, there is no guarantee that those who gain power will use it wisely or justly. The exercise of power is a natural part of society, and those who use it as a constructive and productive possibility to help institutions become more just and efficient are the political winners.

Networking Although politics is a complex phenomenon, it is not without its positive characteristics. Networking is essential to the success of novice female leaders, not only for political implications but also for alleviating feelings of isolation. Networking is the art of building relationships. According to Bolman and Deal (2003), the first task in building networks is to figure out whose help you need. The second step is to develop relationships so


people will be there for you when you need them. Basically, you need friends and allies to get things done and to get their support, you need to cultivate relationships. As a novice female leader, realize that you will not have success at building relationships with everyone. When developing a networking strategy, have clear intentions for the individuals or groups for which you will interact. If your intention is to network for political reasons, Kotter (1985) suggests these steps: •

Identify relevant relationships; not all relationships need to be politically motivated to be relevant.

•

Examine your interests and goals and assess who might resist, why, and how strongly.

•

Develop, if possible, relationships with potential opponents to facilitate communication or negotiation.

•

Embrace gender and cultural differences as well as professional and personal commonalities.

When skillfully executed, building networks can be an exciting experience for novice female leaders. Realize that networking is different from bargaining and it is not advisable to do both simultaneously. Networking not only gives you a chance to get to know others, but it also gives others a chance to get to know you. Networking is an opportunity to open yourself up and show who you are as an individual as well as a leader.

Bargaining and Negotiation Unlike networking, where the experience can exclude political implications, bargaining and negotiation are part of political skill (Bolman & Deal, 2003). Negotiation is defined as a process in which two or more parties are in conflict and attempt to come to an agreement (Lussier & Achua, 2004). However, previous research studies (Lussier & Achua, 2004; Marion, 2002) show that women have not been as successful at bargaining as their male counterparts. Bargaining and negotiation can happen at any time with any level of staff in an organization. Sometimes there will be time to plan a bargaining strategy and other times there won’t be. According to Lussier and Achua (2004), negotiation should include the following steps: (1) develop rapport and focus on the obstacles, not the person; (2) let the other party


make the first offer; (3) listen and ask questions to focus on meeting the other party’s needs; and (4) do not be too quick to give in and be sure to ask for something in return, because those who ask for more get more.

Ethics and Politics When engaged in organizational politics, it can be tempting to be unethical, but do not be. Lussier and Achua (2004) define ethics as “standards of right and wrong that influence behavior” (p. 48). As a novice female leader in higher education, it will not be uncommon to feel pressure to go along with the majority, even when the majority is wrong. But because ethical behavior is a major part of politics that is often ignored, it would be wise to stand firm on what is right when pressured to support unethical decisions. An agreeable personality can lead to following the crowd in either ethical or unethical behavior, so it is essential for female leaders to know when to be assertive. Three factors influence ethical behavior: (1) personality and traits, (2) moral development, and (3) the situation. As leaders, we bring to organizations our attitudes and leadership traits. It is our attitudes and beliefs that shape our leadership and communication styles. When engaged in political warfare, it is important to focus on the resource and not the task of hurting people. When gaining the resource becomes personally hurtful to an individual or group, ethical leaders choose doing what is right over doing what is popular. Moral development refers to understanding what is right from wrong. According to Lussier and Achua (2004), there are three levels of right and wrong. The preconventional level is choosing right from wrong based on self-interests, the conventional level is when one seeks to live up to the standard of others, and the postconventional level is standing up for what you perceive is right regardless of others’ ethics. In high-pressure situations, some leaders will forget their ethics and put their own interests first. For example, you know that one of your employees is being sexually harassed by your male boss. You know what he is doing is wrong, but you know that if you report him, it is likely that he will retaliate and fire you. So, what do you do? Do you ignore the harassment? Do you encourage the employee to report him but to leave your name out of it, or do you report him based on the fact that it is the right thing to do? Leaders who exhibit ethical behavior gain the trust of their constituents. In doing so, they are more likely to have stronger alliances, which helps to


build their personal power of influence. Trust is an important commodity to female leaders because it will make others, male and female alike, feel safe around them. As a result, the female leader who has gained the trust of others will become privileged to information from different sources. She will be respected as a trusted leader others will come to depend on for leadership.

How to Cope with the Pressures of a New Leadership Position Leadership is a high calling and it can be a daunting task for the novice female leader. Whether the leadership position is that of an assistant director, director, provost, or chancellor, each position requires skills and expertise to effectively get things done. As well, each position faces some of the same leadership challenges: effective communication, positive rapport with staff, superiors, and constituents, and the execution of political skill. In addition to the common challenges, female leaders may also face competition from their male counterparts. This section of the chapter stems from the author’s personal experience in a leadership position. Know and be true to thy self. Know your strengths and weaknesses as a person, as they will become your strengths and weaknesses as a leader. For example, you may be known to fly off the handle with your friends when you hear something you do not like. However, as a leader, this should not be done. To cultivate respect from your boss, your peers, and your staff, you have to learn how to stay calm even when you feel like exploding. Once you discover your weaknesses, take the necessary steps to minimize them. Balance your roles. Many novice female leaders assume leadership positions in addition to their roles as mother, wife, and/or student. Each role has its own set of demands that must be met. The pressure of these demands can sometimes cause stress and force female leaders to feel out of balance. As a newbie in leadership, you may be tempted to bring your work home in an attempt to stay on top of your tasks or to impress your boss. This is highly discouraged if you have a family. There is a time for work and a time for family and a time for fun. Using your time wisely will not only relieve you of stress, but it will also help you to stay alert in your different environments. When at work, dedicate your time to work. When at home, dedicate your time to family. When free time presents itself, have a little fun, or use


the time to do your homework if you are a student. Do not make trade-offs with your time. Keep everything in its proper perspective. Wear your leadership skin. Do not be timid when expressing your ideas. When you speak, speak with confidence. When you give directives, hold those for carrying them out accountable for the task. Make decisions that are yours to make and do not pass them on to your boss. If you are unclear about direction, ask your boss about it. Do not send your staff to your boss unless your boss prefers it that way. If he or she does, you need to have a conversation with him or her about the extent of your authority. Do not shed confidence in the presence of your male counterparts, no matter how macho they act. Be confident in who you are as a leader and do not diminish the value of your position, ever. Stand firm with staff. As a new leader, you may find that your staff will challenge you on your decisions or purposely ignore your directives in an act of defiance. These actions can be viewed as staff not accepting your leadership, or your staff could be testing you. In either case, hold them accountable. Depending on the nature of the staff member’s action, take the appropriate disciplinary action. Ignoring their behaviors will only make it worse. As the leader, your disciplinary actions must be fair and ethical, regardless of what you feel like doing. The punishment must fit the crime, and you should never make a decision when you are upset about an employee’s actions. Take time to calm down and remember the golden rule: do unto others as you want them to do unto you. Know your job. Successful leaders know their jobs, and that entails knowing their boss. For newbies, this can take time because the job description never tells the whole story. As a leader, especially if you are in an assistant’s position, learn your boss’s language. If he or she says, “Are you available to attend a meeting on my behalf ?” Make sure the question means what you think it means. Because it could mean, “I need you to attend this meeting on my behalf.” The difference is the former gives you the option of not attending the meeting. The latter does not. Know what is expected of you from your boss as well as your staff. Expectations can change, so do not miss an opportunity to learn if you and your boss or if you and your staff are still on the same page. Know the scope of your role and your limitations. Your position is entitled to only so much authority. Know where it begins and where it ends.


Do not be a yes woman. You may feel inclined to agree with every idea your boss has because he or she is the boss and you are afraid of being seen as confrontational or resistant. It is not good leadership to agree with everything your boss says or does because he or she is the boss. If your boss wants to bounce ideas off you, be honest with him or her if it is not a good idea. Find a way to say it respectfully. If you become a yes woman, eventually, your boss will stop asking for your opinions because he or she knows you will agree. In disagreeing with your boss, be careful to not become confrontational. Just simply outline why you believe the idea may not be the best one. When you do this, base it on facts and experience, not on how you feel. When you are honest with yourself and your boss, you can feel good about doing your job. However, if you go along to get along, you may not feel satisfied with yourself. Take advantage of opportunities to grow and develop as a leader. Experience is a good teacher and learning from seasoned leaders is a good way to perfect your own leadership. Conferences, symposiums, books, and journal articles about women in leadership can be helpful to a novice leader. Seek out a mentor who shares your interests and who has extensive leadership experience. Be sure your mentor has a proven track record of being successful. It is advisable for female leaders to seek out other female leaders because they may better understand the obstacles of females in leadership. Women have made tremendous progress in acquiring leadership positions. Despite these strides, women still face major obstacles in leadership positions. Fortunately, enough women have traversed the leadership track and they are in positions to train, assist, and enable other female leaders to make a difference. The foibles of leadership are common to male and female alike, but the challenges that are unique to female leaders have been well documented in the literature, and women leaders must make a concerted effort to continue to rise above these challenges. The success of our society is dependent on leaders who can fearlessly undertake and lead change, skillfully execute political tactics for the betterment of citizens, and transform what is into what should be. Women have risen to the challenge of leadership, and despite inequity and inequality in some industries, they continue to make a positive impact in their leadership positions.


References Bensimon, E. M. (1989). A feminist reinterpretation of presidents’ definitions of leadership. Peabody Journal of Education, 3(66), 143–56. Bolman, L., & Deal, T. (2003). Reframing organizations: Artistry, choice, and leadership (3rd ed.). San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. Broverman, I. R., Vogel, S. R., Clarkson, F. E., & Rosenkrantz, P. S. (1972). Sex-role stereotypes: A current appraisal. Journal of Social Issues, 28(2), 59–78. Chliwniak, L. (1997). Higher education leadership: analyzing the gender gap. ASHE-ERIC Higher Education Report, 4(25). Washington, DC: Graduate School of Education and Human Development, George Washington University. Conner, D. (1993). Managing at the speed of change. New York: Villard Books. Gardner, J. W. (1990). On leadership. New York: Free Press. Kotter, J. P. (1985). Beyond power and influence. New York: Free Press. Lick, D., & Kaufman, R. (2000). Change creation: The rest of the planning story In J. Boettcher, M. Doyle, & R. Jensen (Eds.), Technologydriven planning: Principles to practice (Chapter 2). Ann Arbor, MI: Society for College and University Planning. Lussier, R., & Achua, C. (2004). Leadership: Theory, application and skill development. Eagan, MN: Thomson Press. Marion, R. (2002). Leadership in education: Organizational theory for the practitioner. Long Grove, IL: Waveland Press. Maxwell, J. C. (1993). Developing the leader within you. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Inc. Ogawa, R. T., & Bossert, S. T. (2000). Leadership as an organizational quality. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass. O’Leary, V. E. (1974). Some attitudinal barriers to occupational aspirations in women. Psychological Bulletin, 81, 809–26. Smircich, L. (1983). Concepts of culture and organizational analysis. Administrative Science Quarterly, 28, 339–58.

13 The “Borderlands” Experience for Women of Color as Higher Education Leaders Patricia Arredondo

Introduction A few years ago, I became aware of a powerful book by Gloria Anzalduá, Borderlands/La Frontera (1987). In her honest and descriptive style, Anzalduá eloquently and painfully chronicled the role conflicts for Latinas with intersecting identities of ethnic and racial heritage, sexual orientation, class, and occupation, just to mention a few. On the Mexico–Texas border where she grew up, the borderlands experience was more than a metaphor; it was a daily experience driven by culture-bound expectations of her as a Mexican-American, a woman of color, and a lesbian. Another writer and poet, Julia De Burgos, expressed sentiments about not being who she could be in a male-dominated society that pigeonholed her based on gender and class. Her classic poem, Yo misma fui mi ruta (I Was My Own Path; 1953) is a sentiment of senior women of color captured in qualitative research studies and reflections that will be shared in the chapter. As is reported in the literature about women and women of color, leadership roles in traditionally white male institutions are fraught with multiple unwritten rules and deficit expectations based on our identity and perceptions of our competence. Understandably, role conflict, power plays, regressive interactions, and other nonprofessional behaviors will take up a woman’s psychic and physical energy and detract from her leadership priorities. The higher education context for leading is complicated and nuanced 275


interpersonally and sociopolitically, and this requires ongoing examination and discussion. As was voiced by one colleague, “expectations for excellence and the culture of collaborative leadership in key relationships” (personal communication, October 1, 2010) are necessary to support her talent engagement and leadership as a woman of color. To write this chapter is both personal and professional and based on my commitment to the advancement of women and women of color in senior leadership roles in higher education. As a counseling psychologist, organizational consultant, and the highest-ranking Latina academic in two research universities (as of 2011), I was very amenable to write the chapter on women of color in higher education. Similar to my professional colleagues and friends whose voices are shared throughout this chapter, I have not had a traditional route into senior roles. Yet, as will be discussed, navigating a nonlinear path often affords women like me multiple “borderlands” and new doorways to reinforce a sense of perseverance and self-efficacy. Approaches and Research Foci Studies of women of color in roles of college and university presidents, school principals, and superintendents and faculty have been undertaken primarily by women of color (Enrı´quez-Damiań, 2009; Munõz, 2010; Turner, 2002). A qualitative research design is the lens most often used to gather women’s voices about their life journeys leading to a presidency and/or how they have managed in these exclusive leadership roles. For faculty women of color, quantitative studies have addressed the glass ceiling for Asian Americans (Lee, 2002) and obstacles to success for African American women (Nichols & Tanksley, 2004). Opinion statements lament the miniscule numbers of Asian American presidents (Saigo, 2008) and the decline of African American college presidents (Chenoweth, 2007). Findings from empirical research and individual commentaries indicate there is insufficient attention to women of color for senior roles and to change this practice, effective developmental practices are required within individual institutions. For example, a culture for leadership development for persons of color is often mentioned. Mentorship and role models are other themes that resonate in women’s accounts with utility for their practices as leaders and also enablers to full participation and respect in their

The “Borderlands” Experience for Women of Color 277

institution. The narratives tend to yield findings that can be reframed for institutional benefit because the lessons learned by individual women can become instrumental for value-added organizational practices. Such observations will be shared throughout this document. Overview of the Chapter In the sections that follow, there will be discussions about women of color in higher education and our intersecting identities, the culture and climate of higher education institutions and relevant meta-theories, leadership models and strategies, and resources to achieve goals as a woman of color senior leader. I will discuss psychological and organizational culture paradigms that can be used as lenses for examining pervasive structural and institutional barriers affecting plans for women of color, the intersectionality of identity, and women’s sense of well-being as professional leaders. In the final section of the paper, resources for senior leadership development will be presented. Women’s reflections, invited to comment for this chapter, will be sprinkled throughout. I will also introduce my own experiences and at times write in the first versus the third person. In no way will I provide the final word on the topic; rather, I hope to share perspectives based on my own scholarship, others’ research, and literature that influences my thinking and leadership practices. The prevailing questions are: How prepared are institutions to support and ensure the success of women of color in leadership roles? and What must the woman have in her leadership toolkit to continue to navigate the higher education borderlands world?

Women of Color in Higher Education: Context and Different Realities The Civil Rights Act (1964) legislated access to equal education, employment, housing, and other basic rights to women, people of color, and others historically marginalized. Affirmative Action policies became the tool for enacting the civil rights legislation with the intent of equity, albeit in an uneven and even detrimental way for the person who was to benefit. The woman of color had to prove that she was more than a “twofer,” a check-off on an affirmative action report because of her dual minority


status. The culture of gender and racial prejudice was not eradicated by new policies. At times, for example, my legitimacy as a junior professor was questioned because it was known that I was an Affirmative Action hire. Turner (2002) describes the experiences of women of color living with marginality in higher education, often in “no-win” situations because of their race and ethnicity. With the election of President Barack Obama in 2008, discourse about a postracial society in the United States has emerged. There is speculation that this will lead to an increase of opportunity and representation of people of color as senior leaders. Another part of the national context, however, is the increase in race-based hate crimes. It is reported that the number of hate crimes in the United States increased and in 2009, reportedly there were 932 hate groups and 309 nativist extremist groups (Southern Poverty Law Center, 2010). The nativist groups focus on immigrants and other groups because of perceived heritage and religion. The sociopolitical landscape, however, must be factored into discussions of senior women of color leadership because our visibility may make us targets based on others’ conscious and unconscious fears and prejudices. In the United States, moreover, the social construct of race led to hierarchical status among groups based on gender and race/ethnicity in particular. In his research of fifty-plus nations, Hostede (1984) found that historical and national values influence institutional values and practices of individualism versus collectivism, masculinity versus femininity, high and low power distance, and high to low uncertainty avoidance. His data indicate that the United States has national values biased toward masculinity and individualism, and these have become enculturated in educational and workplace settings’ policies and practices. Thus, women in general will be assessed by the white male norm of dominance, transactional behavior, and appearance (Cheung & Halpern, 2010; Eagly & Carli, 2007) and not necessarily proven performance. Women of color, regardless of their heritage—African, American Indian, Asian/Pacific Islander, Latina, and multiple heritages—will generally have lower ascribed status in comparison to white women and men independent of their earned position. Consequentially, negative stereotypes and low expectations often create self-fulfilling prophesies in the eyes of the majority individual (Arredondo, 2003; Sanchez-Hucles & Davis, 2010; Valverde, 2003).


Women of color may also be senior administrators in institutions with a specific affiliation or dimension of identity—faith-based, historically black college and university, Hispanic-serving institution, tribal college, and/or women’s college. Here too, the woman of color is often the exception and subject to multiple types of scrutiny by different groups not accustomed to having women like her in roles of authority and decision making. Even in the ethnic-specific institutions, men historically have held the senior administrative and faculty roles. Based on prevailing practices, women of color are not expected to be leaders, and to have such individuals in an organization creates dissonance and sometimes backlash. When certain groups in the country are the targets of marginalization because of their cultural heritage, appearance, and religion, women of color cannot escape the halo effect.

Organizational Context Culture and Climate The relative “fit” for women of color in senior roles will be affected by the institutional culture, climate, and prevailing practices. Valverde (2003) contends that universities have historically been traditional and conservative and maintain the status quo. The traditionalism of colleges and universities typically means a hierarchical, governance-based system, more de facto privilege for white men as faculty and administrators, working conditions that are not family oriented, and a tenure and promotion system that favors scholarship over teaching and service and does not readily accommodate women’s professional and family goals. Obstacles of systemic racism and sexism and lack of a critical mass of black women in predominantly white institutions are also visible and invisible conditions that keep the bureaucracy intact (Henry & Glenn, 2009). A study by the Wellesley Center for Women found that the critical number for women’s impact on a governance board is three (Kramer, Konrad, & Erkut, 2006). Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg illuminates the point in her statement about how litigators often mistook her for Justice O’Conner. With the addition of Justices Kagan and Sotomayor, this will unlikely occur, she noted (Lithwick, 2010). Assuming that most higher education institutions are traditional and conservative, what must women of color know about how they are affected


and affect the prevailing culture? What lens or paradigms about organizational behavior will become part of one’s toolkit? Organizational Climate and Behavior In the early 1980s, Sandler and Hall first described the chilly climate affecting women in college classrooms. This spawned additional research and publications on the experiences of women faculty in traditional male disciplines and in departments that otherwise do not value women (1986). In an organization with a chilly climate, women are made to feel unwelcomed and marginalized through silence and other forms of negative behavior such as not being included or invited to a planned meeting. The chilly climate creates a work atmosphere fraught with tension, uncertainty, and frustration for the woman. For a woman of color, the climate can be even chillier because she is the anomaly in the organization and often the target for exclusion. She may be overlooked for coffee invitations, not sought after when a meeting ends, not included for informal social gatherings, and so forth. Unless a woman of color has a network or an accepting supervisor of color with whom to share experiences, she may find that the climate in her work setting may become too much of a burden. The chilly climate can also feel like a psychic prison (Morgan, 1997), a metaphor used to describe a type of organization. Attributes of the psychic prison include favored ways of doing things (meaning new ideas or practices are not acceptable), unconscious and protective or defensive behaviors, organizational anxiety, and other psychological phenomena. When new ideas are introduced by a newcomer such as a woman of color, a “circling of the wagons” behavior may result. According to one of my colleagues, the woman of color may become caught in “historical conflicts and a culture of mistrust,” thereby impeding new ideas she is trying to introduce (personal communication, October 1, 2010). Change, discomfort, and unpredictability are generally the reasons for the manifestation of any of these characteristics. Ingrained interpersonal behavior with ethnic minorities may be difficult practices to change for white colleagues. In Successful Diversity Management Initiatives (Arredondo, 1996), I discussed a systems methodology to deliberately and authentically have more diverse work settings. I also addressed some of the effects of introducing diversity: “Organizational change upsets the dynamics of power


and politics” (p. 12). When a woman of color becomes an organizational leader, she affects the organization’s homeostasis. “We have always done it this way” statements, according to a colleague, “interfere with her ability to introduce new ideas and slows progress” (personal communication, July 18, 2010). Just one person can upset the status quo, others’ sense of comfort, and, depending on the nature of the relationship, reciprocity and equity. As a senior administrator, I have always been the minority based on heritage, gender, and other nonacademic career experiences and therefore I am on the alert about how to manage relationships with different types of individuals. The same cannot be said for my generally white peers, superiors, and assistants, and I can detect their discomfort. If a direct report is a white person, particularly a white woman, there are generally subtle tensions and I have to negotiate these, not she. A woman of color who enters the organization as a senior leader precipitates a range of reactions, both conscious and unconscious. Others may become wary or openly resist change. Lack of previous formal experiences with an administrator of color may also stir unfounded fears, anxiety, and hostility. “Does she think I am racist?” “How should I talk to her?” “Will she expect more of us than we do?” Because of historic issues of affirmative action, employees in a psychic prison will question the woman of color’s authority. “Is she qualified?” In spite of glowing credentials, she may be mistrusted and held up to scrutiny. Self-protective behaviors by others in the organization are not within the control of the woman of color, but she must be able to recognize them. Excessive questioning of the woman in front of others, patronizing comments, and other forms of defensive behavior like silence rather than open exchanges in a meeting are manifestations of an organization as a psychic prison. In contemporary psychology, these behaviors are called microaggressions, forms of interpersonal insults, both verbal and nonverbal. The Culture of “Whiteness” and “Niceness” In all workplace cultures in the United States, including higher education settings, “whiteness” is another prevailing structural and interpersonal dimension of power, perceptions, and expectations. According to Warren, “Whiteness is invisible or unmarked as an ethnic or racial category within this culture” (1999, p. 186); it is self-evident and normative. Being of


color means one is a VERG—visible ethnic racial group member (Helms, 1990). Unlike whites in higher education, senior women of color do not have white privilege or a “set of unearned assets” (Macintosh, 1989). Continuing with this line of discussion, Warren indicates that “White identity can be situational but not so for women of color” (p. 196). She cannot be herself and go about carrying out her responsibilities as a senior administrator because everyone is watching and perhaps waiting for her to err. In a psychic prison-type organization that is hierarchical, with favored ways of doing things and loaded with unwritten rules, certain behaviors may not be accepted because of the individual in charge. In his study of Latinas/os in educational and political settings, Alemań (2009) reported on the politics of “niceness.” Women’s consideration of others through niceness, respect, and decorum suggests they may not express dissatisfaction with the status quo and/or behave by being too appeasing and agreeable. If this behavior is reinforced by institutional superiors, it is a way of keeping the woman of color in her place and controlling her voice. Turner (2002) also refers to the concept of “ambiguous empowerment”: mixed messages about how to behave.

Women of Color Affected by Double Standards and Double Binds The higher education environment has historically been white male dominated, classist, and slow to change. Though it is seen as a setting for intellectual discourse and the advancement of new knowledge, women of color often find it less than affirming of their intellectual talent (Eagly & Chin, 2010; Myers & Turner, 1999; Turner, 2002). The climate of an unhealthy organization introduces numerous land mines such as hypocrisy, deficit thinking about people of color by everyone from students to faculty, low expectations that lead to self-fulfilling prophecies, and “white ignorance” (Valverde, 2003, p. 39). If a woman of color is underestimated, she will likely be relegated to assignments where she has no direct reports or budget responsibilities. As a result, she will not acquire the skill sets for administrative advancement. If the individual’s supervisor behaves in exclusionary and other nonsupportive ways, the woman will likely have feelings of disappointment to betrayal (Valverde, 2003). The concept of “ambiguous empowerment” (Turner 2002) also seems apropos for these


examples because women experience contradictions felt when those to whom they report respond in discriminatory or dismissive ways. Over the years, I have heard from women of color in senior roles, such as vice presidents, vice provosts, and deans, lament their shock and frustration with their superiors, individuals largely responsible for their hiring. This often begins when the new hire is introduced only to certain administrators or stakeholders, left to fend for herself on a new campus, or otherwise told to make sure she connects with other people of color on campus. In these situations, the woman is not welcomed to the community of administrators appropriately and it is fair to say, disrespect in different forms becomes the modus operendi. These are additional examples of microaggressions. Intersecting Identities The reality of multiple identities has been discussed as it relates to women of color (Arredondo, 2003; Eagly & Carli, 2007; Sanchez-Hucles & Davis, 2010). Although women of color have more than gender and ethnicity or race as identity attributes, these are the dimensions that readily become the focus of stereotyping and attributions. How often do we say, “She is an African American woman” but we do not say she is a “white woman.” Because white is the norm, there is no reason to describe the white woman. Perceptions, attributions, and expectations of women of color are influenced by gender and racial/ethnic stereotypes. The intersection of multiple identities is impossible to tease apart. In a classic article, Fiske (1993) proposed that individuals with power in an organization control stereotyping of those with less power. Accordingly, women of color are ready targets for such stereotyping because they are unknown entities, have outsider status, and are assumed to have little to no real power. Consider how often people of color, including senior women, are asked to sit on committees to represent local or their “constituencies” viewpoint. Even as a senior administrator, I recognize requests/assignments to serve on citywide, social service councils because of my ethnic identity. Although a person of color is not necessarily the most appropriate representative, in the mindset of certain administrators, this is the person to designate from the university. For women of color in career advancement, questions about window dressing and tokenism may naturally ensue as well as double binds if one rejects certain appointments.


In the early 1990s, a colleague and I developed a schema to capture the holistic essence of individuals’ pluralistic identity, also termed intersectionality (Eagly & Carli, 2007; Sanchez-Hucles & Davis, 2010). The Dimensions of Personal Identity (DPI) model (Arredondo & Glauner, 1992) is a contextual and developmental model indicative of the multidimensionality of all individuals, not just senior women of color. The connection between fixed dimensions (A), historical and contextual factors (C) not always within one’s control as with budget cuts, and more fluid factors (B) introduces opportunities for institutional leadership. The model can also be used to reveal relationships in the workplace based on occupational stratification. For women of color who are unique senior administrators, it is possible that tokenism occurs and that stratification further promotes isolation and/or marginalization. If an institution only congratulates itself for hiring women of color as deans, provosts, or chancellors, it will unlikely fail to notice how other organizational practices such as power relations and low expectations remain unchanged. Agars (2004) argued that gender stereotypes affect women’s advancement in organizations. He discussed performance evaluations and the role of sexism and stereotypes in the preferential treatment and selection of men over women. Although his study was not in a higher education setting, the findings may still have applicability to women of color in higher education. Valverde (2003) suggested that underrepresentation of leaders of color can be attributed to “poor recruitment, minimal hiring, and weak retention due to an unsupportive environment” (p. 38). One can only wonder about the role of stereotyping, tokenism, and other embedded institutional practices that actually hinder the advancement and success of senior women of color. Power and Privilege Because gender is an “ascribed status characteristic,” it always suggests more status, privilege, and resources for men (Ayman & Korabik, 2010). Ironically, women of color administrators are often told that they intimidate their peers, men and women alike. This seems like a lot of power to give to a person who is generally a numeric minority and for whom there are low expectations. Fiske’s research on the power of stereotyping can again be invoked to explain additional differences between white women


and women of color. Sanchez-Hucles and Davis point out that stereotypes about white women are generally not about their identity but about their skills. For women of color, the initial stereotypes are about identity. Alexiou (2005) discussed a case study of “Monica” at the heart of gender power in a learning organization. Because a learning organization is conceptualized as a model for collaboration, inclusiveness, and development of staff, the analysis yielded a different set of experiences for the woman of color protagonist and career-tracker, Monica. In short, although Monica followed the script of the organization, producing data that were in keeping with her assignment, an assessment of her performance rendered it insufficient. Male gender power prevailed, putting Monica in her place. Alexiou pointed out that women of color are a “product of a network of discourses and power relations” (p. 27), rendering us targets of control and subordination, another example of an organization as a psychic prison. Women of color are the ones who literally move between two or more worlds. Of course, we have learned how to coexist with white people and other ethnic minorities as well. The borderlands/la frontera, as characterized by Gloria Anzalduá, is the daily experience of senior women of color—and their peers have no idea. In predominantly white institutions, it is the woman of color who has more experience engaging with others who do not share her heritage. Not having enough women and people of color around the table, in this instance around the table of deans, creates challenges. The challenge, though, has been greater for my male colleagues than it has been for me. I’m used to operating an environment where I am the underrepresented person. They’re not used to working with a peer at their level, certainly who’s a female and a person of color. That’s a change for them, and it’s an adjustment for them. (personal communication, July 16, 2010) Negotiating Prejudice with Transformational Leaders The intersection of identity and race/ethnicity is one inevitable reality for women of color as it relates to leadership in general (Eagly & Chin, 2010; Sanchez-Hucles & Davis, 2010) and higher education leadership


(Arredondo, 2003; Henry & Glenn, 2009). This theme has been discussed primarily by women of color. Ironically, the majority are psychologists by training or women with doctoral degrees in higher education administration. Perhaps we have noticed more through the lens of multiculturalism and ethnic and racial identity models than we learned about and write about. For women completing doctoral work on the topic of careers for women of color in higher education, they report witnessing the treatment of their faculty and women in administrative roles. Of course, our lived experience as women of color in higher education also motivates our voice on identity conflicts and other challenges in the academy. Discussion of the intersection of multiple identities has emerged through the multicultural psychology literature (Arredondo, 2002; Sue & Sue, 2003). Women of color, not included in the feminist discourse evolving from the Civil Rights movement, have had to raise the issue that white, heterosexual males and females do not have to be the norm. When it comes to experiences in university settings, there will be a difference between white women and women of color. White women may experience sexism and classism, but women of color will be recipients of sexist, racist, and classist interactions. Contributing to these multiple experiences with isms are stereotypes and stereotype threat (Steele, 2000). The latter concept suggests that individuals incorporate the stereotype about them and behave accordingly. Thus, if the prevailing stereotype a woman of color accepts is that she can only be successful in a leadership role with ethnic minority groups, she may exclude herself from other settings. Here are two case examples that had positive outcomes because of the women’s supervisor. Two women of color were selected, after a search, for the position of academic dean and vice president for student affairs in large public and predominantly white universities. Both reported to presidents of color, an African American man and woman respectively. As might be expected, these women were the highest-ranking persons of color next to the president in the university and were seen as “insiders.” Regressive behavior ensued. Individuals, particularly white men, agreed to participate in meetings initiated by the dean or to take responsibility for an activity and then conveniently forgot to follow through. The vice president for student affairs had inherited many projects that her predecessor had not completed. This meant late hours and critical decisions in order to make progress on unfulfilled obligations. Criticism ensued and


she became the target of overt criticism while her predecessor, who still remained on campus, was seen as the benevolent former vice president. The success of these women five years later can be attributed to many factors, including their astuteness about the prevailing organizational culture that did not support women of color, maturity as individuals and professionals, and open and honest relationships with their presidents. Their presidents had also entered these environments and understood the climate of marginalization and disrespect regardless of their rank. Through their guidance and encouragement, the women were validated and knew that hard decisions would be fully supported. The preceding examples reflect behavior of leaders embedding and transmitting culture change. By setting an example that they pay attention to their senior women of color, presidents and provosts model and reinforce behavior expected of other managers and staff. Organizational change and leadership require deliberate actions, including role modeling, teaching, and coaching (Schien, 1985). The provost and president who want their direct reports to succeed will schedule periodic coaching and catch-up sessions. If this does not happen for senior women of color with their immediate supervisors, it is a request to be made. Culture can also be affected by leader behavior. Observing formal interactions between the president and provost and senior women of color at meetings or other academic gatherings can have multiple benefits for the women because of what is signaled to other staff. Ultimately it is positive leader behavior that will contribute to the advancement of women of color in higher education.

Leadership Perspectives There is no shortage of books on the topic of leadership theories/models, styles, and attributes, generally reporting case studies of how to lead and sustain successful organizations. Good to Great (Collins, 2000) and How the Mighty Fall (Collins, 2009) are two examples of in-depth analyses of corporations and principles that contribute to greatness. Embedded throughout these texts are assumptions about leader behavior, particularly planning and decision making. Most examples feature white men as the leaders. Definitions of leadership continue to evolve with structural changes in historically hierarchical, bureaucratic organizations to ones that are flatter, more organic, and even women led. The study of leadership is not new, but


the focus on women and women of color is fairly recent. Early theorists defined leadership primarily from a white male corporate perspective. Being autocratic and operating from command and control, transactional behavior was deemed normative. Early examples were the Theory X and Y (McGregor, 1960) and achievement-oriented models. Theory X and Y were predicated on the need to control employees and get them to perform. Alternatively, individual leaders’ need for achievement and power was proposed as the basis to motivate the individual’s style of a more authoritative model (McClelland, 1975). Other touted models of leadership include situational leadership (Hersey, Blanchard, & Johnson, 2007), transformational and integrative leadership styles (Avolio, 2007) and charismatic leadership (Conger & Kanungo, 1987), all seen as more people friendly, less heavy handed, and engendering greater collegiality. These models have been proposed by men about men in traditional hierarchical settings. More female style examples of leadership have also emerged. They are considered “female” because of their collectivistic or communal attributes. To engage employees, these types of leadership styles are described as interactive, employee centered, participatory, “good” coach and teacher, and “enlightened” parent (Eagly & Carli, 2007). These styles seem to be associated with a woman’s more preferred or intuitive styles but can work against her if she is deemed too soft or friendly. However, when men are more interactive, they are given more affirmation and complimented for demonstrating caring and nurturance. In these various models, the objective of leaders is to inspire, motivate, and get results. Also notable in all models are built-in assumptions about the sex of the leader. Men are still the favored and expected leaders. Incorporating the topic of diversity (ethnicity, gender, race, and sexual orientation) in leadership conversations is fairly recent and generally based on headcount (Chin, 2010). The topic of women of color in leadership roles in higher education has been given voice primarily by presidents/chancellors, provosts, and other senior administrators as was previously mentioned. In these examples, the focus is on achievement, negotiating challenges structurally and interpersonally, and always being goal oriented. Women and Women of Color as Leaders With the implementation of Affirmative Action policies, more white women entered corporations. One of the classic texts at the time, Men


and Women of the Corporation (Kanter, 1977), described structures and processes that supported and impeded women’s advancement. These included having new opportunities, assuming roles with power, and connections to power. All three factors continue to be relevant to today’s organizations, including higher education. However, change has been slow. Regardless of the apparent progress of women in the workplace as college presidents/chancellors and provosts, the culture of gender prejudice still exists (Eagly & Carli, 2007) with a lack of equal access to leadership. Contributing to double standards for women is ambivalence about women’s skills and styles of interacting. Women’s verbal and nonverbal behaviors are not readily accepted and any form of self-promotion is frowned upon (Eagly & Carli, 2007). Though men can brag about their accomplishments and merely express their opinions, for women to do so is risky. Valverde (2003) observed that much depends on the track that individuals are assigned or shepherded toward—deliberately or not. He describes these in higher education as mainline/traditional or sidetracked based on stereotypes. Because sponsorship in white institutions of higher education is controlled by white men, there is more likelihood that a stereotype track may ensue for women of color. This has many meanings, from being given assignments that focus particularly on issues of institutional diversity or people of color to community outreach and service-oriented roles. For a new leader of color, the initial response may be appreciation to demonstrate capabilities in areas where others have not tread or that work needs to be done—partnership with public schools with majority students of color, community agencies in underserved neighborhoods, and so forth. Before long, however, this individual may become pigeonholed. Discussions with women of color colleagues in senior administrative roles in higher education highlighted the necessity of being on mainline/ traditional tracks in order to have their talent and leadership skills fully engaged. “Because of the decentralized nature of this campus, I am called upon to lead myriad activities” from faculty and staff development, fundraising, and budget oversight to strategic planning (personal communication, July 18, 2010). Another colleague stated, “I have a president who really believes in utilizing the talents of everyone, regardless of gender, race, ethnicity or other types of differences. He does it by example and he holds his leadership and direct reports to that standard” (personal communication, July 16, 2010).


Leadership for and by Women of Color Why should leadership for women of color be any different than leadership behavior of other women, white men, and men of color? One simple answer is that we are different and second is the fact that the salience of race always trumps gender identity for women of color. Multidimensional identity creates a complexity that may make us hard to figure out. When people state they are surprised I am Latina and, more specifically, Mexican American, I take that as code that I do not meet their stereotyped images of Latinas. We carry our heritage, gender, and other dimensions of our integrated identity (relationship status, spirituality, sexual orientation) with us, and these identity factors are indistinguishable. We are one cultural being embodying a number of identity attributes. Previous discussions have pointed out that leadership is not naturally attributed to women, let alone women of color. So how do we make progress and make a difference as institutional leaders? Mentorship is one of the routes. Transformational leadership is proposed as the model that works best for women of color in higher education (Valverde, 2003). If transformational leadership were recognized, the work of the woman of color might be considered as essential to culture change for the institution. She is leading by example and enacting stated institutional priorities with and through others. Transformational leaders facilitate and influence. According to Valverde (2003), through their behavior, the leaders of color educate and model for other institutional staff and various stakeholders the value of collaborations to meet shared goals with cultural and political brokers.

Lessons Learned and Resources for Women of Color Discussions thus far seem to suggest that women of color must be formidable, courageous, and highly self-confident to persist as leaders in higher education. As Julia de Burgos, feminist and social justice advocate, poetically stated, women have to be and create our own pathways. The nontraditional, nonlinear route of most women of color leaders has been more atypical than typical. That is, some started in community colleges, assumed responsibility for parents as well as their children, and went against family wishes to achieve their dreams. Current studies by and about women of color in higher education inform strategies and practices that are instructive. These reflections are about personal and professional commitments,


values based and with intentionality to make a difference in the lives of others. The goal, through these accountings, is to describe the landscape of historical and foundational drivers, motivational factors, examples of perseverance, and attributes of women who can be viewed as successful achievers. Practices that Promote and Develop Women of Color In her study of Latina community college presidents, Mun˜ oz (2010) inquired about impactful influences on career success, strategies to manage barriers, and challenges and organizational climate and practices that hindered or supported careers. As with participants in other studies of women of color leaders in higher education, these women indicated that professional development programs and membership in professional associations were influential in their preparation process. But there was more than institutional and academic socialization discussed; these women also described formative early experiences with responsibility and leadership in their homes and communities. Early developmental encounters also introduced them to several mentors, generally other women, who set expectations of them even as precollege adolescents. These presidents learned about achievements and how the engagements they were having, generally in their communities, were needed. As the women reflected on their pathways to leadership roles in higher education, they noted that they were motivated to keep helping and also experienced reciprocal benefits—the same experiences they had as senior leaders. In other words, they possessed a servant leadership worldview. As I read examples provided by Munõz, I recalled my own early examples of mentorship by other women outside of the home and school. In this instance, my mentor was a missionary nun from Puerto Rico, Sister Gracia, working with the newly arrived Puerto Rican families in my neighborhood. First, I was drawn to the new church because of its Spanish-speaking practices, something new to me and very different from the bilingual EnglishSlavic church and school I attended. Perhaps the second reason to venture about the five or six blocks away was because of my cultural curiosity. Once Sister Gracia learned that I wanted to help, she gave me responsibility to “sign up” families for services and engage them in more formal processes involving paperwork. Though I was only thirteen at the time, this did not


seem to be a concern to her. She knew of my willingness and empowered me to take on many tasks and risks. Caring was the common denominator for me and she recognized this intention. Of course, being a senior leader, depending on the level, presents women with unique challenges. How did the community college presidents overcome barriers and challenges? The women indicated they were prepared, had the appropriate credentials and credibility, and were proactive, persistent, goal oriented, and willing to take risks (Munõz, 2010). In her qualitative study about constructing mentors, Meńdez-Morse (2004) learned that the Latina educators found sources of mentorship to meet particular needs. In other words, “They assembled a mentor by putting together separate talents of various individuals in a manner that facilitated their professional growth” (p. 582). She identified three mentor categories: familial, distant, and professional. Mentors were found primarily in three areas—home, school (K–12) and university, and career settings. Mothers were mentioned by these women as their strongest and primary mentors. Distant mentors were individuals the women had worked with and still counted on for consultation and support after they had moved on to new positions. Overall, the mentor relationships were more informal and less structured; however, they were readily available upon request. Once again, I introduce the voices of my colleagues who shared examples of institutional practices they have been able to influence to improve the organizational culture. One vice provost spoke about her use of data to inform colleagues for several purposes. The first was to influence the distribution of university scholarships and the second to inform search committees for senior level higher. Data can be persuasive. Another colleague reported that she was in a position to identify and support nontraditional leaders such as junior faculty members, outstanding staff, and individuals with technical expertise. From her position, this senior administrator of color was able to invite, reward, and “support others’ innovation and resourcefulness” (personal communication, July 18, 2010). Other leadership roles, serving as chair of high-level search committees for the campus, and representing the institution at systemwide meetings are generally appointments approved by the chancellor/president. Thus this dean has exposure to others across the system and on her campus, indicating trust from the top. This type of nonverbal message conveys


confidence in the woman. As Kanter (1977) found, being empowered and assuming assignments with power speak volumes about the woman’s contributions to institutional priorities. Developmental Programs with Promise Advancing historically underrepresented individuals into senior campus roles is becoming increasingly essential as the projected turnover of sitting university presidents in the next five years is reported to be 92 percent (Gladys Johnson, personal communication, June 12, 2010). Two higher education associations with goals for the preparation of persons of color and women are mentioned herein. The Millennium Leadership Institute (MLI), a program of the American Association of Colleges and Universities (AASCU), was established in 1999 by a group of African American college presidents. With the class of 2010, the program has produced 370 prote´ge´s. It is also reported that fifty-seven graduates have assumed presidencies and chancellors. The Bryn Mawr Higher Education Resources Services program (HERS) established in 1976 has focused on preparing women for senior roles and typically enrolls U.S. women of color. HERS also has an active program with South Africa. Other developmental programs for senior administrators are hosted by the American Council on Education, among others. Identity-Specific Associations In my review of ethnic- and racial identity-specific professional associations in higher education, I identified one for black/African American women, another for Hispanic/Latina/o women and men, and a third for American Indians in higher education, although there may be others. None of these associations had goals to prepare higher education administrators specifically. The American Association of Hispanics in Higher Education (AAHHE) has programs for early and mid-career faculty. The Association of Black Women in Higher Education (ABWHE), established in 1978, promotes “the intellectual growth and educational development of Black women in higher education” and the removal of barriers to “achieving their full potential” (retrieved from the website on August 21, 2010, http://www.abwhe.org). The web page for the American Indian


Higher Education Consortium (AIHEC) leads to a strategic plan prioritizing student engagement, accreditation of its colleges, sustainability, and strengthening communities (retrieved from website on August 21, 2010, http://www.aihec.org/). Of interest on the AIHEC main page was the announcement of American Indian presidencies. Cassandra ManuelitoKerkvliet assumed the presidency of Antioch University-Seattle in 2007 and continues in that role as of this writing. Remarkably, she became the first American Indian woman to become president of a university that was not within the tribal college system. She had previously served as the president of Dine´ College, located on a Navajo reservation in Arizona. Luana K. Ross, women’s studies professor at the University of Washington, was selected to be president of Salish Kootenai College, replacing the only president of Salish Kootenai College in place since 1979. I found no associations specific to Asian/Pacific Islander women in higher education.

Concluding Thoughts As women of color, we learn about initiative, adaptability, and responsibility in many settings and enact these behaviors in a white world. Our mindfulness about the racial and gender context is shaped from our childhood and we come to recognize these conditions in all types of organizations, from schools and universities to volunteer settings. By the time women of color become senior administrators, they have passed through many gauntlets and know that there will always be more to negotiate. We know the “borderlands” experiences for women of color as higher education leaders. Perhaps in the next ten to fifteen years, women of color in higher education administration will not be a rarity. As reports and studies indicate, women have the courage, knowledge, and willingness to lead. However, the culture of gender bias and suspicions about the credibility of women of color will remain unless institutional leaders, such as those described by my colleagues, make our advancement a priority. I remain hopeful.

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14 Beyond Quid Pro Quo: Undergraduates and “Consensual” Sex with Professors Billie Wright Dziech

When editor Jennifer Martin contacted me about writing a chapter for Women as Leaders in Education, I suspect she hoped for a work that would provide insight into the advances women have made in bringing the issue of sexual harassment to the attention of the higher education community and making it more responsive to students who have been discriminated against because of both hostile environment and quid pro quo harassment. In the case of the latter, I think she also must have wished for a genuine “leader,” one who could provide definitive advice about ways in which to meet the challenges of a culture in which we can no longer make simplistic, easily generalized assumptions about young women’s values and behaviors or about methods for ensuring that faculty members and institutions will act conscientiously and professionally in dealing with students. What I am absolutely certain she did not expect is a work that would begin with an “I’m not sure I know” disclaimer. But the truth is that I really am uncertain where we are headed and what we must do on campuses where casual sex is an undeniable reality, where some faculty members condone or take advantage of that reality, and where some university officials dismiss sexual contact between faculty members and undergraduates

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as primarily a nuisance that threatens their reputations and finances.1 The one point of which I am confident is that this issue of so-called “consensual” sex demands far more attention than it currently receives. These days The Chronicle of Higher Education seldom carries advertisements for conferences on sexual harassment, and the media tend to focus only on sexual abuse by schoolteachers.2 There was a time, of course, when “sexual harassment” was a major concern of educators and the public alike. Back in the 1970s when books like The Lecherous Professor and Michele Paludi’s The Leaning Ivory Tower were published, the women’s movement was in full swing, and what came to be known as “hostile environment” sexual harassment emerged as a focal point in discussions of campus life. Fed up with gender discrimination, we thought we knew everything then. We understood that words could hurt and that unspoken prejudices could limit educational and workplace opportunities for females. So we began to conduct research and talk and write about our experiences and findings; and slowly but surely, the legal system and a sizable portion of the public began to recognize what some called the “victimization” of females when they were subjected to crude sexual jokes and anecdotes, unwanted touching, offensive gestures, and demeaning nicknames.

1 Undergraduate and graduate student “consent” exists, and both frequently qualify as quid pro quo harassment. However, factors such as smaller age discrepancies and greater and more immediate professional risks make graduate student “consent” more complex and deserving of separate attention. Thus this article will concentrate only on undergraduates and professors. 2 Sexual misbehaviors by schoolteachers have received considerable attention, whereas information on college professors’ misconduct is limited. A five-year study (2001–2005) by the Associated Press found 2,570 cases in which various kinds of sexual harassment by teachers occurred. This number includes verbal and other types of abuse and does not suggest that all teachers were involved in “consensual” cases. However, the paucity of information on colleges and universities reinforces the theory that offending professors are seldom discovered and/or that their behaviors are kept secret by students, colleagues, and institutions. Thus an observation about the AP investigation may be even more applicable to higher education. The AP investigation found efforts to stop individual offenders but, overall, a deeply entrenched resistance toward recognizing and fighting abuse. It starts in school hallways, where fellow teachers look away or feel powerless to help. School administrators make behind-the-scenes deals to avoid lawsuits and other trouble. And in state capitals and Congress, lawmakers shy from tough state punishments or any cohesive national policy for fear of disparaging a vital profession (Irvine & Tanner, 2007).

Beyond Quid Pro Quo 301

Higher education was forced to respond to new laws declaring the actions of its employees illegal if they engaged in behaviors severe or pervasive enough to create “intimidating, hostile, and offensive” environments. During those early years, hostile environment harassment seemed the more complex of the two types because bright lines between professorial language and gestures were sometimes difficult to draw. What might seem a simple compliment about a student’s appearance to one could be highly offensive to another, so contentious debates about free speech raged on campus as well as off. The disagreements have never really stopped, but by now most college professors act with restraint because they recognize the foolhardiness of flouting hostile environment law. Quid pro quo harassment was and is another matter. Few will dispute that an individual in authority has no right to predicate a student’s grades or recommendations on her (or his) provision of sexual favors, but the problem has never been that simple. When cases reach institutional complaint stages, colleges and universities must theoretically protect not only their own interests but also the rights of students and faculty members. Thus they become, in a sense, prosecution, defense, judge, and jury. More troubling still is that when they have previously acted in favor of one side or the other and a case enters the court system, their sole concern and strategy becomes self-protection. Quid pro quo sexual harassment involves a unique form of chaos in which self-interest and educational, legal, and moral philosophies collide. In the last quarter century or so, student culture has changed in ways we did not foresee, faculty advocacy for unlimited rights to “consensual” sex with students has become more public, and institutions have responded in diverse ways that frequently place their mission and policy statements in conflict with their desires to protect their reputations and resources. The result is that students bringing complaints may stand on shakier ground than in the past as the credibility of quid pro quo sexual harassment is increasingly tested.

Students There was a time when we could with a fair amount of accuracy argue that “consensual” relationships between undergraduates and professors resulted from the victimization of naı¨ve coeds coerced into sexual liaisons


with more experienced, manipulative professors. But today we live in a world where many or perhaps most young women resist the victim label; and while that is understandable and even commendable, a new form of naivete´ characterizes some who believe themselves to be so sophisticated that they can, without repercussions, handle the vagaries of an ambiguously defined sexual culture known as the hookup. The evolution of hookup culture can be traced by reviewing social historian Beth Bailey’s From Front Porch to Back Seat: Courtship in Twentieth-Century America (1988). Bailey notes that during the calling era or first decade of the century, males of the middle and upper middle classes would visit or “call on” respectable young women of similar positions at their homes, where they would spend time with them and their families under the watchful eyes of the women’s mothers, who might permit them a small degree of privacy if they were certain their daughters were interested in the male visitors. Women’s public presence and freedom increased rapidly in the second decade of the century as more and more attended college and took jobs. The invention of the automobile made it possible or perhaps inevitable that the young would no longer be willing to submit to parental oversight. And so, Bailey observes, dating spread until approximately the mid-1920s, when it became a “universal custom” (Bailey, p. 19). In Hooking Up: Sex, Dating, and Relationships on Campus, Kathleen Bogle (2008) contends that World War II and its aftermath changed the norms of dating for the majority of America’s young. The war took its toll on the number of eligible bachelors on campus, and the subsequent economic boom gave the young greater financial stability so that “going steady” and eventual marriage seemed more viable and attractive. Deprived of definitive research on the sexual behaviors of American youth, we cannot be certain about the number who engaged in intercourse during these eras; yet Bogle concludes that “as the twentieth century progressed, greater sexual intimacy emerged, but for those in the mainstream this sexual intimacy was generally restricted to intimate relationships where a likely outcome was marriage” (Bogle, 2008, p. 20). Then came the Baby Boom generation of the 1960s and with it, changes that rocked the foundations of American youth culture. Nowhere were these changes more intense and sweeping than college campuses.


As children, Boomers experienced post-war optimism and adoring parents groomed to have the perfect family life. As they grew-up, Boomers enjoyed constant attention from a child-obsessed, idealistic America and naturally grew to focus on themselves. At the same time, parents of Boomers amassed sufficient resources to send them to college in record numbers, prolonging the childhood stage and helping to foster the idealistic perspectives that permeated the 60s and 70s. (Ritchie, 2002, p. 29) Like their male counterparts, college women were part of a generation that, rightly or wrongly, has generally been characterized as narcissistic, nonconformist, and rebellious. Availability of the birth control pill made sexual relations much less threatening for young collegians who might otherwise fear becoming pregnant, and the women’s movement with its stress on female equality helped fuel a sexual revolution. Although they would later divide on issues concerning pornography, hookup culture, and student–professor physical intimacy, early feminists argued that women had as much right to assert their sexuality as males. On this point at least, their views elicited little disagreement from college men, who were all too eager to help further such rights. A serious impediment, however, was what most considered an outmoded campus tradition called in loco parentis. Meaning “in place or instead of a parent,” the term describes institutions’ legal responsibilities to protect the interests of students while they are not under parental care. Time had led to the belief that the most frequent “danger” from which young women needed protection was the carnal desires of young men, so a complex system of regulations and separate residences had evolved to keep the two apart. Independent collegians in the waning years of the twentieth century were not about to be bound by such restrictions, and same-sex dormitories sprang up as rapidly as curfews fell. Colleges and universities had never mastered the art of controlling students’ study habits, let alone their sexual drives, so they had no regrets about relinquishing a task few had desired in the first place. College increasingly came to mean freedom from the restraints of home; on campus, students lived in a culture all their own, a culture in which the music and images of Woodstock became the symbol for a generation besotted


by drugs and sex. Whether the symbolism was illusion or reality, an accurate or deceptive portrayal of an entire generation matters less today than the fact that peer culture then, as now, exerted an enormous influence on the young. What college students believed to be true of their peers increasingly became the reality as more and more condoned or adopted the sexual behaviors of their peers. Formal dating had met its demise, and hookup culture was born. Recognition of changed sexual mores persisted from the late 60s through the latter part of the century, partially because the public and educators grew increasingly concerned about the threat of HIV/AIDS to collegians. But by the 1990s, the term hooking up had made its way into student jargon, and the phenomenon of casual sex so intrigued researchers that many focused exclusively on it. Two early examinations of hookup culture, one academic and the other an article in the popular press, probably had the greatest impact. In “ ‘Hookups’: Characteristics and Correlates of College Students’ Spontaneous and Anonymous Sexual Experiences,” Paul, McManus, and Hayes (2000) reaffirmed earlier studies and offered a definition of hookup that clarified the term for the academic community: . . . a sexual encounter, usually lasting only one night, between two people who are strangers or brief acquaintances. Some physical interaction is typical, but it may or may not include sexual intercourse. Such experiences are usually spontaneous (i.e., something that “just happens”); alternately, the goal of hooking up is planned by the target of the hookup or the individual with whom the hookup occurs is unknown. . . . In addition, hookups are usually anonymous in that the partners are strangers or only brief acquaintances and rarely continue to build a relationship, let alone see each other again. (p. 76) That definition, with some minor alterations and additions, has remained for a decade the description of a behavior both collegians and academics had known for much longer to be true. But it was Janet Reitman’s 2006 Rolling Stone article, “Sex and Scandal at Duke,” that shocked a public less familiar with the American campus. Since then, Duke has enjoyed a dubious reputation as the poster child for uncontrolled sexual expression, but the weight of subsequent statistical and anecdotal research demonstrates that hookup culture has been alive and well on other campuses for years.


Exact figures on the extent of students hooking up, especially in the case of intercourse, are difficult, if not impossible, to discover. Some conclude that the practice is widespread (Feldman, Turner, & Araujo, 1999; Grello, Welsh, Harper, & Dickson, 2003; Kahn, Fricker, Hoffman, Lambert, Tripp, & Childress, 2000; Lambert, Kahn, & Apple, 2003), while others believe it is exaggerated (Taneja, 2010). What matter most, however, are students’ perceptions of peers’ behaviors; and most appear to find it pervasive. For example, a 2001 study, “Hooking Up, Hanging Out, and Hoping for Mr. Right: College Women on Mating and Dating Today,” commissioned by the Independent Women’s Forum, found that 91 percent of college women believe hookup culture defines their campuses. Contemporary parents and campus personnel alike have sought explanations for this conduct that exceeds even the excesses of the ’60s and ’70s. It can be explained in part, of course, by the hypersexualized atmosphere in which the young have grown up, but the underlying cause may be more complex. Tracing the relationship between hookup culture and student development, Arnold (2009) contends that contemporary adolescence “now reaches far beyond the teenage years” (p. 4) and extends from approximately 18 to 28 years of age. She cites the work of Jeffrey Arnett (2004), who defined this new developmental phase as “emerging adulthood” (p. 4). With minimal duties to others and considerable autonomy to run their own lives emerging adults tend to be self-focused. The period of emerging adulthood is . . . characterized by feeling in-between childhood dependence on parents and adult self-reliance: young people themselves define full adulthood as some future time in which they will accept full responsibility for themselves, make independent decisions, and reach financial independence. Finally, emerging adulthood is an age of possibilities in which individuals see themselves as free from the past, optimistic about the future, and able to transform themselves. (Arnett, 2004, p. 4) As in the case of the Rolling Stone article, work written for popular consumption attracted greater attention. In Tom Wolfe’s widely read novel, I Am Charlotte Simmons, a friend of the protagonist attempts to explain why hookups are acceptable:


College is like this four-year period when you can try anything and everything—and if it goes wrong, there’s no consequences. . . . College is the only time your life, or your adult life anyway, when you can really experiment, and at a certain point, when you leave, when you graduate or whatever, everybody’s memory like evaporates. You tried this and this and this and this, and you learned a lot about how things are, but nobody’s gonna remember it. It’s like amnesia, totally, and there’s no record and you leave college exactly the way you came in, pure as rainwater. (Wolfe, p. 168) If we are to take her at her word, if one sees the college years as a last chance to experiment without consequences and if the most likely testing ground is sex, it is not difficult to understand why some students assent to and even welcome physical intimacy with professors. In a culture where any kind of sexual behavior is tolerated, age discrepancies between partners have little relevance beyond their effects on physical attraction, so why not hook up with a history professor? After all, points out Cote´ (2006), In the context of freedom without guidance, people can exercise the choice to pursue a life course totally devoid of traditional social markers, with or without exerting much mental effort, by simply selecting a number of default options now available in youth culture, by which they follow the paths of least resistance and effort, as in the imitation of the latest fashion and music trends. (Cote´, p. 92) The vast majority of research and publication examining the effects of hooking up concludes that it is detrimental to females (Grello, Welsh, & Harper, 2006; McIlhaney & Bush, 2008; Paul, McManus, & Hayes, 2000; Stepp, 2007); and anyone who has witnessed the “morning after” of a faculty–student hook up or relationship is unlikely to see the typical female student as undamaged or, as some claim, an empowered victor in the struggle for gender equality. My own first experience with the then-phenomenon was listening to a sobbing freshman honors student from a small town in Ohio. Her roommates had been telling her that “no one (was) a virgin anymore,” so when she was “feeling cool from a few beers at a party and this cute guy kept


looking at (her),” she went to his apartment and had intercourse with him. What upset her most, she said, was that she “thought he really liked (her) but he wouldn’t even walk (her) to the dorm afterwards.” The emotions are even more complex when they involve a professor. Not long ago I was asked to consult with attorneys for a very bright young woman who had had a brief affair with one of her professors. The institution obviously knew he was guilty because he had had a long record of aberrant behavior and had no qualms about publicly stating that he believed members of his profession had a right to have sexual relationships with students. The woman came from a background that could only be described as “horrific.” She had a history of molestation, drug abuse, homelessness, and lack of parental and family care. When she attempted to extricate herself from the affair, the professor became threatening, and the college took her concerns so seriously that it provided her with a guard while she was on campus. The professor was eventually dismissed; but the law states that an institution can be held responsible if it knew or should have known about an employee’s inappropriate behaviors, so she sued the college because she believed her situation would not have occurred if the institution had previously acted responsibly. Like many who have been involved in “consensual” situations, she lost the case. Not long afterward she wrote to me: I’m still confused. I don’t understand why no one else can understand what happened, especially when I have been honest, desperately hoping that the law worked and honesty would win. Now, I don’t know what to do. I feel a great need, that desperation, to make something of this, to help others, to get my story out, for it not to be “pushed under the rug” with everything else. Although it has almost burned what was left of any trust I had in the world and the way that it works, I feel much better to not have this court case over my head any longer. It feels great to not have to fight and for no one to be able to say that I am looking for a “paycheck,” as the College’s attorney said. I think that many people just don’t understand, and I get that. I have this need to help them understand. I want to get into some sort of activism. I’m not sure if there is some sort of group out there like me or an organization that I can become active in. I want to change things, not only for me, but for all the others anything like this has, or will,


happen to. I just don’t know where to turn and am hoping you may know where I should be reaching out. How should I answer? Should I say I wish I had been able to warn her that far too many judges and juries assume she made a choice and has to live with it? Should I admit I don’t know of any support systems because most students who find themselves in her situation are too humiliated, too frightened of repercussions to file complaints or be identified? Should I tell her that there are educators who think she is “fair game” and even some who understand collegians’ “reasoning” about hookups and are eager to present themselves as “default options?”

Professors Determining the numbers or percentages of faculty members who engage in sexual relations with students has always been, at best, a guessing game. Early surveys found 17 percent to 25 percent of professors claiming to have had “consensual” sex (Fitzgerald, Gold, Omerod, & Weitzman, 1988; Glaser & Thorpe, 1986); but those percentages do not take into account the number of nonrespondents, respondents who denied the behavior to protect themselves, or those who exaggerated it to fit a macho stereotype. Nor can they provide an accurate measurement of academics who are repeat offenders, engaging in sex with multiple students and burdening their colleagues with a negative stereotype that they do not deserve. Rather than attempting to measure the immeasurable, it seems to me we now have more to learn by focusing on rhetoric emanating from contemporary academics who feel no inhibitions or sense of absurdity in arguing that their rights to bed students are analogous to religious and political freedoms or that sexual intercourse is the means by which we express our humanity and the spark that ignites our desire to learn. In Romance in the Ivory Tower: The Rights of Liberty and Conscience, Paul Abramson (2007), UCLA psychology professor, uses the Ninth Amendment to make a case for intimate relationships between professors and students. His distinguished career in psychology appeared daunting when I first heard of his book. After all, who am I by comparison? An English professor who began writing about sexual harassment because of


her experiences with students is no match for an expert in human sexuality, I thought; and MIT Press that published his work is no slacker either. Then I read the book and, after that, the press description of Romance in the Ivory Tower: Allen Ginsberg once declared that “the best teaching is done in bed,” but most university administrators would presumably disagree. Many universities prohibit romantic relationships between faculty members and students, and professors who transgress are usually out of a job. In Romance in the Ivory Tower, Paul Abramson takes aim at university policies that forbid relationships between faculty members and students. He argues provocatively that the issue of faculty–student romances transcends the seemingly trivial matter of who sleeps with whom and engages our fundamental constitutional rights. By what authority, Abramson asks, did the university become the arbiter of romantic etiquette among consenting adults? Do we, as consenting adults, have a constitutional right to make intimate choices as long as they do not cause harm? Abramson contends that we do, and bases this claim on two arguments. He suggests that the Ninth Amendment (which states that the Constitution’s enumeration of certain rights should not be construed to deny others) protects the “right to romance.” And, more provocatively, he argues that the “right to romance” is a fundamental right of conscience—as are freedom of speech and freedom of religion. Campus romances happen. The important question is not whether they should be encouraged or prohibited but whether the choice to engage in such a relationship should be protected or precluded. Abramson argues ringingly that our freedom to make choices—to worship, make a political speech, or fall in love—is fundamental. Rules forbidding faculty–student romances are not only unconstitutional but set dangerous precedents for further intrusion into rights of privacy and conscience. I may not be a genius in the field of sexuality, but as an English professor, I do know that inaccuracies in a book’s description matter. Long years of dealing with the issue of sexual harassment have also taught me a few simple facts. For instance, to state that “many” universities “prohibit” or


“forbid” relationships between professors and students is false. Some and, hopefully, many institutions by the twenty-first century have begun to discourage such intimacies, but few have been willing to issue prohibitions. Instead they have taken the path of least resistance and written discouragement policies that are typically vague and have limited authority. Moreover, convincing institutions to do even this little has been a long and arduous process, primarily because of opposition from educators obsessed with faculty rights. The assertion that “professors who transgress are usually out of a job” is factually, as well as grammatically, incorrect. It is common knowledge that all forms of sexual harassment, including intimate relationships between students and professors, are rarely reported. When they are, the institutional inclination often is to doubt the veracity of the accusation. This is a major reason why so few come forward. When a complaint occurs and offending faculty members do admit to sexual liaisons with collegians, few are summarily dismissed, as they might be if they were in the workplace. Fear of adverse publicity more often results in such individuals being asked to retire or leave quietly, bolstered by generous severance agreements from institutions relieved to be rid of them. At the heart of the quid pro quo argument is the phrase “consenting adults,” which MIT’s press uses to describe students as well as professors. To insist that a nineteen- or twenty-year-old brain functions in the same way as that of a forty-year-old is to dispute all that magnetic imaging technology and neuroscience have taught us about the human brain. Whether the brains of collegians are not fully developed until the mid-twenties, as studies like that of Bennett and Baird (2006) claim, or develop too quickly as Berns, Moore, and Capra (2009) theorizes, those of us who have taught college students and/or raised children know from experience that the young are prone to risky decision making and faulty reasoning. In the dark ages of brain science, the “consenting adult” argument might have been worth debating. In 2010, it has become a moot issue. Abramson may argue “ringingly that that our freedom to make choices— to worship, make a political speech, or fall in love—is fundamental,” but ultimately most reasoning citizens, especially those paying college tuition, doubt that the nation’s founders equated religious and political freedom with the so-called “right” to bed college students. It is true that institutions’ discouragement or prohibition policies are predicated in large


part upon fears of being sued by a rejected coed, but those of us who have dealt firsthand with the aftermath of student–professor sex know that only rarely do professors “fall in love” with students, that sex rather than “romance” is usually the motivation, and that “who sleeps with whom” is seldom a “trivial matter” to undergraduates or their families. Jane Gallop, Professor of English at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee, fits Abramson’s profile as both student and professor exercising her Ninth Amendment right to have sex when and with whom she pleases. Her book, Feminist Accused of Sexual Harassment, followed formal charges brought against her by two female students in 1993. Amazon.com’s book review excerpts contain an entry from Library Journal, which notes that “only a few pages are devoted to the facts of the case. . . . What could have been an original and enlightening discussion of a serious issue becomes a portrait of unprofessional behavior glibly sketched.” Less restrained, Richard Kimball (1997) calls it “subacademic sensationalist trash.” The book is, as Gallop herself admits, disjointed, fluctuating between distant and recent past, between theory and personal experience. According to her account, she was originally charged with sexual harassment and then found “guilty of violating university policy because (she) engaged with one of (her) students in a ‘consensual amorous relation’ ” (Gallop, 1997, p. 34). The substance of the two complaints is lost in verbal obfuscation that attempts to differentiate sexual harassment from Gallop’s having French kissed a student before a group of onlookers at a bar. She says of the kiss: We both were known to enjoy making spectacles of ourselves, and this opportunity for professional exhibitionism was bound to turn us on. . . . It was a performance. By that, I do not mean that I wasn’t really kissing her or that I didn’t find it sexy. What I mean is that we didn’t just happen to be seen kissing, but we kissed like that because we were being watched. And it was precisely the knowledge of being watched that made it sexy. (Gallop, 1997 p. 91) Gallop complains about the “confusion” of facts in the case: While there were indeed two complaints against me, I had kissed only one student and that student didn’t go to the affirmative-action office to complain that I’d kissed her. She went to complain that I tried to


sleep with her and that, when she turned me down, I started rejecting her work. She filed her complaint in tandem with another student who made almost identical claims against me, even though I never kissed her. Both women charged me with classic quid pro quo sexual harassment. (Gallop, 1997, p. 94) I talked with one of those women who contacted me on a few occasions to discuss the event and its aftermath; and while she deserves her privacy and has, hopefully, moved on with her life, it is worth nothing that she found the experience to be anything but “trivial.” What frustrated me following our conversations is the knowledge that Duke University Press, the publisher of Feminist Accused of Sexual Harassment, probably wouldn’t have paid second notice to a manuscript she or the other woman submitted describing that time in their lives. Gallop reiterates her pleasure in being an “exhibitionist” and describes several incidences in which she had sex with students. She begins with an account of living briefly with one of her older graduate students, who left her for another woman. She describes feeling “rejected and quite alone” (Gallop, 1997, p. 45) until a former undergraduate and “cute kid” (Gallop, 1997, p. 45) “stopped by (her) apartment . . . to cheer (her) up by sleeping with (her)” (Gallop, 1997, p. 45). She adds: I was glad he had come by and immediately took to the idea . . . We had sex on several occasions over the course of the next year or so. This was, however, not at all a romantic relationship; all the sex was very casual. For example, about a year later he stopped by in just the same way he had the first time: it was my birthday, and, in view of the occasion, he wanted to make sure I got laid. The thought was sweet; I appreciated and accepted his offer. . . . But his real devotion to me was intellectual. He took every course he could with me during the rest of his time in college. (Gallop, 1997, p. 45) She then explains her relationships with a lesbian couple enrolled in one of her classes: In the middle of that semester, they broke up. Late one weekday evening soon after, the tough, curly-haired one showed up at my apartment


with the express purpose of seducing me. . . . Since I found her very sexy, I was thrilled to let her seduce me. . . . A year later (the other student) found occasion to invite me to spend the night with her. Diane was soulful and very beautiful; I was extremely flattered and more than happy to accept her invitation. (Gallop, 1997, p. 48) Gallop is careful to observe that she eventually fell in love, stayed with photographer Dick Blau, and hasn’t slept with a student since 1982, about the time institutions began making policies discouraging “consensual” sex between professors and students. Her latest book, Living with His Camera (2003), is a combination of her commentary and Blau’s photographs of Gallop and their children. One picture shows her and her son lounging naked together. Despite the turn to family life, Gallop still recalls happy memories from her graduate school days when she “wanted ever so badly to sleep with” (Gallop, 2003, p. 41) her dissertation advisers, both of whom rejected her advances “more than once” (Gallop, 2003, p. 41). Eventually, however, she prevailed and had intercourse with “each separately, to be sure, but oddly, coincidentally, in the same week” (Gallop, 2003, p. 41). In describing herself in relation to the two, she appears blissfully unaware that she and they epitomize the classic sexual harasser and target. (Even though the latter term would disturb her, Gallop might prefer it to “victim,” since she appears unable to comprehend that the initiator of sex can simultaneously act as a dehumanized object for another’s use.) Her language in depicting the incidents is as much that of a wide-eyed freshman as it is an aging college professor. I had sex but once with each of them. Neither of these became “relationships.” It was just what is called “casual sex,” although there was nothing casual about my relation to either of them. Their opinion of me already mattered profoundly; their teaching had forever changed the way I understood the world. To be honest, I think I wanted to get them into bed in order to make them more human, more vulnerable. These two had enormous power over me: I don’t mean their institutional position but their intellectual force. I was bowled over by their brilliance; they seemed so superior. I wanted to see them as like other men. Not so as to stop taking them


seriously as intellects (I never did), but so as to feel my own power in relation to them . . . Sexual harassment creates an environment that is hostile to a student’s education. My experience was the opposite. I was in an environment extremely conducive to my education, a heady atmosphere where close personal contact intensified my desire to learn and my desire to excel. I learned and excelled; I desired and I fucked my teachers. (Gallop, 2003, p. 42) Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending upon one’s point of view), the experience of at least one of the two participating professors was less enthusiastic than Gallop’s. When he was identified and asked to write a blurb for her book, Cornell’s Richard Klein responded, “For decades I have felt guilt and shame for having performed toward her in a way that was unprofessional, exploitative, and lousy in bed” (Kimball, 1997). Perhaps, after all, he recognizes the pathetic need of an individual who conflates sex with humanity: We fight against sexual harassment precisely because it is dehumanizing. But the ban on consensual relations is dehumanizing too. Telling teachers and students that we must not engage each other ultimately tells us that we must limit ourselves to the confines of some restricted professional transaction, that we should not treat each other as human beings. (Gallop, 2003, p. 51) I have read that statement again and again and have never ceased wishing to respond, “Dogs and pigs also ‘engage one another’ in sex but that doesn’t mean they are treating one another other as human beings.” Abramson and Gallop are hardly representative of the academic profession as a whole, but the fact that they and others like them are taken seriously is disquieting. They suggest a profession totally self-indulgent and out of control. Others in the workforce conceal behaviors that too many in higher education are willing to tout or tolerate. What corporate CEO, union president, small business owner, schoolteacher, or clergyperson could retain a position after publicly insisting that he or she had the right to have intercourse with subordinates? Who would employ a manager who recorded for public consumption his random sex acts with former


supervisees? The image of unbridled faculty hedonism and self-interest is easily transferred to students, which makes it all the more difficult for them to extricate themselves from quid pro quo situations and to obtain fair hearings on campus or in the courts.

Institutions Quid pro quo issues place institutions in extremely difficult positions, so some have recently recognized the importance of clarifying policies on “consensual” faculty–student sex. Doing so requires the ability to withstand condemnation from various faculty members, students, and outsiders. For instance, Yale University set off a maelstrom of criticism in 2010 when it adopted the long-considered and easily understood prohibition: Undergraduate students are particularly vulnerable to the unequal institutional power inherent in the teacher–student relationship and the potential for coercion, because of their age and relative lack of maturity. Therefore, no teacher shall have a sexual or amorous relationship with any undergraduate student, regardless of whether the teacher currently exercises or expects to have any pedagogical or supervisory responsibilities over that student. Institutions and individuals alike have become accustomed to opposition and hysteria as a result of their support for bans. Dank and Albuquerque’s Internet article “Banning Sexual Asymmetry on Campus” (1998) uses a familiar tactic. Citing a study claiming only one out of 521 University of Massachusetts students admitted to a sexual relationship with a professor, they conclude: The proponents of banning with their familiar arguments about protecting innocent female students, sound frighteningly reminiscent of 19thcentury Puritans. To avoid the wrath of these new Puritans, most persons involved in intimate asymmetric relationships on campus have closeted themselves. They are not only hiding from the extremists, but also from academic bureaucrats who have the responsibility of enforcing university policies which have codified the new Puritans’ procrustean moral agenda. The new Puritans have been remarkably successful in imposing this agenda on campus, because the professoriate and


university administrations have been singularly unwilling to challenge all the loose facts and tired stereotypes emanating from this group. (Dank & Albuquerque, 1998) Asymmetric relationships is a curious phrase to describe faculty–student sexual relations since the term means “unequal,” and the last thing the authors want is to suggest student–professor inequality. Moreover, results of the study they cite are remarkably inconsistent with others. Nevertheless, when they remark that professors engaging in “consensual” sex with students “have closeted themselves,” they are correct. The corollary to this statement is that if concealment characterizes professors, it is also descriptive of students intimidated by revealing participation in improper behaviors with faculty members. Dank and Albuquerque’s use of the term Puritanical is a pejorative generally employed to describe those who support bans. I recall being asked on occasion if the label bothers me, and I think my response has been like that of any professional who has been witness to quid pro quo harassment. If Puritanical is used as an epithet to imply someone suspicious of physical pleasure, then the user knows little about the Puritans or me. If it is employed to suggest that an individual is concerned about discipline and morality, both of which are, in my opinion, inherent in professionalism, then I am more than willing to be thus characterized. Fortunately, more and more institutions are coming to the realization that they have little choice when it comes to banning faculty–student sex. Discouragement policies have too many loopholes that offenders’ and complainants’ attorneys alike can use in court, and defeats mean loss of both revenue and reputation. Yet despite efforts to end “consensual” sex, there is no guarantee that it will disappear if it is prohibited by institutional policies: Although bans cannot prevent amorous relationships, they do . . . establish legal and ethical positions for faculty, administrators, and institutions. They communicate to the campus a required standard of behavior. They send a message that faculty and students disregard at their own risk and, in so doing, alleviate the potential for problems at the institution’s expense when “consensual” affairs sour. Prohibition is not prevention, but it does offer a safeguard, and that is the best that beleaguered institutions can hope for as they struggle with more


complexities and challenges than ever before. (Dziech and Hawkins, 1998, p. 135) I would like to write that efforts like those to enforce prohibition policies have convinced me colleges and universities invariably act with concern for students who bring justifiable internal complaints and legal cases. But that would be a lie. I cannot claim that I have been involved in enough cases to contend that the institutional behavior I witnessed is characteristic, but then again I would probably not have been consulted if the college or university had accepted responsibility for what it knew or should have known in each circumstance. The most egregious is a case in which a young undergraduate had a brief sexual encounter with a professor who was taking and providing students with drugs. On the night the student went to break the association off, she overdosed and died in his apartment. When he finally placed a call to police, he initially denied knowing her name. Later others would report on what they allege to be his long history of both rape and quid pro quo behavior. A few years before the death occurred, another student had formally accused him of trying to have her touch his genitals; but the college had dismissed the case as a he said/she said situation, even though the investigator admitted to believing the student. The death resulted in a cursory investigation by the institution. Asked to recount details of the process, most officials had “no recall” or “couldn’t remember” what they had said or done. This was basically the case because the college has a practice of not recording or word-forword transcribing investigatory interviews. The professor was ultimately dismissed, but at this point in time the institution has refused to admit any legal responsibility. This is only one example of an institution’s refusing responsibility and recompense; and even though death is an extreme result of “consent,” institutional behavior in this instance is not. Colleges and universities often take the “hard line” and fight to protect their finances and “good names.” Winning is easy when students lack resources to employ attorneys or when they are labeled as gold diggers. At times institutions take what appears on the surface to be a more ethical stance and decide to settle with young women arguing that they were manipulated into and damaged by sexual encounters with professors. This practice also has its dark side, and I have been a part of it. Inherent in


many settlements are gag orders or agreements that facts of the case and its resolution will not be publicly disclosed. Consultants who give depositions in quid pro quo and other types of sexual harassment cases are often held to such restrictions. What gag orders mean is that institutions achieve at least half and perhaps the most important of their goals, which is to protect their reputations even when their reputations do not deserve defense. The Internet’s Answers.com gives four definitions for the term secret. It is a word with the power to disturb me because three of its four meanings depict so accurately the state of sexual harassment on the American campus. They make me wonder how we could have come so far by the twentyfirst century and yet failed so many of the young women (and sometimes young men) in our charge. If I place them in the following order, the first two definitions of secret describe a simple fact that applies to far too many colleges and universities: (1) the existence of much sexual harassment is “kept hidden from others or known only to (themselves) or to a few” and (2) for institutions, the secrecy is a “method or formula on which success (protecting reputation and finances) is based.” But it is the third definition that most truthfully depicts the secret of institutional behavior regarding sexual harassment on campus: it is (3) “something that remains beyond understanding or explanation.” I have agreed to be “gagged” on occasion because I knew it could contribute to closure for people who had been damaged by members of my profession, but I also know that silence will increase the danger for other students, especially in cases of quid pro quo harassment. Silence furthers the illusion that there are no perils in professorial–student sex and that professors never misuse their power to demand sex from students or to retaliate when they try to extricate themselves. Silence tells professors that every young woman is fair game and that, institutional policies aside, they will never be judged. Silence prevents the public from realizing that the “ivory” tower built with its money is not so pure after all. Arnold concludes her discussion of hookup culture: College students understand and enact their relationships and sexuality within the framework of their own developmental positions. . . . Most undergraduates lack the mature competence and cognitive complexity to analyze and withstand normative peer behavior. The


realities of postponed adult commitments, time pressure, and ambiguous social values encourage no-strings experimentation and shallow connections to sexual partners. The meaning-making structure of most undergraduates is not yet sufficiently developed to reflect outside of the immediate environment in order to understand the larger forces that construct contemporary social norms. (Arnold, 2009, p. 8) She observes, correctly, that attempts by higher education to improve students’ identity development, self-image, relational skills, sense of autonomy, and ability to deal with cognitive complexity may enable them “to reflect on their cultural assumptions and analyze their personality (so they will be moved toward) conscious decision-making” (Arnold, 2009, p. 9). Yet in the final analysis, controlling sexual relations between undergraduates and professors depends on adults with the personal integrity, professionalism, and courage to withstand opposition. As long as a minority of academics employs the hackneyed civil liberties defense to justify the unjustifiable, as long as some colleagues and institutions cover for themselves and friends and employees, the problem will persist. Some professors will suffer because of their own insistence on perpetuating a behavior that the public and higher education alike deplore. But most injured of all will be young women who are “more sinned against than sinning” (Shakespeare, King Lear, Act 3, scene 2, 57–60), who emerge from sexual relationships with professors having discovered that “consent” is not real after all, that sex is not what makes us adult or human, that sometimes it leaves us “burned . . . of any trust (we have) in the world and the way that it works.”

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Grello, C. M., Welsh, D. P., Harper, M. S., & Dickson, J. W. (2003). Dating and sexual relationship trajectories and adolescent functioning. Adolescent and Family Health, 3, 103–12. Institute for American Values. (2001). Hooking up, hanging out, and hoping for Mr. Right: College women on mating and dating today. Report for Independent Women’s Forum. Irvine, M., & Tanner, R. (2007). Thousands of teachers cited for sex misconduct. USA Today. Retrieved from . . . www.usatoday.com/ . . . /2007-10-20-teachermisconduct_N.htm. Arnett, J. (2004). Emerging adulthood: The winding road from the late teens through the twenties. New York: Oxford University Press. Dziech, B.W. & Hawkins, M.H. (1998). Sexual harassment in higher education: Reflections and new perspectives. New York and London: Garland Press. Kahn, A. S., Fricker, K., Hoffman, J., Lambert, T., Tripp, M., & Childress, K. (2000). “Hooking up: Dangerous new dating methods?” In A. S. Kahn (Chair), Sex, unwanted sex, and sexual assault on college campuses. Symposium—American Psychological Association, Washington, DC. Kimball, R. (1997). The distinguished professor. The new criterion. Retrieved on March 24, 2011 from . . . www.newcriterion.com/articles . . . /The-distinguished-professor—3348. Lambert, T. A., Kahn, A. S., & Apple, K. J. (2003). Pluralistic ignorance and hooking up. Journal of Sex Research, 40(2), 129–35. McIlhaney, J. S., & Bush, F. M. (2008). Hooked: New science on how casual sex is affecting our children. Chicago: Northfield. Paul, E. L., McManus, B., & Hayes, A. (2000). “Hookups”: Characteristics and correlates of college students’ spontaneous and anonymous sexual experiences. Journal of Sex Research, 37(1), 76–78. Policy on teacher-student consensual relations. (2010). Office for Equal Opportunity Programs/ Human Resources/Yale University. New Haven, CT Reitman, J. (2006). Sex and scandal at Duke. Rolling Stone. Retrieved November 28, 2006, from www.duke.edu/web/hookup/side.htm.


Ritchie, Karen. (2002). Marketing to Generation X. New York: Free Press. Romance in the ivory tower: The rights and liberty of conscience. (2007). Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press. Stepp, L. S. (2007). Unhooked: How young women pursue sex, delay love and lose at both. New York: Riverhead Books. Taneja, R. (2010). Hook-ups not as common as most think, study finds. The Chronicle, Retrieved 3/4/11. from dukechronicle.com › News › University. Wolfe, T. (2004). I am Charlotte Simmons. New York: St Martin’s Press.

About the Editor and Contributors

Editor Jennifer L. Martin, Ph.D., has worked in public education for 15 years, 13 of those as the department head of English at an alternative high school for at-risk students in the Detroit metropolitan area. She is also a Special Lecturer at Oakland University where she teaches in the Education Specialist Degree Program and in the Women and Gender Studies department. As an educational leader, Dr. Martin has been an advocate for at-risk students, and has received several district, state, and national awards and recognitions for her advocacy, mentorship, and research. She has served as a mentor to high school, undergraduate, and graduate students, as well as to new teachers in a variety of areas such as writing and publishing, career and leadership development, and advocacy. Dr. Martin has conducted research, published fourteen book chapters and numerous peer reviewed articles on bullying and harassment, peer sexual harassment, educational equity, mentoring, issues of social justice, service-learning, the at-risk student, and other educational topics. Dr. Martin has been an invited speaker at universities and non-profit organizations on the aforementioned topics. As Action Vice President of Michigan NOW, she engages in volunteer Title IX education and legal advocacy work. Through this work she has been asked to comment on proposed Michigan legislation on National Public Radio.

Contributors Patricia M. Amburgy, Ph.D., is an Associate Professor of Art Education at the Pennsylvania State University. Her research interests include 323

324 About the Editor and Contributors

aesthetics, visual culture, and the history of art education. She has published articles and reviews in Art Education, Studies in Art Education, The Journal of Social Theory in Art Education, History of Education Quarterly, and other professional journals. She has written chapters on historical research, the history of art education, and visual culture pedagogy for Practice Theory: Seeing the Power of Teacher Researchers (forthcoming), Visual Culture in the Art Class: Case Studies (2006), the Handbook of Research and Policy in Art Education (2004), Women Art Educators V: Conversations Across Time (2003), and Framing the Past: Essays on Art Education (1990). She co-edited a book on the foundations of education, Readings in American Public Schooling (1980), and a conference proceedings on the history of art education, The History of Art Education: Proceedings from the Second Penn State Conference, 1989 (1992). She has given numerous presentations on art education at state, national, and international conferences, including meetings of the Pennsylvania Art Education Association, the National Art Education Association, the History of Education Society, and the International Society of Education through Art. She was associate editor of The Pennsylvania Art Educator, a journal of the Pennsylvania Art Education Association, from 1989 to 1994. Dr. Amburgy is especially interested in the relationship of art education to the social power of women, ethnic minorities, and working class people, both in the past and in the future. Jane H. Applegate, Ph.D., is Professor of Teacher Education/English Education in the Department of Secondary Education in the College of Education at the University of South Florida. Dr. Applegate earned her Ph.D. in Teacher Education from The Ohio State University and has served on the faculties of Kent State University and West Virginia University where she also held administrative positions before joining the faculty at the University of South Florida where she also served as dean of the College of Education. Over the course of her career she has been invested in the improvement of teacher preparation. Through the genesis of grantfunded programs at both Kent State and West Virginia University she led efforts to strengthen the education of beginning teachers by focusing attention on redesigning undergraduate curricula and focusing attention on attracting high quality students into the field of teaching. At West

About the Editor and Contributors 325

Virginia University she secured over 5 million dollars from private foundations to develop university-school relationships which improved the induction and professional development opportunities for practicing teachers. At the University of South Florida she also provided leadership in teacher education reform which culminated in the development of the Master of Arts in Teaching degree for the preparation of teachers with undergraduate degrees in the liberal arts and sciences. Since returning to her role as professor, she has been actively engaged in mentoring new faculty members, particularly the development of women faculty and women becoming leaders. Currently she is studying the development of women doctoral students who are becoming teacher educators. Her research has been published in journals such as the Journal of Teacher Education, Educational Leadership, the English Journal and Scholar-Practitioner Quarterly. Patricia Arredondo, Ed.D., is Associate Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs, Dean, School of Continuing Education and Professor of Counseling Psychology with the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. Her priority scholarship areas have continuously focused on immigrants and their life change processes, Latina/o issues in counseling, multicultural competency development, and organizational diversity initiatives. Embedded in her writings and presentations is the woman factor in leadership. Her publications on multicultural competencies and guidelines are widely cited nationally and internationally. Many of her students are included as contributors to her extensive publications and video productions for training. Patricia has mentored many students and early career professionals. Patricia was the first Latina President of the American Counseling Association. Other leadership roles include president of Division 45 Society for the Psychological Study of Ethnic Minority Issues, National Latina/o Psychological Association and Association of Multicultural Counseling and Development. She chairs the Dissertation Awards Committee for the American Association of Hispanics in Higher Education. Patricia was recognized as a Living Legend by the American Counseling Association for her extensive contributions to multicultural counseling. She is a Fellow of the American Psychological Association and recipient of an Honorary Doctorate from the University of San Diego. Her degrees include a doctorate in Counseling Psychology, Boston University,


Master’s in Counseling from Boston College and B.S. in Spanish and Journalism from Kent State University. She is a licensed psychologist and bilingual in English/Spanish. She is of Mexican-American heritage. Brenda L. Berkelaar (Ph.D., Purdue University) is an assistant professor in the Department of Communication Studies at The University of Texas at Austin. Her work on leadership aligns with her research on careers, technology, and learning. While at Purdue, Brenda worked at the Susan Bulkeley Butler Center for Leadership Excellence. She also consulted with the National Academy of Engineering on an interdisciplinary team focusing on the development of academic change leaders. Previously, Brenda worked as an independent organizational consultant as well as in various management and leadership positions. Her current work includes an analysis of the use of online technologies in employee selection and a four-country study of children’s interests in and perceptions of careers in science, technology, engineering, and math. Her work includes a number of collaborative and individual journal articles and edited book chapters. Joanne Cooper, Ph.D., is a Professor of Educational Administration at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. She holds a Ph.D. from the University of Oregon in Educational Policy and Management. She is the recipient of the Regents’ Medal for Excellence in Teaching from the University of Hawaii and a Distinguished Teaching Award for Graduate Education from the College of Education. She has served as both Associate Dean of the College of Education as well as Chair of the Faculty Senate for the University of Hawaii and has authored five books and numerous articles, many of which focus on women leaders in higher education. She has written extensively about the condition of women in higher education, including a book on tenure for women and minority faculty, as well as lead author of publications on gender equity in The Handbook on Gender Equity in Education and in Women in Higher Education: An Encyclopedia. She co-authored The Constructivist Leader, which was named Book of the Year by the National Council on Staff Development. Her most recent book with Dannelle Stevens is entitled, Journal Keeping: How to Use Reflective Writing for Learning, Teaching, Professional Insight and Positive Change. She has served on the editorial boards of The Journal of Research on


Leadership Education, the American Educational Research Journal/SIA, Advancing Women in Leadership,and the Journal of General Education. Monica F. Cox, Ph.D., is an Assistant Professor in the School of Engineering Education at Purdue University. She obtained a B.S. in mathematics from Spelman College, a M.S. in industrial engineering from the University of Alabama, and a Ph.D. in Leadership and Policy Studies from Peabody College of Vanderbilt University. Teaching interests relate to the professional development of graduate engineering students and to leadership, policy, and change in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics education. Primary research projects explore the preparation of engineering doctoral students for careers in academia and industry and the development of engineering education assessment tools. Current projects incorporate my research and teaching interests. She is a 2008 NSF Faculty Early Career (CAREER) award winner and is a recipient of a Presidential Early Career Award for Scientists and Engineers (PECASE). Beverly Davenport Sypher, Ph.D., is Vice Provost for Faculty Affairs, the Susan Bulkeley Butler Chair for Leadership Excellence and Professor of Communication at Purdue University. She is an internationally recognized scholar, award-winning teacher and experienced administrator whose research spans organizational, health and learning contexts. Her work on civility and leadership grows out of long-standing interests in workplace communication and quality of work life issues. In 2007, she launched the Susan Bulkeley Butler Center for Leadership Excellence. The mission of the Butler Center is to develop leadership capacity through research, education and collaborations that help advance inclusion and broaden representation in academic administration. She founded Purdue Women Lead out of a partnership with the American Association of Colleges and Universities and Purdue’s Women’s Resource Office. Florence L. Denmark, Ph.D., is an internationally recognized scholar, researcher and policy maker. She received her doctorate from the University of Pennsylvania in social psychology and has five honorary degrees. Denmark is the Robert Scott Pace Distinguished Research Professor of Psychology at Pace University in New York. A past president of the


American Psychological Association (APA) and the International Council of Psychologists (ICP), Denmark holds fellowship status in the APA and the Association for Psychological Science. She is also a member of the Society for Experimental Social Psychology (SESP) and a Fellow of the New York Academy of Sciences. She has received numerous national and international awards for her contributions to psychology. She received the 2004 American Psychological Foundation Gold Medal for Lifetime Achievement for Psychology in the Public Interest. In 2005, she received the Ernest R. Hilgard Award for Career Contribution to General Psychology. She is the recipient in 2007 of the Raymond Fowler Award for Outstanding Service to APA. Also in 2007, Denmark was elected to the National Academies of Practice as a distinguished scholar member. She received the Elder Award at the APA National Multicultural Conference in 2009. Denmark’s most significant research and extensive publications have emphasized women’s leadership and leadership styles, the interaction of status and gender, aging women in cross-cultural perspective, and the history of women in psychology. Denmark is the main nongovernmental organization (NGO) representative to the United Nations for the American Psychological Association and is also the main NGO representative for the International Council of Psychologists. She is currently Chair of the New York NGO Committee on Ageing and serves on the Executive Committee of the NGO Committee on Mental Health. Penelope M. Earley, Ph.D., is founding Director of the Center for Education Policy and Evaluation and a professor of education policy in the Graduate School of Education at George Mason University. Before joining the GMU faculty, Earley was a vice president with the American Association of Colleges for Teacher Education. At AACTE she directed federal and state governmental relations, issue analysis, policy studies, and public relations. Dr. Earley’s areas of research include federal and state education policy and governance, public policy regarding teacher education, and gender equity issues. Dr. Earley has served on a member of a number of educational advisory boards including the NCES Consultative Committee on Title II Accountability; AASCU Commission on Teacher Preparation, Accountability, and Evaluation; Teacher Mentor Project; and Coalition for Women’s Appointments in Government. She has authored book chapters for Teacher Education for Democracy and


Social Justice, Women in Academic Leadership: Professional Strategies, Personal Choices: Vol. 2., The Politics of Education Yearbook, Handbook of Research on Teacher Education, After Student Standards: Alignment, What is a Qualified, Capable Teacher? and Developing Language Teachers for a Changing World. Earley is the founding co-editor of the International Journal of Education Policy and Leadership, an open access peer-reviewed electronic journal created through a collaborative between George Mason University, Simon Fraser University, and the Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development. She honds a Ph.D. from Virginia Tech, a Masters from the University of Virginia, and Bachelors degree from the University of Michigan. Hannah Fisher-Arfer was the 2009–2010 Student Body President of Portland State University. Previously, she was the Outreach Director for the Disability Cultural Advocacy Association and has hosted a Portlandbased commercial television show, Teen Edition. At 22, she is working toward a dual undergraduate degree in Liberal and Black Studies and is planning to attend law school after completion. Ms. Fisher serves as a student director of the Oregon State Board of Higher Education, and was appointed in 2007 by Governor Kulongoski. Susan V. Iverson, Ed.D., is Assistant Professor in higher education administration and student personnel at Kent State University where she is also an affiliate faculty member with the Women’s Studies Program. Iverson earned her doctorate in higher educational leadership, with a concentration in women’s studies, from the University of Maine (2005) where she also served as an instructor in higher educational leadership (2002– 2006) and women’s studies (2004–2006). Her scholarly interests include gender equity, multicultural competence, citizenship, and servicelearning. Iverson’s recent work has appeared in Innovative Higher Education (2010), Michigan Journal of Community Service Learning (2009), Journal about Women in Higher Education (2009), Equity and Excellence in Education (2008), Educational Administration Quarterly (2007), and she co-edited, Reconstructing policy analysis in higher education: Feminist poststructural perspectives (Routledge, 2010). Prior to becoming faculty, Iverson worked in student affairs administration for more than ten years. She holds a B.A. in English from Keene State College (NH), a


M.A. in Higher Education Administration from Boston College, and a M.Ed. in Counseling from Bridgewater State College (MA). Heipua Kaopua, M.S.W., M.Ed., is a Professor CC at Windward Community College with 20 years of counseling experience. She is a doctoral student in Educational Administration with a focus on Higher Education. Her research interests center on minority women in higher education, particularly the experiences of Native Hawaiian women faculty during the tenure process. She plans to investigate the role of Native Hawaiian values during the tenure process. She earned a B.A. in Sociology, a M.S.W. and a M.Ed. in higher education, all from the University of Hawai’i at Ma¯noa. Karen Keifer-Boyd, Ph.D., is a Professor of Art Education and Affiliate Professor of Women’s Studies at The Pennsylvania State University. Her writings on feminist pedagogy, visual culture, cyberNet activism art pedagogy, action research, and identity speculative fiction are in more than 45 peer-reviewed research publications, and translated into several languages. She co-authored InCITE, InSIGHT, InSITE (NAEA, 2008), Engaging Visual Culture (Davis, 2007), co-edited Real-World Readings in Art Education: Things Your Professors Never Told You (Falmer, 2000), and served as editor of the Journal of Social Theory in Art Education and guest editor for Visual Arts Research. She has co-edited the journal, Visual Culture and Gender, since 2005. Keifer-Boyd has presented at more than 50 international and national conferences, and at universities in South Korea, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Austria, Germany, Uganda, and Finland. Her research focuses on feminist strategies for teaching critical and creative inquiry with dynamic/interactive technologies. She has been honored with leadership and teaching awards including a 2006 Fulbright Lecture and Research Award in Finland from the Council for International Exchange of Scholars, the National Art Education Association (NAEA) Women’s Caucus Connors Teaching Award in 2005, the Texas Outstanding Art Educator in Higher Education Award in 2001, and the Arts Administrator of the Year National Art Education Association Award for the Pacific Region in 1994. Wanda B. Knight, Ph.D., is Associate Professor of Art Education and Women’s Studies at the Pennsylvania State University. Besides university


level teaching, she has taught art at all grade levels, in vastly different regions of the United States, including overseas, plus communities serving rural, suburban and urban populations. Moreover, she has served as public school principal, and museum registrar and assistant museum curator of the Albany Museum of Art in Albany, Georgia. Focusing on visual culture, cultural studies, and pedagogies of difference (i.e., class, gender, race, ability), Dr. Knight has presented in local, state, national, and international venues and has published widely in leading journals in the field of art education, including Art Education, Studies in Art Education, The Journal of Social Theory in Art Education, and The Journal of Cross Cultural Research in Art Education. Dr. Knight is chair-elect of the United States Society for Education Through the Arts. Moreover, she served as chair of the National Art Education Association’s Committee on Multiethnic Concerns and chair of Penn State’s Commission on Racial and Ethnic Diversity (CORED). Dr. Knight has lead initiatives that foster diversity and support fair, ethical, and inclusive teaching and learning environments. Further, her leadership and extensive work in the field have been recognized through various honors and teaching awards including “Teacher of the Year,” Who’s Who in American Education, the J. Eugene Grigsby Jr. Award for outstanding contribution to the field of art education, and the Kenneth Marantz Distinguished Alumni Award from the Ohio State University. M. Cookie Newsom, Ph.D., holds a BS in Education, a MA in History and a PhD in Educational Leadership. Her dissertation addressed the achievement gap and was titled “Lessons in Black and White: White teacher questioning practices of black and white students.” She was the 2008 recipient of the University Award for the Advancement of Women at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill where she currently serves as the Director of Diversity Education and Assessment as well as the Chair of the Black Faculty/Staff Caucus. Her research interests are black women and white women’s relationships, the achievement gap and blacks in higher education. Her latest work has been on the dearth of black faculty at Research 1 institutions in America. She was a research fellow at the Library of Congress for 2002–2003 in the “Cities and Public Spaces in Cultural Context” seminar. Dr. Newsom has made presentations at many national conferences including American Education Research


Association, Mid-west Education Research Association, Patterson Research Conference, American Association of Blacks in Higher Education, National Postdoctoral Association, American Council on Education and American Association of University Professors. Dr. Newsom is married, (Wayne) and has three children (Mike, Chris, and Nikki), four grandchildren (Marrisa, Julian, Ella, and Sam) and two cats (Agatha Christie and Bucky). She is a member of Phi Theta Kappa, UNC’s Leadership Institute Board, School of Nursing Multicultural Advisory Board, Institute for African American Research Advisory Board, Association of Women and Faculty Professionals Advisory Board and Chair of the UNC Diversity Education Team. Rhoda Olkin, Ph.D., is a Distinguished Professor, California School of Professional Psychology at Alliant International University, and the Executive Director of the Institute on Disability & Health Psychology. She is the author of the book “What Psychotherapists Should Know about Disability” and the training film “Disability-Affirmative Therapy: A Beginner’s Guide.” Dr. Olkin has presented and published on the intersection of disability and psychology, and combined this topic with her interests in families, diagnosis, case formulation, and effective teaching of clinical psychology. She has a private practice in the SF East Bay, does expert witness work, and is currently working on her next book, “Disability Affirmative Therapy: A case formulation approach.” Michele A. Paludi, Ph.D., is the author/editor of 34 college textbooks, and more than 170 scholarly articles and conference presentations on sexual harassment, campus violence, psychology of women, gender, and discrimination. Her book, Ivory Power: Sexual Harassment on Campus, (1990, SUNY Press), received the 1992 Myers Center Award for Outstanding Book on Human Rights in the United States. Dr. Paludi served as Chair of the U.S. Department of Education’s Subpanel on the Prevention of Violence, Sexual Harassment, and Alcohol and Other Drug Problems in Higher Education. She was one of six scholars in the United States to be selected for this subpanel. She also was a consultant to and a member of former New York State Governor Mario Cuomo’s Task Force on Sexual Harassment. Dr. Paludi serves as an expert witness for court proceedings and administrative hearings on sexual harassment. She has


had extensive experience in conducting training programs and investigations of sexual harassment and other Equal Employment Opportunity (EEO) issues for businesses and educational institutions. In addition, Dr. Paludi has held faculty positions at Franklin & Marshall College, Kent State University, Hunter College, Union College, and Union Graduate College, where she directs the human resource management certificate program and management and leadership certificate program. She is on the faculty in the School of Management. Katie Pope, M.A., M.S., is the Director of the Women’s Resource Office, and in partnership with the Susan Bulkeley Butler Center for Leadership Excellence, designs and implements educational programs and events for faculty and staff leaders. Through this partnership, she is responsible for providing leadership, professional development and educational opportunities, with a special emphasis on fostering inclusive leadership and promoting gender equity. Working with the Butler Center and the American Association of Colleges and Universities, she helped launch the Purdue Women Lead program. Katie has an M.A. from Indiana University and an M.S. from Iowa State University. Her research interests include the development of women’s philanthropic organizations and the role of women’s centers on college campuses. Rosemary F. Powers, Ph.D., is an Associate Professor of Sociology at Eastern Oregon University. Her areas of research and teaching include education, gender and sexuality, culture, and religion. Dr. Powers earned both her doctorate and master’s degree in sociology from UC-Davis; additionally she has earned a master’s in values from the San Francisco Theological Seminary. She serves as a faculty director of the Oregon State Board of Higher Education and was appointed in 2008 by Governor Kulongoski. Eugenia Proctor Gerdes, Ph.D., taught social psychology and psychology of women for fourteen years in the department of psychology at Bucknell University. Dr. Gerdes’s quantitative research included experimental studies of discrimination in hiring and multivariate analyses of stress experienced by women in traditionally male work roles. Beginning in 1988, she served as associate dean of faculty for one year and then as dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at Bucknell for eighteen years.


Dr. Gerdes now has returned to the faculty as dean emerita and professor of psychology; her interdisciplinary courses include first-year and senior seminars on liberal arts education, commercialization of higher education, and women and leadership. Since becoming dean, her scholarship has expanded to encompass essays and presentations on higher education, including topics such as the value of contemplation, time management as a part of a liberal education, educating parents, the dean’s role in protecting liberal education, effective use of associate deans, motivations for becoming a dean and for quitting, and the importance of educating students about commercialization and liberal education. Her various scholarly interests come together with her own career history in the series of qualitative studies on the status of women in higher education that is the focus of her chapter in this volume. Jill M. Tarule, Ed.D., is a Professor of Human Development and Educational Leadership and Policy at the University of Vermont. She has served as associate provost, a dean and in other academic leadership roles in three institutions. She holds a masters and doctoral degrees from the Harvard Graduate School of Education, and an honorary doctorate from the University of New Hampshire School for Lifelong Learning. Her undergraduate degree is from Goddard College. Her research has focused on women as students and as leaders, on adult learners specifically and leadership generally, and on pedagogical innovations such as collaborative learning and cognitive developmental strategies for teaching and learning. She is co-author of Women’s Ways of Knowing: the Development of Self, Voice and Mind and co-editor of Knowledge, Difference and Power: Essays Inspired by Women’s Ways of Knowing and of The Minority Voice in Educational Reform, An Analysis by Minority and Women College of Education Deans, as well as many articles and chapters. Amber L. Vlasnik, M.A., is the director of the Women’s Center at Wright State University in Dayton, Ohio, assuming her role in December 2005. Vlasnik’s duties include assessing the needs and status of women students, faculty and staff; advising campus leaders on issues of women and gender; advancing gender equity throughout the institution; collaborating with other campus units on issues addressing race, ethnicity, gender and sexual


orientation; and promoting awareness of the diverse contributions and experiences of women through programming and advocacy, among many other tasks. Prior to her position at Wright State, Vlasnik was the manager of the Women’s Center at Louisiana State University in Baton Rouge. She has served as a member of the Advisory Council of the National Women’s Studies Association Women’s Centers Committee, and was the founding chair of the Women’s Centers Committee of the Southwestern Ohio Council for Higher Education. Vlasnik currently serves as Communications Chair of the ACE Ohio Women’s Network, a state chapter of the ACE/ Office of Women in Higher Education. Vlasnik holds a M.A.L.A. with concentrations in gender, law, and higher education from Louisiana State University and a B.A. in International Studies and Spanish from St. Norbert College in Wisconsin. She is currently enrolled in the Higher Education & Student Affairs doctoral program at The Ohio State University. Her research interests include the history of women’s participation in U.S. higher education, campus-based women’s centers, and the multiple roles and opportunities of branch campuses, both domestically and abroad. Tanisca M. Wilson, Ph.D. is a native of New Orleans, LA and a product of the New Orleans Public School System. She has a Bachelor of Arts degree in English from Southern University at New Orleans, a Master of Education degree from the University of New Orleans, a certificate in women’s ministry from the New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary and a Ph.D. in Educational Administration from the University of New Orleans. Her working life has centered on helping at risk youth and adults. In doing so, she has taught in both traditional and non-traditional settings. In addition to presenting at several regional and national professional conferences, she has been a peer reviewer for the Journal about Women in Higher Education, has professional memberships in eight educational organizations, and she is the author of a published reflection in the International Forum of Teaching and Learning Journal. Her research agenda includes educational policy, women in leadership, and correctional and higher education systems. She has been the College-wide Assistant Director of Enrollment Services at Delgado Community College for two years. In this role, she is responsible for managing, creating, and implementing pre-entry to enrollment programs at six campus locations.


Billie Wright Dziech, Ed.D., is Professor of English and Comparative Literature at the University of Cincinnati. She is the primary author of The Lecherous Professor: Sexual Harassment in Higher Education and co-author of Sexual Harassment in Higher Education: Reflections and New Perspectives and On Trial: American Courts and Their Treatment of Sexually Abused Children. She has written numerous book chapters and articles in scholarly journals and the popular press. Her work has appeared and been reviewed and quoted in sources as diverse as The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, The Chicago Tribune, The Chronicle of Higher Education, and People Magazine. She has been a guest on approximately 200 television and radio programs, including “The Today Show,” “CNN,” “Donohue,” and “Oprah” and has lectured and consulted at colleges, universities, and businesses throughout the United States and Canada. She is the recipient of the University of Cincinnati’s A.B. “Dolly” Cohen Award for Excellence in College Teaching, as well as the Honors Scholars Faculty Award given by students and staff of the university’s Honors Scholar Program. Dziech is currently writing a series of children’s books. She and her husband, Rob, live in Cincinnati, where they are ten minutes away from their son, daughter-in-law, and absolutely perfect granddaughter, Elizabeth.

Index

Abel, M., 58 Abramson, Paul, 308–9 Access: gender constructs and, 23–44 legislation on, 32–34 to networks, 60–61 women with disabilities and, 203–11 Accountability, 214 Achua, C., 270 Acker, J., 81–82, 89, 93–94, 98 Activism: board membership and, 170 higher education access and, 27 Addams, Jane, 27 Administrators and administration: career path for, 221, 225–29 deans of women, 31 diversity among, 223–24 historical gender constructs and, 24 minorities in, 119–21, 193–96 percentage of women in, 1 stress levels of, 11–12. See also Leaders and leadership Advancement, 79–105

advanced knowledge and, 95–96 data on, 79–80 defining professional vs. classified employees, 87–90 faculty promotions, 47 feminist perspective on, 80–81 findings on, 86–98 glass ceiling and, 16, 83 ideal workers and, 82–83 importance of, 99 imposter feelings and, 89–90, 98–99, 118–19 job boundaries and, 87–90 literature review on, 81–84 minorities and, 121 mixed messages in, 90–93 research methods on, 85–86 stereotypes and, 284 sticky floors and, 84 structural discrimination and, 111–12 structures/processes supporting and impeding, 288–89. See also Administrators and administration; Leaders and leadership 337

338 Index

Advocacy, women’s centers and, 32 Affiliate campuses, 25, 28–29 Affirmative action, 1, 2, 277–78 advantages and disadvantages of, 6–7 backlash against, 12, 19–20 leadership and, 288–89 tokenism and, 8 African Americans: angry black woman, stereotype of, 180–81, 182, 193 in feminism, 109–10 legislation on education access and, 25, 32–33 mentoring and, 61 sista’, networks of, 121–22 on women’s colleges and annexes, 38, 39 workforce participation and, 35. See also Minorities Agars, M. D., 284 Age, board membership and, 169–73 Agenda control, 267 Albuquerque, K. de, 315–16 Alexiou, A., 285 Allen, Paula Gunn, 107 Alliances, 259, 264 ethics and, 270–71 leaders and, 267 All the Women Are White, All the Blacks Are Men, But Some of Us Are Brave (Carroll), 183 Amburgy, Patricia M., 131–47 American Association of College and Universities, 229–30, 293

American Association of Hispanics in Higher Education, 293 American Association of University Women, 83 American Council on Education, 67 American Indian Higher Education Consortium, 293–94 American Psychological Association, 46, 48, 52, 55 Americans with Disabilities Act (1990), 203 Andersson, L., 58 Annexes, 25, 28–29 Anthony, Susan B., 51 Anzalduá, Gloria, 275, 285 Applegate, Jane H., 241–62 Armenti, C., 111–12 Arnold, K., 305, 318–19 Arredondo, Patricia, 275–98 ASHE Higher Education Report, 181 Asian Americans, 50. See also Minorities Assimilation, 118 Association of Black Women in Higher Education, 293 Authority, 272 cultural assumptions in, 119–21 minorities and, 191–92 student challenges of, 117 Bailey, Beth, 302 Ballenger, J., 60

Index 339

Banerji, S., 52 “Banning Sexual Asymmetry on Campus” (Dank & Albuquerque), 315–16 Barrier analysis, 64–65 Basow, S., 57 Bell, E. L. J., 121 Bending Over Backwards (Be´rube´), 139 Bennett College, 28 Berkelaar, Brenda L., 219–40 Bernstein, B., 48, 56 Be´rube´, Michael, 139 Beudert, L., 140 Birth control, 34–35, 37 Blockers, 253–54 Boards and board membership: access to, 158–63 civility norms in, 157, 159 committee assignments in, 168–69 context of, 152 corporate, 150–51 critical number for impact in, 279 decision making in, 159–61 financial power and, 169 gender-accomplished women and, 164–66 gender and, 162–73 gender-neutral women and, 166–69 identity shaped by, 154, 155–58, 162–63, 170 influence on, 161–62 representativeness of, 150–51

state boards of higher education, 149–78 study design for, 152–55 Bogle, Kathleen, 302 Borderlands/La Frontera (Anzalduá), 275 Breckinridge, Sophonisba, 27 Bronstein, P., 55 Brooks, K. H., 31 Brown, A., 55 Brown, G., 60 Brown, Helen Gurley, 37–38 Brown v. Board of Education (1954), 33 Bryn Mawr Higher Education Resources Services program, 293 Bullying, 138 Campus Women Lead, 229–33 Canada Excellence Research Chairs, 49 Careers and career paths: accomplishments in, 12–15 in administration, 221, 225–29 advice on, 15–18 early, 3–7 labyrinth pathway, 225–29 minority faculty and, 120 motivations in, 14–15 networking and, 59–62 personal challenges in, 9–12 satisfaction with, 12 since the 1970s, 7–9 Carli, L. L., 225 Carroll, C. M., 183 Case Western Reserve University, 68

340 Index

Change initiatives, leading, 264–66, 286–87 resistance to, 281 Children. See Family and childcare Chrisler, J., 68–69 The Chronicle of Higher Education Almanac, 110 Civility. See Incivility Civil Rights Act of 1964, 33, 277 Civil War, 27 Class discrimination. See Socioeconomic status Clawson, R. A., 180 Clothing, 90 Coalitions, 122 Coeducation, 25–26, 30–34 Collaboration, 19 in resistance, 131–47 strategic, 122–23 Collins, A., 61 Colonialism, 110, 114–15, 123 Communalism, 119, 242, 278 Communication: collaborative resistance and, 143–45 leadership and, 271–73 power plays and, 137 professional style for, 120 relationship building and, 259–60, 261 Confidence, 92–93, 272 Consensus, 160–61. See also Decision making Context: of boards, 152, 173–74 ethics and, 270–71

leadership and, 260 minorities and, 277–79 Contraception, 34–35, 37 Cooper, Anna Julia, 109 Cooper, Joanne, 107–30 Cooper, Tuesday L., 121–22 Coordinate campuses, 25, 28–29 Cote´, J. E., 306 Course evaluations, 56–59 Cox, Monica F., 219–40 Creativity, 138 Credibility, 121 Cross, A., 45–46 Culture. See Organizational culture Dank, B. M., 315–16 Deans of students, 31 Deans of women, 31 Death in a Tenured Position (Cross), 45–46 De Burgos, Julia, 275, 290 Decision making: age and, 310 in boards, 159–61, 163 emotional, 265 Declaration of Sentiments, 109 Defensiveness, 252–53 DeFour, D., 59–60, 61 De la Luz Reyes, M., 49–50 Demographics, 23–24, 109 Denmark, Florence L., 45–78, 63 DesRoches, 52–53 Dimensions of Personal Identity (DPI) model, 284 Disabilities. See Women with disabilities

Index 341

Discrimination: advice on, 16 among faculty, 51 class, 27–28, 89–90, 109–10, 113 documentation of, 144–45 human resource audits and, 63 institutional, 110–12 microaggressions and, 58–59, 66, 185 psychological effects of, 4–6 in salaries, 5–6 structural, 111–12 transformational leaders and, 285–87 against women with disabilities, 209–10 Diversity: advancing, accomplishments in, 13 among women, 25 in boards, 149–78 disability and, 210 inclusive leadership and, 222–23 leadership and, 288 levels of, 223–24 methodology to increase, 280–81 Dorney, Judith, 107 Double binds, 227, 282–87 Doublethink, 166, 167 Dziech, Billie Wright, 299–322, 316–17 Eagly, A. H., 225 Earley, Penelope M., 241–62

Eddy, P., 242 Education: advancement and, 85, 95–96 legislation on, 25, 32–33, 277–79 in professionalism, 87–90. See also Higher education Education Amendments (1972), 34. See also Title IX Elite methodology, 153, 155 Elitism, 27–28 Empowerment: ambiguous, 282–83 leadership and, 135 minority leaders and, 292–93 Equal Pay Act (1963), 51 Equity: advancing, accomplishments in, 13 gender constructs and, 23–44 legislation on, 32–34 women with disabilities and, 213 Ethics, 270–71, 317–18 Evaluations: barrier analysis on, 64–65 collaboration and, 132–34, 141–42 constructed identities and, 141–42 course, 56–59 disability and, 210–11 of minority faculty, 117 race and, 186–89 structural discrimination and, 111–12 Evans, S. M., 36

342 Index

Expectations: advancement and, 91–93 in disciplinary areas, 9 of minorities, 278, 282 of women vs. men, 3–5 Faculty: accessibility issues and, 203–11 accomplishments of, 12–13 barrier analysis on, 64–65 in business schools, 49, 52 collaboration among, 131–47 consensual sex with, 299–322 constructed identities and, 139–43 contingent/adjunct, 116–17 course evaluations of, 56–59 family and childcare issues of, 53–56 human resource audits and, 63 mentors and, 59–62 minorities as, 49–51, 107–30, 193–96 Native Hawaiian, 114–15 networking and, 59–62 obstacles facing women in, 45–78 online courses and, 136–37 organizational culture climate surveys and, 64 outsider status among, 47–49 percentage of women as, 1 promotion inequities among, 47 in psychology, 46, 48–49, 49–50 research by, 11–12, 50–51, 80–81, 113–14, 131–47

salary discrepancies among, 51–53 salary inequity among, 5–6 service assignments of, 140–41 socio-cultural barriers facing, 112–13 stress levels of, 11–12 structural discrimination and, 111–12 systematic oppression of, 45–47 valuing women, 67–69 workweek length of, 47, 204–5. See also Tenure Fairfax, Lisa, 151 Family and childcare: advancement and, 96–98 advice on, 15 affirmative responses for, 65–67 after World War II, 36–37 balancing work and, 9 bias toward, 18 career path impact of, 10–11 elder care, 54, 65–67 faculty and, 53–56, 63 ideal workers and, 82–83 income inequality and, 53 leadership and, 228, 271–72 maternity leave and, 4 minorities and, 113 as second shift, 38 20th-century debates over, 34–39 women with disabilities and, 211–12. See also Marriage rates

Index 343

The Feminine Mystique (Friedan), 38 Feminism, 37–38 on advancement, 80–81 African Americans in, 109–10 board membership and, 165–66 gender constructs and, 24–25 materialist, 24–25, 36 minorities in, 111 Feminist Accused of Sexual Harassment (Gallop), 311–14 Fisher-Arfer, Hannah, 149–78 Fiske, S., 284–85 Fraiser, Gertrude, 231 Friedan, Betty, 38 From Front Porch to Back Seat: Courtship in Twentieth-Century America (Bailey), 302 Fuchs, D., 56 Furumoto, L., 47 Gallop, Jane, 311–14 Gatekeepers, 46, 50 Gatta, M. L., 112–13 Gender: as ascribed status, 284–85 in higher education, 108–10 historical constructs of, 23–44 in organizational bureaucracy, 81–82 power and, 108–10 Gender Differences at Critical Transitions in the Careers of Science, Engineering, and Mathematics Faculty, 226 Gendered roles, 112 Gender neutrality, 7

Generational differences, 185, 302–8 Gerdes, Eugenia Proctor, 1–22 GI Bill, 33 Ginsberg, Ruth Bader, 279 Glass ceiling, 16, 83. See also Advancement Glazer-Raymo, J., 152, 164, 166, 168 Gould, J. S., 31–32 Goulden, M., 55 Greater Cincinnati Consortium of College and Universities, 32 Grogan, M., 60 Halcon, J., 49–50 Halpern, D., 51 Hare-Mustin, Rachel, 56–57 Harper, William Rainey, 26 Harvard University, 29, 67 Hate crimes, 278 Hawaiian women, 114–15 Hawkins, M. H., 316–17 Hawkins v. Board of Control (1956), 33 Hayes, A., 304 Heilbrun, Carolyn, 45, 46 Heilman, M., 56 Hesselbaum, Francis, 134–35 Higher education: activism and, 27 bias, bigotry, disparate treatment in, 185–90 conservative culture of, 279–82 demographics of, 23–24

344 Index

dropout rates in, 37 elitism in, 27–28 gatekeepers in, 46 gender in, 108–10 institutional discrimination in, 110–12 legislation on, 32–34 numbers of women graduates from, 19–20 quality of experiences in, 24 socioeconomic status and, 27–28 women’s colleges, annexes, coeducation in, 25–34 World War II and, 36 Hiring and recruitment: affirmative action and, 1, 2 barrier analysis on, 64–65 inclusive leadership and, 222–23 minorities and, 190–91, 284 minority faculty, 123 of minority faculty, 117–18, 194–95 valuing women in, 68 women with disabilities and, 213 Hispanics, 292. See also Minorities Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs), 28, 33 Hochschild, A. R., 38, 53 “Hooking Up, Hanging Out, and Hoping for Mr. Right: College Women on Mating and Dating Today,” 305

Hooking Up: Sex, Dating, and Relationships on Campus (Bogle), 302 hooks, bell, 137 Hookup culture, 302–8, 318–19 “ ‘Hookups’: Characteristics and Correlates of College Students’ Spontaneous and Anonymous Sexual Experiences” (Paul, McManus, & Hayes), 304 Horowitz, H. L., 27 Howard, J. E., 165, 172 H. Sophie Newcomb Memorial College, 29 Human resources audits, 63. See also Hiring and recruitment Humor, 143–45 Hune, S., 50 I Am Charlotte Simmons (Wolfe), 305–6 Identities: access and, 24 advancement and, 91–93, 98–99 assimilation and, 118 boards and, 149–50, 154–58, 162–63, 170 constructed, imposition of, 139–43 gendered organizations and, 81–82 institutional, 279 intersecting, 25, 277, 283–84, 286 minorities and, 179–99, 277, 283–84

Index 345

performance and, 154 white, 281–82 women with disabilities and, 211–12 Imposter syndrome, 89–90, 98–99, 118–19 Incivility, 58, 66, 157, 173 Income: advancement and, 91 board membership and, 169 faculty salary discrepancies, 51–53 gender inequities in, 5–6, 9 glass ceilings and, 83 minorities and, 191, 192 sticky floors and, 84 structural discrimination and, 111–12 women with disabilities and, 211–12 Independent Women’s Forum, 305 Individualism, 109, 112–13, 278 Inequality regimes, 93–94 In loco parentis, 303 Institutional discrimination, 110–12, 120 Interpersonal skills and styles: in accomplishments, 13 staying true to, 18–19 women with disabilities and, 207–8. See also Relationships Intersectionality, 284 Invisibility. See Visibility/ invisibility Irby, B., 60 Isolation, 185–86, 194, 226–27 Iverson, Susan V., 79–105

Jacobsen, J. P., 35 jagodzinski, jan, 133 Jandeska, K. E., 59 Job satisfaction, 47 Johannesen-Schmidt, M., 242 Johnston-Robledo, I., 68–69 Kanter, R. M., 54, 81, 288–89 Kaopua, Heipua, 107–30 Keifer-Boyd, Karen, 131–47 Kezar, A., 157 Klein, Richard, 314 Knight, Wanda B., 131–47 Kraimer, M. L., 59 Kretsedemas, P., 182 Kunkel, C. A., 32 Language of domination, 137. See also Communication Lathrop, Julia, 27 Leaders and leadership, 263–74 autocratic, 267–68 bargaining/negotiation and, 269–70 blockers/negative forces and, 253–54 career path of, 221, 225–29 charismatic, 288 coeducation and, 30 collaborative, 122 collaborative resistance and, 131–47 communal vs. agentic, 242 coping with pressures of, 271–73 deans, 31, 221

346 Index

definition of, 263–64 department heads/chairs, 221 development of, 123, 222–23, 232–36, 276, 291–93 with disabilities, 201–17 diversity among, 223–24 empowerment and, 135 environment and, 263 ethics and, 270–71 flexibility in, 256–57 gender differences in, 242–43, 266–68, 288 in gendered organizations, 80, 81–82 gender stereotypes and, 119–21, 266–68 inclusive, 219–40 influencers/followers and, 266 integrative, 288 joining forces model of, 134–35 key players and, 266 labyrinth pathway for, 225–29 laissez-faire, 242 leading change and, 264–66 lessons learned and resources for, 290–94 minorities and, 107–30, 119–21, 275–98 networking and, 268–69 numbers of women in, 8–9, 219–20 observation and, 266 opportunity recognition by, 257–58 personality and, 263 perspectives on, 287–90

political and ethical pitfalls for, 266–68 positions in academic, 220–21 power plays and, 134–38, 243–55 presidents, 220, 224–25 provosts, 220–21 at Purdue University, 229–35 servant view of, 291 situational, 288 state boards of higher education, 149–78 styles of, 119–21, 263, 289 targeted specialization for, 235–36 training for, 228 transactional, 242 transformational, 242, 285–87, 288, 290 vice presidents, 220 vision and, 259 women’s centers and, 32 Legislation, 25 African Americans and, 32–33 on minorities, 277–79 on pay equity, 51 on people with disabilities, 203 sunshine/open meetings, 156–57, 160 Lesbians: glass ceiling and, 83 Living with His Camera (Gallop), 313 Lockwood, N., 54 Lorde, Audre, 180, 183 Lussier, R., 270

Index 347

Machung, A., 38 Male supremacy, 108 Manuelito-Kerkvliet, Cassandra, 294 Marecek, Jeanne, 56–57 Marginalization: boards and, 169–73 collaboration and, 139 constructed identities and, 138–43 of minority faculty members, 112–13, 117–18 power of, 241 Marriage rates, 27, 36 Martin, J., 59–60, 61 Mason, G., 49 Mason, M., 55 Materialist feminist theory, 24–25, 36 Maternity leave, 4 Matrix of privilege, 142 McManus, B., 304 Media: stereotypes of minorities in, 182 on women leaders, 241 in World War II, 36 Meltzer, A., 58 Men and Women of the Corporation (Kanter), 288–89 Meńdez-Morse, S., 292 Mental health, 54 Mentors and mentoring: accomplishments in, 12–13 advice on, 16 for faculty members, 59–62, 120–21, 122–23 glass ceiling and, 83

in graduate school, 3–4 increase in, 8–9 leader development and, 226–27, 235–36, 291–92 minorities and, 113, 120–21, 122–23, 196–98, 276–77, 291–92 networking, 61–62 peer, 120–21, 122–23, 235–36 programs for, 123 for women with disabilities, 208–9 Meritocracy, 182 Microaggressions, 58–59, 66, 185, 209–10, 283 Millennium Leadership Institute, 293 Miller-Bernal, L., 30 Minorities, 179–99, 275–98 in annexes and affiliate campuses, 29 barriers to tenure/leadership for, 107–30 bias, bigotry, disparate treatment of, 185–90 board membership and, 169–73 on corporate boards, 150–51 demographics of, 109 development programs and, 293 double standards/double binds and, 282–87 educational opportunities for, 25 employment inequalities and, 190–93

348 Index

glass ceiling and, 83 identities and, 179–99, 277, 283–84 income inequality and, 51–52 institutional discrimination and, 110–12 isolation of, 185–86, 194 leadership development and, 276 lessons learned and resources for, 290–94 mentors and, 113, 120–23, 196–98, 276–77 microaggressions toward, 58–59 model, 50 organizational culture and, 278, 279–82 otherness of, 183–84 passing by, 182–83 personal barriers facing, 113–14 power and, 284–85 professional associations and, 293–94 professional development for, 291–93 socio-cultural barriers facing, 112–13 stereotypes of, 180–81, 182, 193, 198 successful strategies for, 121–23 tenure and, 116–19 transformational leaders and, 285–87 women’s centers and, 32

in women’s colleges, 28 women treated as, 23 workforce participation and, 35, 36 Modern Language Association, 47 Morality, 270 Morrissey, C. S., 113, 123 Motivation: advancement and, 85 interpersonal styles and, 18–19 in women vs. men, 14–15 Mourning, requirement of, 209 Munõz, M., 291 Nadal, K. L., 58–59 Narrative studies, 154–75, 243–61 National Academies, 48–49 National Science Foundation ADVANCE program, 67–68 National Science Foundation/ National Institutes of Health Survey of Earned Doctorates, 56 Nativism, 278 Negative forces, 253–54 Nelson, D., 50 Networks and networking: collaborative resistance and, 143–45 faculty members and, 59–62 leaders and, 267, 268–69 leadership development and, 230–36 minority faculty and, 120, 121 power and, 267, 268–69 at Purdue, 232–33 “sista’ networks,” 121–22

Index 349

Newsom, M. Cookie, 179–99 Niceness, culture of, 281–82 Nkomo, S. M., 121 Obama, Barack, 278 Oberlin College, 30 Ogle, J., 55 Olkin, Rhoda, 201–17 Online courses, 136–37 Opportunities, finding, 257–58, 268, 273 Opportunity gap, 60–61 Organizational culture: of boards, 155–58, 163 boundary maintenance in, 93–95 climate surveys on, 64 disability-friendly, 207–8 gendered organizations and, 80, 81–82 institutional practices and, 292–93 leadership and, 263, 286–87 leading change in, 264–66 minorities and, 278, 279–82 minority faculty and, 120–21 relationship building and, 254–55, 260–61 sticky floors and, 84 valuing women in, 67–69 of whiteness and niceness, 281–82 Ortiz, Anna, 118 Ownership, 136–37 Palmer, Alice Freeman, 25–26 Palmer, George Herbert, 26

Paludi, Michele A., 45–78, 52, 53, 59–60, 61, 63 Patriarchy, 108, 114–15, 138 Paul, E. L., 304 Pearson, C., 58 Pembroke College, 29 Perceptions, changes in since 1970s, 8 Pereira, C., 93 Personality, 263, 270 Phenomenology, 85–86 PhysOrg.com, 52 Pioneerism, 226 Pluckiness, 209 Policies: family-friendly, 65–67 gender discrimination and, 3–7 maternity leave, 4 on sexual harassment, 315–19 structural discrimination and, 111–12 sustaining organizational hierarchy with, 93–95 women with disabilities and, 214 Politics: bargaining/negotiation in, 269–70 ethics and, 270–71 leaders and, 266–68 networking and, 268–69 Pope, Elizabeth, 37 Pope, Katie, 219–40, 231–32 Positionality, 111 boards and, 154–55, 163 power plays and, 139–43 Poulson, S. L., 30

350 Index

Power: boards and, 163 coercive, 267 collaborative leadership and, 133–47 control through uniformity and, 136–37 cultural assumptions in, 119–21 gender and, 108–10 in gendered organizations, 80, 81–82 as motivation, 14–15 nurturing, 241 overstepping roles and, 138 personal, 267 politics and, 267–68 position, 267–68 positionality and, 139–43 power plays and, 134–38, 243–55 relationship building and, 260 types of, 267–68 withheld from women, 7 Powers, Rosemary F., 149–78 Privilege, 97–98, 284–85 Professional associations, 293–94 Professional development, 93–94, 123, 291–93 Purdue University, 229–35 Purdue Women Lead, 232–36 Racism, 120–21 end of, 278 investigating, 198 reporting, 189–90 subtlety of, 185 systemic, 279

Radcliffe College, 29 Rainbird, H., 84 Rains, F. V., 118 Rapport, 271 Reasonable accommodations, 206–7 Rehabilitation Act (1975), 203 Reichman, N. J., 84 Reitman, Janet, 304 Relationships, 196 asymmetric, 315–16 boards and, 166–68 building, 241–62 dialog and, 259–60 leadership development and, 234–35 in networking, 268–69 organizational culture and, 254–55, 260–61 time required for, 255–56. See also Networks and networking; Sexual harassment Requirement of mourning, 209 Requirement of pluckiness, 209 Research: balancing with other priorities, 11–12 collaborative, 131–47 constructed identities and, 139–40 family responsibilities and, 113–14 feminist approach to, 80–81 minorities and, 50–51 structural discrimination and, 111–12 value of teaching vs., 111–12

Index 351

Resistance, 131–47, 281 Riessman, Catherine, 154 Role models: glass ceiling and, 83 minorities and, 113, 276–77 minority faculty and, 118–19 organizational change and, 286–87. See also Mentors and mentoring Romance in the Ivory Tower: The Rights of Liberty and Conscience (Abramson), 308–9, 310 Roos, P. A., 112–13 Ross, Luana K., 294 Rothblum, E., 55 Russo, N. F., 48, 56 Sacrifices, 11 Sadao, K., 118 Salaries. See Income Sanger, Margaret, 34–35, 37 Scarborough, E., 47 Schmidt, M. L., 113, 123 Schwartz, R. A., 31 Scott, Alberta V., 29 The Second Shift (Hochschild & Machung), 38 Seven Sisters, 28 “Sex and Scandal at Duke” (Reitman), 304 Sex and the Single Girl (Brown), 37–38 Sexual harassment, 4, 299–322 ethics and, 317–18 hostile environment, 300–301 human resource audits and, 63

institutional responses to, 315–19 by male students, 57 professors in, 308–15 quid pro quo, 301 reporting, 310 Sexual mores, 37–38 hookup culture and, 302–8, 318–19 20th-century changes in, 34 Shakeshaft, C., 60 Simien, E. M., 180 Snowball sampling, 2–3 Social justice: board membership and, 170 higher education access and, 27 Socioeconomic status: access to higher education and, 27–28 board membership and, 169–73 feminism and, 109–10 minority faculty members and, 113 professional status and, 89–90 Solomon, S., 55 Southwestern Ohio Council on Higher Education, 32 Spelman College, 28 Sponsorship, 289 Standardization, 136–37 STEM (science, technology, engineering, mathematics): family responsibilities and, 55 leadership in, 223 underrepresentation of women in, 9 women faculty in, 48–49

352 Index

women with disabilities in, 201–2 Stereotypes: angry black woman, 180–81, 182, 193 ideal worker, 82–83 income inequality and, 53 incorporating, 286–87 of leaders, 266–68 leadership styles and, 119–21, 264–65 of minorities, 278 occupational distribution and, 84 perceptions of women not conforming to, 56 power and, 283, 284–85 of psychologists, 46 tracking and, 289 of women with disabilities, 209–10 Sterling, J. S., 84 Stern, T., 59–60, 61 Sticky floors, 84 Stress: leadership and, 271–73 levels and sources of, 11–12, 18 minorities and, 193–94 Structural discrimination, 111–12 Students: authority challenged by, 117 consensual sex with, 299–322 hookup culture and, 302–6 incivility by, 58 minority leaders and, 191–92 sexual harassment by, 57 Success, measuring, 17–18

Successful Diversity Management Initiatives (Arredondo), 280–81 Support systems: advancement and, 85 collaborative resistance and, 144 leaders and, 241. See also Mentors and mentoring Susan Bulkeley Butler Center for Leadership Excellence, 229–30 Swan, Katherine, 62 Swinyard, W., 55 SWOT analysis, 65 Sypher, Beverly Davenport, 219–40, 231–32 Systematic oppression, 47 Tamkins, M., 56 Tarule, Jill M., 241–62 Tenure: benefits of, 116 family-friendly policies and, 67 family life vs., 9, 54–56 leadership track and, 227–28 marital status and, 53 minorities and, 50–51, 107–30, 116–19, 193 percentage of women in, 49 structural discrimination and, 111–12. See also Advancement Terhune, C. P., 179–80 Theory X and Y, 288 Thurber, F., 133 Time pressure: advancement and, 95–96 board membership and, 170

Index 353

family and, 9, 113–14 leadership and, 271–72 relationships and, 255–56 women with disabilities and, 204–5 workloads and, 11–12, 18, 47, 204–5 Title IX, 34 Tokenism, 8, 284 boards and, 172 gatekeepers and, 50 leadership and, 265 minority faculty and, 121, 193–96 Tracking, 30, 289 Training, 93–94, 228 Transformational leaders, 242, 285–87, 288, 290 Transition plans, 266 Transparency, 134–38, 156–57, 160 Trust, 270–71 Turner, C., 49 University of California, Davis, 68 University of Michigan: STRIDE program, 68 U.S. Department of Labor, 87, 95 U.S. Fair Labor Standards Act, 87 Valverde, L. A., 284, 289 Van Anders, S., 63 Van Engen, M., 242 Vargas, L., 122 Vassar College, 30 Visibility/invisibility: designated, 118

imposed, 118 of minorities, 108, 196 relationship building and, 241 selective, 118 socio-cultural barriers and, 112–13 surplus, 241 Vlasnik, Amber L., 23–44 Voice, finding, 91–93, 118 Wages. See Income Wallen, A., 56 Warren, J. T., 281, 282 Whiteness, ideology of, 109, 112–13, 281–82, 283 Wilkerson, M. B., 23 Williams, J., 82 Williams, T., 181, 189 Wilson, Tanisca M., 263–74 Wolfe, Tom, 305–6 Wolfinger, N., 55 Wolf-Wendel, L., 28 Women Faculty Seeking Tenure and Parenthood (Armenti), 111–12 Women’s centers, 31–32 Women’s colleges, 25–28, 30 Women’s movement, 109–10. See also Feminism Women’s studies programs, 1, 8 “Women Trustees: An Untapped Resource” (Glazer-Raymo), 152 Women with disabilities, 201–17 accessibility and, 203–11 barriers to leadership for, 202–12

354 Index

data on, 201–2, 213 financial/budgetary constraints and, 206–7 identities and, 211–12 importance of discussing, 202 logistical barriers for, 202–11 microaggressions against, 209–10 reasonable accommodations for, 206–7 recommendations for, 212–14 Wong, Kathy, 231 Woolf, Virginia, 45 Work, Pedagogy, and Change (Beudert), 140 Workforce participation: demographics of, 23–24

family responsibilities and, 34–35, 53–56 gender constructs and, 23–44 ideal workers and, 82–83 minorities and, 190–93 World War II and, 35–36. See also Women with disabilities Work/life balance, 9, 113–14. See also Family and childcare Workloads, 11–12, 18, 47, 204–5 World War II, 29, 35–36, 109–10 Yale University, 315 Yes women, 273 Yo misma fui mi ruta (I Was My Own Path) (De Burgos), 275

Women as Leaders in Education


Women as Leaders in Education SUCCEEDING DESPITE INEQUITY, DISCRIMINATION, AND OTHER CHALLENGES VOLUME 2: WOMEN’S LEADERSHIP IN CLASSROOMS, SCHOOLS, AND K–12 ADMINISTRATION

Jennifer L. Martin, Editor

Women and Careers in Management Michele A. Paludi, Series Editor

Copyright 2011 by ABC-CLIO, LLC All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Women as leaders in education : succeeding despite inequity, discrimination, and other challenges / Jennifer L. Martin, editor. p. cm. — (Women and careers in management) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978–0–313–39169–9 (hard copy : alk. paper) — ISBN 978–0–313–39170–5 (ebook) 1. Women school administrators—United States. 2. Women college administrators—United States. 3. Sex discrimination in higher education— United States. 4. Educational leadership—United States. I. Martin, Jennifer L. II. Title. III. Series. LC212.862.W64 2011 2011009216 378.10 2082—dc22 ISBN: 978–0–313–39169–9 EISBN: 978–0–313–39170–5 15 14 13 12 11 1 2 3 4 5 This book is also available on the World Wide Web as an eBook. Visit www.abc-clio.com for details. Praeger An Imprint of ABC-CLIO, LLC ABC-CLIO, LLC 130 Cremona Drive, P.O. Box 1911 Santa Barbara, California 93116-1911 This book is printed on acid-free paper Manufactured in the United States of America

Contents

Series Foreword, vii Acknowledgments, ix Introduction, xi CHAPTER 1 Toward a Conceptual Model of Feminist Leadership in American Education, 1 Jennifer L. Martin CHAPTER 2 From Rags to the Riches of Radcliffe: A Historical Study of Female Graduate Leaders from Poor and Working-class Backgrounds, 37 Jennifer O’Connor CHAPTER 3 Shirking the Maternal Shroud: A Call to Arms in Reinscribing Women Compositionists and Their Feminist Classrooms, 57 Rachel Grimshaw CHAPTER 4 Whose Social Justice Counts? Addressing Issues of Social Justice and Equity in Schools, 75 Christa Boske

v

vi Contents

CHAPTER 5 Teacher Leaders Working for Social Justice: Contributing to the Field, 101 Jennifer L. Martin CHAPTER 6 Course Guides, Equity, and Achievement: The Shaping of Student Status, 131 Lisa P. Hallen and Elizabeth J. Allan CHAPTER 7 The Risks of Sex-Segregated Public Education for Girls, Boys, and Everyone, 155 Susan S. Klein CHAPTER 8 Understanding Gender-Based Leadership Learning Behaviors, 195 Shannon R. Flumerfelt, Lindson Feun, and C. Robert Maxfield CHAPTER 9 Women in Administration: Differences in Equity, 221 Marjorie Ringler, Cheryl McFadden, and Valjeaner Ford CHAPTER 10 Women Leaders as Superintendents: Stories of Courage and Character, 245 Deb Clarke CHAPTER 11 This I Believe: Teaching in Color, 269 Carmen M. Johnson CHAPTER 12 Both Sides of Mentoring: A Leader’s Story, 279 Lynn Kleiman Malinoff and James E. Barott About the Editor and Contributors, 319 Index, 329

Series Foreword

Ma muaka kite a muri Ma muri ka ora a mua (Those who lead give sight to those who follow, Those who follow give life to those who lead) —Pauline Tangiora

Welcome to the Women and Careers in Management Series at Praeger. This series examines the status of women in management and leadership and offers discussions of issues women managers and leaders face, including: Differences in leadership styles Traditional gender roles reinforcing women’s subordinate status in the workplace Obstacles to advancement and pay Benefit and resource inequity Discrimination and harassment Work/life imbalance This series acknowledges that gender is one of the fundamental factors influencing the ethics, values, and policies of workplaces and that the discrimination against women managers and leaders explains the pervasiveness of institutionalized inequality. This series also discusses interconnections among equality issues: sex, race, class, age, sexual orientation, religion, and disability. Thus, this series brings together a multidisciplinary and multicultural discussion of women, management, and leadership.

vii

viii Series Foreword

Women and Careers in Management encourages all of us to think critically about women managers and leaders, to place value on cultural experiences, and to integrate empirical research and theoretical formulations with experiences of our family, friends, colleagues, and ourselves. It is my hope that the books in Women and Careers in Management serve as a “life raft” (Klonis, Endo, Crosby, & Worrell, 1997), especially for the Millennial and subsequent generations. I am honored to have Dr. Jennifer Martin’s two-volume set published in the Women and Careers in Management Series. Dr. Martin was instrumental in bringing together noted educators and scholars to address women as leaders in K–12 and in higher education. The volumes are essential reading for students preparing for a career in teaching and education administration, school and college administrators, and human resource personnel. Dr. Martin offers her readers a “paper mentor” in her edited volumes. As such, these volumes share Pauline Tangiora’s sentiment: Those who lead give sight to those who follow, Those who follow give life to those who lead. —Michele A. Paludi Series Editor

Reference Klonis, S., Endo, J., Crosby, F., & Worrell, J. (1997). Feminism as life raft. Psychology of Women Quarterly, 21, 333–45.

Acknowledgments

Do not follow where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and leave a trail. —Muriel Strode

I dedicate this book set to veteran feminist leaders. I thank you for making the road a little less rocky for the women behind you. I honor your work and celebrate your strength. Your work informs and inspires mine and has led me to this point in my thinking about women and leadership. You have carved your own path; because of your work, mine is possible. It is with you in mind that I bring together this group of diverse voices. I have had the distinct pleasure of collaborating with colleagues, friends, students, and mentors on this project. I have also been given the unique opportunity to meet many feminist scholars who were interested in sharing their work. These new colleagues have taught me much from their writing and their scholarship. I thank you for your contributions to this book set. This process has been a true collaboration in the spirit of transformational leadership; all of the authors have brought much to the discussion on women and leadership and have assisted me greatly throughout this process. I thank my parents, John and Dolores Martin, and my sister Elizabeth Martin for their help and support throughout this process. Tremendous thanks go to my husband Peter Midtgard, my greatest sounding board, cheerleader, and provider of reassurance and support; no one believes in me as much as he. I acknowledge several special friends whose encouragement has been instrumental throughout this process: Annie James, Elizabeth Schuch, and Karissa Williams. Special thanks go to Alice Kondraciuk for ix

x Acknowledgments

technological support without which this project would have been much more laborious, and Ken VanDerworp for his keen wordsmithing. I also thank the Women of Words writer’s group, especially Coralie Johnson and Karen Simpson, for allowing me to share my thoughts and providing me with guidance, feedback, friendship, and mentoring. My students continue to inspire me and make me strive to be a better person and educator. I thank my students from the Women and Gender Studies and Education Specialist programs at Oakland University and my high school students at Tinkham Alternative High School. My students have informed my praxis, my research, and my writing. I have been fortunate enough to have many mentors throughout my career. These inspiring people continue to help me and advise me in my work. I honor and thank Dr. Duane Moore, Dr. Heather Neff, Dr. Mary Otto, Dr. Dawn Pickard, Dr. Julia Smith, and especially Dr. Jo Reger and Dr. Dyanne Tracy. To my friends at Michigan NOW, thank you for your support and wisdom. Your feminist leadership continues to inspire me. I thank Brian Romer, Senior Acquisitions Editor at Praeger, for supporting my work and my vision for this project. His helpful guidance has been instrumental in the completion of this series. Finally, I give special thanks to my mentor and friend Dr. Michele Paludi, who always believed in my abilities as a scholar, teacher, and writer. She has provided me with tremendous opportunities to grow as a person and as a professional. Without her, this book set would not have been possible. —Jennifer L. Martin

Introduction

Given that our educational institutions are so deeply invested in a banking system, teachers are more rewarded when we do not teach against the grain. The choice to work against the grain, to challenge the status quo, often has negative consequences. —bell hooks

Education either functions as an instrument which is used to facilitate integration of the younger generation into the logic of the present system and bring about conformity or it becomes the practice of freedom, the means by which men and women deal critically and creatively with reality and discover how to participate in the transformation of their world. —Paulo Freire

Without acknowledging the presence of students, one cannot have a discussion about education, let alone educational leadership. The dreams, standpoints, and values of students should be at the forefront of any discussion of education and every dialogue on curriculum, pedagogy, and classroom research. Teachers are an essential resource in bringing these perspectives to the conversation. But in reality, teacher knowledge, and by extension student voice, is largely absent from the dialogue. Teachers are expected to rely on outside experts to inform them of best practices, despite the fact that they know their students best. Teaching, particularly in the public sector, has lost much of its professional caliber beginning in the late twentieth century. Teachers are increasingly being viewed as technicians as opposed to professionals. This impacts teacher effectiveness, for when teachers are devalued, their impact diminishes. xi

xii Introduction

Many teachers are experts in curriculum, pedagogy, and research; thus, they can and should contribute to the production of knowledge in partnership with their students. For this to occur on a larger scale, we must work to change how the teaching profession is perceived from the outside and strive for the empowerment of teachers by valuing their expertise. This will be beneficial to both teachers and students. Since the passage of No Child Left Behind (2001), academic freedom for teachers has decreased. This law punishes instead of supports low-performing schools. The media also participate in presenting teachers and schools in a negative light. For example, the film Waiting for Superman exacerbates teacher scapegoating by indicting the tenure system and teacher unions for failing schools. Fortunately, there are recourses for these challenges. Teacher educators sharing their tools with teachers in the field instead of viewing them as the objects of study and requiring courses in research methods for beginning teachers will help. According to Christianakis (2008), “Self-definition enacted through teacher research has the power to free teachers from the unchallenged academic gaze, and more specifically from generalized outsider expertise” (p. 104). For changes to occur in the public’s perception of the profession, advocacy and teacher training are necessary. If learning is to be an emancipatory and democratic process, it must be based on the development of trusting, caring, and reciprocal relationships between teachers and students. These relationships are crucial in the collaborative process of knowledge production and transfer and in valuing student voice. It is therefore imperative that teachers insert themselves in the dialogues about what students need to know and how they can learn. In addition to these crucial issues facing educators today, this volume brings together a wide array of topics that are relevant to classroom pedagogical practices, school reform measures, and social justice work by including diverse perspectives informed by standpoints of gender, race, class, and sexuality. Women in the field tell rich stories of participating in true counter-hegemonic projects, teaching to transgress, and advocating for those “on the margins.” This volume gives voice to those who have been systematically silenced because they do not represent the tone of the majority. It presents the field of education as requiring advocacy at its core. To raise awareness of the problems of marginalization within the student population and within the teaching ranks is crucial; to fight for solutions is paramount. This text will provide inspiration to current

Introduction xiii

and future educators and educational leaders to take up the fight for the inclusion, safety, and success of all students and to fight for the future of the profession. My students have inspired me to put together this collection of essays, for it is always with them in mind that I seek to improve my practice and to contribute to the field by passing on what I have learned from them. Additionally, during my work on this volume, I was inspired by classic texts from the tradition of critical pedagogy. The current increase of social and political conservatism affecting public education is perhaps most clearly illustrated by Arizona’s ban on ethnic studies, HB 2881, indicating that some in positions of power do not want all to be equally represented. Every story is a necessary element in the creation of an accurate portrait of American life; systematic omissions or deletions of student voices represent a false reality. Critical pedagogy thus remains a timely and relevant discourse for today’s educators. Strong leaders are also a necessary resource in these contentious times. Many women are transformational leaders who work for social justice, but their stories and struggles are also largely absent from the formal conversation on educational leadership in K–12 schools today; this volume seeks to rectify this by dealing specifically with women’s unique experiences as leaders in education, for they have much to bring to the conversation. For example, if feminism is defined as the eradication of sexism (hooks, 2000) and other forms of oppression, then feminist leadership is necessary in education. It is not only necessary to add nonhegemonic stories to the conversation about education and leadership but also to problematize their omission and advocate for the general inclusion of diverse voices. The male as human universal is still the paradigm in the field, with texts on leadership often delegating a single chapter to gender or other nondominant narratives. These textual omissions are metaphors for the absences of women and other minorities from proportional representation in positions of leadership. Because women traditionally hold less power, they are thought to be less deserving of positions with high status where power may be achieved (Miner-Rubino & Cortina, 2004). Belenky, Clinchy, Goldberger, and Tarule (1997/1986) argue that women find it more difficult than men to not only assert authority but also to consider themselves authorities in their fields. This is certainly true in the field of education. Although an

xiv Introduction

increasing number of women are qualified for positions in educational administration, many are not taking on these roles. It is more difficult for them to be taken seriously; their goals may not be supported because they run counter to the status quo, and their authority may be questioned because of their gender. In fact, they may not even seriously consider themselves capable leaders, and instead are pushed into leadership roles. To complicate these issues, some current and aspiring women leaders do not see these challenges as systemic. “I find the antifeminist attitudes of some women administrators perplexing. . . . It is perplexing that women who have faced overt bias and discrimination refuse to call it bias and discrimination. Why do some women deny the fact that they have been discriminated against?” (Schmuck, as cited in Gupton & Slick, 1996, p. viii). Women who deny systemic injustice perpetuate it by blaming the victim: to do so is to distance themselves from other women and thus from themselves. They may not support other women but support those who have reached the levels of success to which they aspire: men. They minimize issues of privilege and discrimination by perpetuating the bootstrap myth. Ignoring inequities based on gender will not eradicate them. Because women administrators still face discrimination, sexual harassment, trivialization, and microaggressions, I have included the stories of women administrators who have had to grapple with these issues but eventually created their own success and personal career fulfillment. This volume contains chapters written by teachers in the field who practice social justice leadership in the classroom for, as Freire and hooks remind us, the classroom should embody the practice of freedom; teachers must create a community of learners where all are on the road to selfactualization. Empowerment is necessary for true learning to occur. However, teachers must be empowered themselves in order to empower others. Therefore, the need for advocacy is stressed throughout many chapters. Social justice education is not often rewarded. Feminist leaders and social justice advocates are frequently considered “trouble makers” because they challenge the status quo and force people from their comfort zones. As hooks (1994) indicates, “ . . . it is painfully clear that biases that upload and maintain white supremacy, imperialism, sexism, and racism have distorted education so that it is no longer about the practice of freedom” (p. 29). Thus, counterhegemonic projects may be resisted. But advocates do not engage in this work out of a desire for accolades; they do this

Introduction xv

work out of love for their students and for the principles of justice. This work is difficult; it involves risk, and it requires courage. Many chapters in this volume deal directly with teachers in K–12 classrooms and schools and with the disconnection between teachers in the field and professors in the academy. In an attempt to bridge this gap, I have included work that discusses how higher education interacts with the field of education. Specifically, I have included work by educational leaders who have made the transition to higher education as well as work that situates the challenges women leaders in education have faced in a historical context. I have also included chapters that detail policies and practices within education that disadvantage women and other minorities. I have concluded this volume with a chapter on mentoring because this process is essential in shaping women as future leaders. Education, if it is to be transformative, must be participatory. Students must be involved in the development of a critical consciousness, question their own beliefs and the existing hegemony, and critique the very nature of education itself. Making these higher-order processes a priority is required for a successful and competitive workforce, but this is not the current trend in education. No Child Left Behind requires low-level multiple-choice assessments that necessitate diverging from higher-order thinking toward scripted curricula, pacing guides, and a standards-based “one size fits all education” (Darling-Hammond, 2010). Freire indicts this banking system of education where students are “passive consumers,” as opposed to creators of knowledge. This is hardly the prototype of a free and democratic society, but it characterizes much of our present system. Such educational policies will contribute to the United States continuing to trail other industrialized nations in knowledge and skill. In order to improve our public schools and prepare our students to compete in a global economy, we must respect what students know, what they can bring to the classroom dialogue, and what they can teach us. We must have the same respect for teachers. Students must feel safe enough to question their education and to insert themselves within the process to be truly active in their own learning. As teachers, we must create this empowering type of classroom environment. However, empowerment comes with a price; the true counterhegemonic project is bound to challenge the established hierarchy and make people, including students, uncomfortable. It is not easy to broach issues of marginalization that

xvi Introduction

may hit close to home with students, to challenge students to think for themselves, and, as teachers and teacher leaders, to advocate for academic freedom. But we have to “respect that pain” as bell hooks suggests; it is difficult to engage in this work. It is painful. It is risky, but required. —Jennifer L. Martin

References Belenky, M. F., Clinchy, B. M., Goldberger, N. R., & Tarule, J. M. (1997/ 1986). Women’s ways of knowing: The development of self, voice, and mind. New York: Basic Books. Christianakis, C. (2008, fall). Teacher research as a feminist act. Teacher Education Quarterly, 99–115. Darling-Hammond, L. (2010). The flat world and education: How America’s commitment to equity will determine our future. New York: Teachers College Press. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Continuum. Gupton, S. L., & Slick, G. A. (1996). Highly successful women administrators: The inside stories of how they got there. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin. hooks, b. (1994). Teaching to transgress: Education as the practice of freedom. New York: Routledge. hooks, b. (2000). Feminism is for everybody: Passionate politics. Cambridge, MA: South End Press. Miner-Rubino, K., & Cortina, L. M. (2004). Working in a context of hostility toward women: Implications for employees’ well-being. Journal of Occupational Health Psychology, 9(2), 107–22.

1 Toward a Conceptual Model of Feminist Leadership in American Education Jennifer L. Martin

One of the most difficult tasks for women is overcoming the “imposter syndrome”—the feeling that we aren’t good enough, don’t have the necessary background, or don’t deserve leadership opportunities. We feel like we need one more credential, one more bit of experience, et cetera. Men do not have this problem. They take the job and figure out how to do it later. We need to adopt some of their sense of entitlement to leadership. —Martha Burk

Men are taught to apologize for their weaknesses, women for their strengths. —Lois Wyse

Introduction Feminist pedagogy, feminist leadership, and even feminism in general are terms one rarely hears in K–12 education. Perhaps because the word feminism itself has become so stigmatized, people are reluctant to broach any subject with which the term is associated. However, feminist practices, which have at their core the eradication of sexism, social justice reform, equity, and collaboration, are crucial to educational leadership today. This chapter, in fact this series, helps to rectify feminism’s omission from education.

1


There are many different conceptions of leadership and what defines a leader, both inside and outside of education. Strodi (1992) defines leadership as “the influence a person asserts upon the behavior of others . . . the quality of a person to motivate people to change individual behavior to cooperative group behavior and to give direction and purpose to the lives of other people” (p. 3). Some find leadership difficult to define, but they “know it when they see it.” Wahlstrom and Seashore Louis (2008) note that “ . . . teacher, custodian, education assistant, specialist, office support staff—they all seem to know good (and bad) leadership when they experience it. Furthermore, most people can identify particular behaviors of school leaders that they remember as being effective” (p. 459). Some theorists distinguish between leadership and management (Antonakis, Cianciolo, & Sternberg, 2004; English, 2008). Others attempt to conceptualize leadership (Northouse, 2010); and still others provide applications of leadership in practice, pulling ideas from business and applying them to education (Bolman & Deal, 1997). However, in popular texts on leadership used in university schools of education and educational leadership, most do not make mention of women’s leadership, how gender plays a large part in people’s conceptions of leaders, how authentic leaders appear to their followers (which is often impacted by gender and other uncontrollable characteristics such as race, class, sexuality, etc.), the unique challenges women face as leaders in education, or feminist leadership. What I have learned through my research and practice in educational leadership is that gender constantly matters, as does one’s standpoint in general; it informs our points of view and often either enables or inhibits our goal attainment. In this chapter, I will sort through current views of leadership and discuss the obstacles to women’s leadership in order to define and conceptualize feminist leadership in educational theory and practice. A model of feminist leadership or models of leadership that include the perspectives of women in general are lacking in the literature (Chin, 2007a). I have brought together interdisciplinary research on leadership, feminist theory and ethics, the psychology of gender, and social justice education in order to create a model of feminist leadership for educators. This chapter serves two purposes. The first purpose is to change the negative perceptions of feminism that are held by many by clearly defining feminism and theorizing feminist leadership in practice. The second purpose is to provide a call to feminist educators and feminist leaders to voice their ideas about equity

Toward a Conceptual Model of Feminist Leadership 3

and social justice toward a new, more inclusive model of educational leadership in today’s schools. In other words, I advocate for and my work represents feminist educational leadership. There are myriad approaches to researching and understanding leadership stemming from both theory and practice; some of these include the trait school, the behavioral school, leader–member exchange, transactional leadership, and transformational leadership. The trait approach to leadership suggests that there are several psychological traits associated with effective leadership (Korabik & Ayman, 2007). Often, these traits, such as agency and assertiveness, are viewed as exclusively male characteristics or are characteristics that are not valued when exhibited by women. The behavioral school involves studying the behaviors leaders enact and analyzing how leaders treat their followers. Leader–member exchange describes the relationship between leaders and followers and examines the meaning behind such reciprocal relationships. Transactional leadership involves meting out consequences, incentives, and rewards for productivity or lack thereof. This is a system of bartering for results; ethics and beliefs do not necessarily play a part in this type of leadership. Transformational leaders are leaders who seek to empower others in the implementation of their vision for a school. A transformational leadership model may include transmitting the vision of the leader in order to give direction to and inspire others, communicating high expectations, empowering others, and nurturing the growth of others through nonhierarchical strategies, mutual respect, and trust (Shapiro & Leigh, 2007). It is also defined as “enlightened power” (Coughlin, 2005), because these leaders encourage divergent and diverse perspectives and open dialogue in an attempt to gain insight and results. Relational-cultural theory accords quite nicely with the transformational leadership model and provides for relational leadership and value for the communal, for mentoring, and for establishing a sense of connection between people. In fact, the most effective style of leadership is transformational leadership, which builds empowerment in a mutual and collaborative context (Eagly, Johannesen-Schmidt, & van Engen, 2003; Eagly, Karau, & Makhijani, 1995; Hopkins, O’Neil, Passarelli, & Bilimoria, 2008). The transformational approach to leadership is the style most practiced by women leaders, particularly feminist women (Chin, 2007a). Thus, it would seem that more women would be moving into the upper echelons of


leadership in the corporate, educational, and political realms. But, as of yet, we are not seeing this. Transformational leaders are role models, but women need more role models of their own in order to transition to these high levels of leadership with greater frequency. The field of educational leadership is predicated on the analysis of these and other varying schools of thought on leadership in order to determine which work best for schools. Often, these schools and theories leave gender entirely out of the discourse. However, gender is relevant to how one is perceived, how one views herself, and the choices one makes in defining her leadership practices. More specifically, often missing from the dialogue are the implications of what leaves certain individuals out of the discussion and why the authenticity of certain leaders is questioned: the latter not because of a lack of education or qualification, but because of factors beyond their control such as gender. Feminist leaders face the challenges of overcoming the perceptions of others who may view their position as incompatible with their gender or of being perceived as “too political” in their advocacy work within schools or both. Feminist values will not always be endorsed in schools, which contributes to difficulties for feminist leaders. However, feminist leaders must, in spite of their value for collaboration, communicate a “clear-cut exercise of authority. Leaders who are inflexibly collaborative can be poorly prepared to exert directive, autocratic leadership when it is needed” (Eagly, 2007, p. xviii). Feminist leaders must maintain this delicate balance. Leadership in American education has been quintessentially male throughout its history. When the teaching profession changed from predominantly male to predominantly female, the prestige of the profession dwindled as more men entered the ranks of administration. As Baker indicates, “There’s a trend in American history that when women enter a particular activity or profession, men then often think less of that domain. When something becomes feminized, the pay diminishes, the stratification in the work increases, and the status diminishes” (as cited in Wilson, 2007, p. 118). The percentage of female teachers began to increase dramatically in the 1800s; at this time the expectations and duties for the profession changed to accord with societal expectations for women. Likewise, the expectations for male educators shifted as well; men entered the ranks of management and administration. As Newton (2006) states, “By the late 19th century, men, who filled virtually all superintendent’s positions, had


separated themselves ‘socially, intellectually, economically, and politically from the largely feminized profession’ ” (p. 557). In essence, “Men manage, women teach” (Newton, 2006, p. 557). This divide continued through the late twentieth century. To exacerbate this stratification, male philosophical paradigms remain present in educational theories and in the embodiment of the American educational leader (i.e., the “great man” paradigm). This traditional “trait” view presumes that leadership is innate, born into a “great man.” We still live with the repercussions of this. Male educational leaders historically transitioned from positions as coaches and teachers. Through traditional male gender socialization and sports, men were taught not to show weakness or fear, not to show vulnerability or emotion of any kind; they were socialized to project an aura of confidence. The result is that male leaders may not know what they are doing, but they project confidence regardless; it is a logical extension of patriarchal entitlement. Women, on the other hand, traditionally socialized to admit their insecurities, ask if they need help; they do not tend to hide these feelings. Traditional gender socialization contributes to the perceived greater authenticity of male leaders; male leaders are still often seen as more “natural” leaders whether they are effective or not. All of the above factors have made it more difficult for women leaders to be taken seriously as principals, central office administrators, and especially as superintendents. Women represent 65 percent of the workforce in education; however, they only make up 14 percent of superintendent positions (Newton, 2006). According to Newton (2006), “By some estimates, men continue to be more than 40 times more likely than women to advance from teaching to the superintendency . . . ” (p. 552). Feminist educational theorists have attempted to account for the discrepancies at high levels of leadership: among these theories are pipeline theory, work/family conflict, and deficits theory, which holds that there are formal and informal barriers that prohibit advancement. These include discrimination based on race and sex, homophobia, sexual harassment (and the tolerance of it), a sexist climate, and so forth (Settles, Cortina, Malley, & Stewart, 2006).

Barriers to Women’s Leadership: The Labyrinth Although leadership is still largely considered to be a male trait, we have moved beyond the view that leadership skills are innate. Leadership traits


are all acquirable; however, they are more easily acquired by some than by others. Women have more obstacles that prevent them from being taken seriously as leaders and to being viewed as authentic leaders. Women in education who attempt to transition to leadership positions often find it difficult to be seen as authentic leaders. Unfortunately, some women have difficulty viewing themselves as authentic leaders and thus do not seek leadership positions at all (Gupton & Slick, 1996). Teaching is still seen, in large part, as a traditional female job. Historically, women were not considered viable candidates for leadership positions because of their gender or were viewed as less effective in leadership and administration positions because they were judged by male standards. “Traditions are masculine, and women are at risk for seeming unqualified and having others resist their efforts to exert influence” (Eagly, 2007, p. xix). To illustrate, both women and men have shown a preference for male bosses. According to Gupton and Slick (1996): Attitudinal studies consistently show a bias against women compared with men for school administrative positions. This bias is found among teachers, school board members, and superintendents. . . . Furthermore, the literature is replete with claims of sex role stereotyping as the major barrier to women seeking entry into or advancement in educational administration. (p. xxix) It is not just women who are subject to the constraints of gender. Men are also subject to gender role norms. If women exhibit assertive behaviors in their roles as leaders, they may be perceived as “bitchy,” whereas men who exhibit the same characteristics in the same situation will be lauded. Likewise, men who act out of their prescribed role, by showing any vulnerability, for example, may be perceived as weak. However, if women leaders behave in ways that are perceived to be traditionally feminine, they may also be perceived as weak. Thus, it is more difficult for women to find the balance between gender role expectations and the characteristics of authentic leaders. Society’s dictates for women are still much more rigid, with the expectation that women be more nurturing and selfless. For example, when contemplating what constitutes a hero, my undergraduate students over the years have indicated that men are viewed as heroes for what they give. Women are viewed as heroes for what they give up. This is never something


that is analyzed prior to emerging through discussion. Students provide examples such as, “My mother is my hero because she gave up her dream of college to raise six kids,” or “LeBron James is my hero because his athletic ability is unprecedented.” It is only when I point out the difference in these two examples that students begin to recognize and understand the problem. Clearly, feminist analysis is important in education. Contrary to popular belief that the gender gap has largely been filled and that the glass ceiling has been shattered, women make up only 16 percent of college and university CEOs, less than 5 percent of public school superintendents, and only 20 percent of principals (Lott, 2007). Women are also underrepresented in union leadership as representatives and stewards, positions that serve as pipelines to higher offices. Minority women are even less represented than white women (Lott, 2007). Women make up the majority of degree recipients in educational leadership; however, most are not funneling through the pipeline to actual positions of leadership in schools. For example, according to the Digest of Education Statistics, in 2007 to 2008, women received 12,142 of the master’s degrees awarded in educational leadership and administration and 2,017 of the doctoral degrees awarded, whereas men received 7,007 of the master’s degrees awarded in educational leadership and administration and 1,131 of the doctoral degrees awarded (Digest of Education Statistics, 2009). Women are awarded degrees much more frequently than men, yet men are still achieving the majority of the employment positions in school leadership. One of the reasons for this is that women continue to be judged based upon gender-biased notions of their abilities to juggle home life and career and whether they can “sustain the traditional roles of women (wife, mother) as well as their skill as a school leader” (Williamson & Hudson, 2003, p. 7). Other reasons include traditional notions of gender and leadership of those responsible for hiring decisions, a lack of informal and formal networking opportunities for women, and few women mentors in higher ranks of educational leadership. The current metaphor used to describe these and other barriers to career advancement women face is the “labyrinth” (Eagly & Carli, 2007): the inability to see what obstacles lie in one’s path or what barriers exist that prevent one from successfully transitioning to positions of leadership. Such barriers include entering a culture with hidden norms and practices. Women leaders who attain formal positions of leadership are still faced with


entering a traditional male realm, replete with a male organizational culture and male norms that may be completely foreign to them. Williamson and Hudson (2003) found that successful women superintendents were aware of this culture and the expectations placed upon them as women. As Gupton and Slick (1996) previously found, “The problems for women are not the formal, tangible barriers, such as education or certification, but the intangible, informal ones that require an aspirant to be accepted as ‘one of us’ by those already at the apex of the organization” (p. 1). Although some women go into school leadership positions fully aware of the male culture that still predominates, many do not. Women lack the informal networks that are available to men and often lack formal mentoring by other women who can point out the gender barriers that they may face (Gupton & Slick, 1996). Again, it is not that women do not have the qualifications; in fact, more women are qualified in terms of sheer numbers than their male counterparts for positions of educational leadership. The problem is still one of bias. As Wilson indicates (2007): We often find resistance to women’s leadership because they are not seen as tough enough, both due to the male-oriented definition of “leader” and the entrenched “cultural ideal” of female: sensitive and warm, self-sacrificing and nurturing, good wife and mother. These assets, while valued in the home, become reasons to marginalize women on the job. (p. 22) A second invisible barrier explaining women’s limited success in leadership positions is biased evaluations. Women’s credentials and performances are often not evaluated in an equitable manner; leadership qualities, such as agency and assertiveness, may be viewed less favorably when exhibited by a woman (Eagly, Makhijani, & Klonsky, 1992). Eagly, Makhijani, and Klonsky (1992) found that women leaders were devalued in comparison to male leaders when the leadership was carried out in a stereotypically masculine manner. This devaluation was exacerbated when women leaders occupied positions in male-dominated realms and when male evaluators were used: Because placing women in leadership positions upsets the traditional societal gender hierarchy, male subjects might, in a sense, have more


to lose by approving female leadership because their status vis-a`-vis women would decline. Thus, male subjects may be more prone than female subjects to reject female leaders. (p. 7) This system of evaluation has much to do with male privilege and male instinct, whether conscious or not, to maintain it (Chin, 2007a). Self-promotion (an agentic quality) tends to be unsuccessful for many aspiring women leaders (Eagly & Karau, 2002). Historically, women have been punished when they “act out” of their prescribed roles; they may experience negative results when exhibiting behaviors outside the dominant sexual script because the expectation is that women be self-effacing. Standpoint theory stresses that women’s experiences should be included in the conversation about leadership; although women and men are not essentially different in their styles, they possess very different lived experiences based upon the expectations of educational institutions and the gender stereotypes and discrimination within school cultures today. These are the stories that need to be told. Feminist leaders seek to end marginalization and to eradicate sexism, to have the difficult conversations about privilege, about the intersections of ability, class, color, gender, heterosexism, race, and sexuality. Feminist leaders can aid in ending the barriers to women’s leadership within schools. According to Pratch and Jacobowitz (1996): Whereas the details of female leaders’ behaviors may be scrutinized because of their role conflict, male leaders are not ordinarily constrained by the attitudinal bias of their coworkers. Hence, men are freer to carry out leadership in a variety of masculine or feminine styles without encountering negative reactions because their leadership is ordinarily perceived as legitimate. (p. 205) Women should have the freedom to be who they are: to be self-promoting, to be ambitious. A third invisible barrier that prevents women from achieving success as school leaders deals with voice and perceived confidence levels. Eagly and Karau (2002) indicate that women tend to prefer female speakers who come across confidently, whereas men prefer tentative female speakers. Women exhibit more tentativeness in speech in general: they tend to ask more tag questions, exhibit more hesitations, space fillers, and qualify


their statements with questions such as, “you know?” Or, “does that make sense?” Women are socialized to exhibit a more relational nature and thus are more concerned about making connections in conversations; thus, women are perceived to lack the confidence of men in general when making their voices and opinions heard. Women are interrupted more than men in conversations; this fact impacts both leaders and emergent leaders. Women’s lack of societal privilege in comparison to men’s has consequences for their speech and communication that affect their style of leadership and their sense of authenticity within leadership roles. Visibility, to be seen as qualified within the organization, is important for leaders. However, when one is relegated to token status, visibility can be negative: it is to be seen as different, to be viewed as marginal in the eyes of the dominant group culture. One is then subject to the controlling gaze of the majority. This situation becomes even more difficult for those who possess double minority status. “Ethnic minority women leaders are often questioned in subtle and indirect manners that question their competence or assume they got to where they did because of affirmative action, not because they can do the job” (Chin, 2007a, p. 357). However, the same is not true for men who often benefit from token status. According to Simpson and Lewis (2005), “ . . . the invisibility that men experience signifies not an absence or a ‘real presence’ as in the case of women, but a ‘strong presence’ in that invisibility emanates from the transparency that accompanies the norm” (p. 1263). As such, men are not seen in terms of their gender; likewise, whites are not seen in terms of their race. In fact, the privileges people enjoy because of their maleness or whiteness often are not deconstructed, which allows for them to continue unchecked. The male gender role and its associated privileges are often taken for granted and not questioned or challenged (Collinson & Hearn, 1994). Feminist analysis is crucial in the dismantling of privilege and in contributing to a more equitable educational environment by and for all, but it is not only gender that concerns feminist leaders. As Suyemoto and Ballou (2007) state, “In creating feminist leadership that embraces the diversity of women, we must resist overemphasizing the ways in which we are similarly oppressed (i.e., gender) and underemphasizing the ways in which we may simultaneously be differently privileged (e.g., race, ethnicity, nationality, social class, sexual orientation, ability, etc.)” (p. 37). The task


of feminist leaders is to include all discourses to improve schools, which will benefit everyone—not just women. Because we still experience inequity in a variety of forms within our schools, feminist leaders are instrumental in dismantling stereotypes and advocating for greater equity within both employee and student populations. Feminist awareness presupposes an ethic of care for disenfranchised groups and an awareness of intersectionality: the interlocking oppressions of ableism, class, gender, race, sexuality, and trans status. Feminist leaders are also experts at recognizing privilege and how it functions to oppress; this is key to creating more equitable school environments. I have previously discussed some of the dominant discourses of femininity: the expectation is that women be self-effacing, nurturing, and nonaggressive. However, there are additional discourses that prevent women from achieving success in leadership positions. Women are still depicted as sexual objects and therefore simultaneously vulnerable and dangerous (Gordon, Iverson, & Allan, 2010, p. 87). No matter what the dominant discourse, when women fail to fulfill society’s expectation of them, they are met with criticism and are labeled as “noncompliant, incompetent, disruptive, and controversial” (Gordon, Iverson, & Allan, 2010, p. 87). If a man is controversial, this will not necessarily be perceived negatively. These stringent expectations and the resulting criticism for failure to comply are harsher for women leaders, who tend to be more visible (and vulnerable) because they are sparser than male leaders. Thus, it is clear that gender bias still exists; the whole range of human emotions is not available to women: they have less freedom to fall naturally within this range. Rather, their behavior is relegated to specific stereotypes. The same is true for other oppressed groups. People of color are far more limited than are whites to engage in certain behaviors for fear of reprisal; for example, African American women and men are more limited in expressing anger, for they are more likely to be labeled disruptive, overemotional, hysterical, unstable, militant, and even crazy if they do so. As Frye (1983) reminds us: One of the most characteristic and ubiquitous features of the world as experienced by oppressed people is the double bind. . . . For example, it is often a requirement upon oppressed people that we smile and be cheerful. If we comply, we signal our docility and our acquiescence


in our situation. . . . On the other hand, anything but the sunniest countenance exposes us to being perceived as mean, bitter, angry or dangerous. This means, at the least, that we may be found “difficult” or unpleasant to work with, which is enough to cost one one’s livelihood; at worst, being seen as mean, bitter, angry or dangerous has been known to result in rape, arrest, beating and murder. (p. 85) Feminist leaders in education must navigate between two tightropes of gender bias without a net (which speaks to the inherent dangers of this proposition): that of the leader and the other of the feminist (the double/ double bind). That is, the tightrope of the feminist leader is such that she must straddle the line between what is expected of her gender and what is expected of a leader. For women, these expectations are largely incompatible. Although transformational leadership is inherently feminist, incorporating a philosophy of empowering others and sharing leadership, there are negative aspects to this form of leadership. Feminist leaders who work to build consensus can be seen as weak and unable to make decisions on their own. Furthermore, feminist leaders must walk the tightrope of equity; advocating for the dismantling of stereotypes, hierarchical thinking, and systems of privilege; and that of politics, taking care not to alienate members of the organization who may not share feminist goals for fear of what they personally will lose. A new metaphor is more useful in examining these complexities: fire walking. Fire walking has been practiced by a variety of cultures for thousands of years and is performed as an act of faith or initiation involving walking barefoot over hot coals. This daring prospect is tantamount to what feminist leaders face. Feminist leadership in schools takes courage and a leap of faith. Perhaps most importantly, feminist leaders must persevere—faith in the ultimate goal will shepherd them through. Rice (2007) offers helpful advice in dealing with one of the coals over which feminist leaders must walk, politics: One does not avoid politics, but uses the political process as a way of effecting positive social change for equity. To get buy-in from men as well as women, the feminist leader articulates shared purposes, joint goals, and respectful disagreement. This is then another aspect of feminist collaboration and leadership which we might call transformational in that it seeks to transform relationships between men and


women by including men in the vision of a changed society and a synthesis of power that is advantageous to both sexes. (p. 130–131) In sum, women’s paucity at high levels of school leadership deals more with the perceptions of others and the informal and often invisible barriers that prevent their acceptance into positions of leadership or derail their advancement and success in formal leadership positions than with their desire to lead, their qualifications, or their motivation to succeed. Feminist leadership is necessary in education to bring these truths to light and to create more equitable schools. Working with men to advance these causes will bring them about more readily. Feminists remind us that women are not a universal category: that there are more differences within the category of women in general than between women and men. This is yet another issue that feminist leaders can bring to the forefront: women are not diametrically different from men; rather, they should be assessed on their individual merits.

Co-Opting Feminist Leadership In The Flat World and Education: How America’s Commitment to Equity Will Determine Our Future (2010), Darling-Hammond argues that if more resources (such as adequate healthcare, food, and housing) are not allocated to help prepare students to enter the classroom ready to learn, then the achievement gap will never close. The United States will continue to lag behind other developed nations in terms of reading and math test scores and will cease to be a leader in the global economy if we continue to spend more on incarcerating people than on educating them. DarlingHammond argues for a deep commitment to equity, investing in schools and teachers, and focusing on higher-order thinking and performance skills. Feminist leaders are necessary in education because they are already committed to such changes in policy and practice. Feminist leadership for social justice is necessary to improving our schools from within, to valuing and respecting the diversity of all students, and to meeting their social, behavioral, academic, physical, and aesthetic needs. Much research has been conducted since the mid-1970s on women’s ways of knowing and on how women’s experiences can contribute to educational leadership, such as the feminist theories of Carol Gilligan, bell hooks,


and Belenky, Clinchy, Goldberger, and Tarule (1986). However, these theories have been co-opted and repackaged, not as feminist theories, but as pared-down and simplified “how-tos” of school improvement and leadership in general. Women’s leadership styles are valued but called something else: Peters’s “pay attention to employees,” Senge’s “learning organizations,” Collins’s “good to great” all stem from the prototype of the “nurturing leader,” which without women’s contributions would not be possible (Wilson, 2007, p. 112). When women do the work of leadership, whether formally or informally, it is often not seen as leadership, especially if it is done in a style that does not typify what traditional male leadership looks like. Many theorists have taken these ideas to add to their own visions of leadership, often without mention of women’s contributions to the field. In fact, most books on leadership do not discuss feminist leadership, even if they discuss women (Lott, 2007). The main obstacle to feminist leadership in K–12 education is fear. Women may be hesitant to focus on activist leadership to avoid being pigeonholed as feminists. Many people, both inside and outside the academy and those far removed from activist circles, hold misconceptions of feminism; some who understand feminism distance themselves from it in fear that it will alienate others. Several studies on feminist identification suggest that people are hesitant to self-identify as feminists in large part because of the negative connotations associated with the term; people also tend to express feminist ideas without labeling themselves feminists (Henderson-King & Stewart, 1994; Morgan, 1995; Percy & Kremer, 1995; Renzetti, 1987; Rupp, 1988; Stacey, 1987; Weis, 1990). Burn, Aboud, and Moyles (2000) found that although many people may agree with the goals of feminism, they may also avoid self-identification with the term for fear of being associated with the stigmatized label. As I examined the literature for this book, the question that came to mind was, “how are feminist women leaders different from women leaders?” Marie Wilson of the White House Project argues that if there is a pipeline of women leaders to bring us to critical mass, then women will be able to change the world (Wilson, 2007). However, it is a bit more complicated than that. Not all women leaders are feminist leaders, for being female and feminist are not necessarily the same (Chin, 2007a). Some women fail to see themselves as members of a group who face the historical and present problem of inequitable and oppressive treatment. Not all women support


other women, and many are not advocates for causes that would benefit all women in general. Malveaux (2005), in a discussion of female leaders, addresses the queen bee syndrome that pits women against each other: The Queen Bee, of course, is the woman who gets some psychic pleasure by being the first and only. She doesn’t give other women a break because no one ever gave her one. She did it the hard way, by golly, and everyone else had better do the same. She forgets that some queens, like Marie Antoinette, end up with no one to protect them and their heads on a plate. (p. 55) These women fail to identify with other women and obtain their sense of power from their identification with males and the traditional male power structure; their negative views of other women are an extension of this. Ultimately, this is a position of powerlessness for women. There is a wealth of literature concerning women not supporting other women, women who are unable to get along with other women, and women who compete against women to attain the few positions that are open to them (Malveaux, 2005; Wilson, 2007). As Ginn (1989) indicates, “One of the explanations for this phenomenon . . . had to do with power. Because a large portion of women have been excluded from the power structure of ‘out of home’ decision-making, they become anxious that there is not enough power to go around” (as cited in Gupton & Slick, 1996, p. 92). In other words, this phenomenon stems from women’s lack of formal power. As Wilson (2007) argues, “ ‘Women are our own worst enemies,’ because sometimes we don’t join as we should in the workplace, supporting female leaders and bringing others along. It’s a function of powerlessness, the view that there’s precious little room at the top and the competition is fierce” (p. 74). The feminist leader, on the other hand, seeks to nurture leadership in other women and to work with others to achieve shared goals; this is true empowerment (Malveaux, 2005).

Defining Feminist Leadership hooks (2000) defines feminism as, “ . . . a movement to end sexism, sexist exploitation, and oppression” (p. viii). My view of feminist leaders in education springs from this. Feminist leaders challenge the status quo and


thus make life better for women, and, arguably, for men as well—men are also harmed by sexism and limited gender roles. Feminist leaders address the gendered nature of the organization and bias in evaluations, advocate for the dismantling of stereotypes, and provide strategies to advance equity. In general, feminist leaders tend to play the role of facilitator as opposed to one of authority figure within schools; they focus on consensus building and empowering others toward a counterhegemonic project. Feminist leaders examine and are critical of the school, the school system, and how these systems operate in order to make positive change to advance educational equity. In order to gain additional insight into the philosophy of feminist leadership, I created a weblog with a variety of questions addressing the concerns facing women leaders in education. I posted the call for participants on two educational listservs and I used snowball sampling (Gobo, 2004; Patton, 2002), suggesting that those reading the call also pass it on to interested friends and colleagues. The questions that were most useful to this discussion were as follows: Define feminist leadership. What are some examples of feminist leadership? What are the competencies that feminist leaders should have? What sets feminist leadership apart from other forms of leadership? Is a feminist leader inherently more apt to possess the qualities that successful leaders possess? I received a variety of responses from women working in education, either as leaders or aspiring leaders. This is how they defined feminist leadership: 1. I think feminist leadership is done by anyone who identifies as feminist who leads. This leadership can be done just within her family, in a work setting, or in the public sector. A feminist leader should be sensitive to intersectionality and make a very strong effort to not marginalize those around her. 2. I think feminist leadership is accomplished from the standpoint of being a feminist. It can happen anywhere . . . in the workplace, home, etc. My own experience is that I find myself struggling to create community wherever I am . . . in the classroom, in the college, leading meetings,


etc. This sense of community means everyone has a voice. I am very interested in creating democratic communities whenever I can. 3. Feminist leadership involves questioning the norms of structure and organizations and putting women more at the center versus the margins. Feminist leadership is not limited to women, as all leadership operates on a continuum. What differs in this case is a recognition of more equal power bases and less reliance on hierarchy. Feminist leaders recognize the value of all followers and work to provide nurturing environments for success. I think collaborative leadership is a form of feminist leadership. . . . Feminist leaders are more participatory, generative, and collaborative than hierarchical leadership of the past. 4. Feminist leadership takes on a different approach that derives from a sense of inclusion and teamwork rather than traditional assumptions of leadership that seek to identify an authority figure and guide others. For example, the classroom displaces a powerful teacher-figure by engaging all participants as both teachers and learners in a layering form in order to overcome the dichotomous roles. Feminist leadership also incorporates a social justice perspective in both theory and practice. A feminist leader in my opinion utilizes the position to include others, give voice to those individuals who are often excluded from participation, and to accomplish a task by actively engaging, critically examining, and listening in order to develop discussions and conclusions. 5. Feminist leadership is smart, inclusive, thoughtful. Feminist leaders consider the big picture and the smaller parts that comprise it. They are collaborative. They are courageous, willing to lead in different ways. Strong feminist leaders seek to understand meanings in different ways, using different tools and with a heightened awareness of context, silences, and omissions. . . . I think “successful leadership” has been (traditionally) characterized as autonomous, patriarchal, and hierarchical. Many schools still operate in this way, making genuine feminist contributions/leadership rare, often unwelcome, and largely silenced. In the schools I’ve worked at, no one has EVER discussed feminism, feminist leadership, or “strayed” outside of the traditional hierarchical norm. 6. [F]eminist leadership [sic] is a woman that is capable of leading in any capacity. This leader should have vision, a personality, be caring,


resilient, and can handle challenges; they fight for a cause and/or for change. Feminist leadership is set aside from others, because these women understand the power of a woman. A successful leader is anyone who is great at what they do and they create lasting impacts on the lives of others. I think all feminist leaders (according to my definition of the term) inherently possess these qualities. 7. Often, people interchange the words leadership and management. Leadership is about motivating others to take action. Thus, feminist leadership is about applying the principles of feminism: celebration, challenging power/privilege, respecting intersectionality, and shared power to one’s ability to motivate others toward action. . . . I do not think that someone needs to define themselves as a feminist to be a good leader; however, I do believe that feminist leadership has the capacity to change the way that we see leadership in our country. 8. When I think of feminist leaders, I think of women who fought to create equity for women in the workplace. I know there are feminist leaders in all parts of society, but that is the stereotype that I have. These women fight for change. In general, I think leaders should be able to motivate people to do more than they believe they can do, have integrity and values, and stay focused on achieving their goals. These characteristics should be true for all leaders. Feminist leaders probably have to be more diplomatic than other leaders, so they are not seen as too threatening. If they are seen as too threatening, they turn people off. Feminist leaders possess a strong commitment to social justice education and practice; their style is transformational. They share power with others in their leadership by bringing stakeholders together to engage in decision making and by utilizing the skills of others within the school. Feminist leaders empower others through collaboration and mentoring. Feminist leaders possess both the knowledge and the courage to break free from traditional notions of schooling and create new alternatives to the traditional top-down structure. Social justice is a feminist proposition because it inherently requires examining and dismantling the system of privilege that rewards some to the detriment of others. Part and parcel of examining and dismantling systems of privilege, feminist leaders possess a sense of cultural competence


that is displayed in their leadership. They seek to eradicate sexism, racism, and other forms of discrimination. They bring “everyone to the table;” they pay attention to the conversations that are happening, those that are not but should be, and to the silences (which also have meaning). Reflection is a critical part of this dialogue. The eight definitions of feminist leadership listed above provide the necessary pieces that, when combined, truly convey a concise picture of feminist leadership. Feminist leaders must possess a commitment to feminist principles and social justice in general; they must not fear the word feminism or being perceived as political and therefore dangerous. All leadership is political. The difference is, more traditional leaders are not viewed as dangerous because they maintain the status quo. Feminist leaders are aware of systemic oppressions of people based on class, race, gender, and sexuality as well as the interlocking oppressions of multiple identities. Feminist leaders work to end all forms of oppression including examining their complicity in the oppression of others via their personal privilege. There are three precepts that define feminist leadership stemming from the commitment to feminism and social justice: to empower, to challenge, and to collaborate. Feminist leaders empower others by practicing a nonhierarchical style and by viewing all persons as members of a community where all are valued for their strengths. To challenge the status quo toward building a vision of a more egalitarian school, which can then contribute to a more egalitarian society is another requirement of feminist leadership. However, because such work may be threatening to school personnel who are in positions of privilege, feminist leaders must also be prepared to be challenged (Rice, 2007). Feminist leaders do not stand alone in creating, working, and leading; they incorporate multiple perspectives in building and realizing a vision and collaborate with all stakeholders: students, community members, administrators, and teachers. They value this process and maintain it over time through constant dialogue. As Jones, Webb, and Neumann state (2008), “Social justice leadership demands that organizational members consciously attempt to engage in dialogue about a level playing field. The collective group, rather than any individual, determines the vision that is established through the dialogue. The dialogue must remain critical in nature with an ongoing goal of identifying inherent biases and inequities in


the community” (p. 13–14). In sum, feminist leadership is the practice and the process of doing social justice work in a collaborative environment. The requirements of feminist leadership (a commitment to empowerment, a commitment to challenging the status quo, and a commitment to collaboration) can be combined and conceptualized into three major leadership areas: vision, reflection, and advocacy. These three areas are linked to the requirements of feminist leadership through praxis1 and build upon, interact with, overlap, and influence one another, as I will illustrate. Vision A crucial leadership skill is the ability to develop a vision. If a leader does not have a vision in terms of where to take the school, then lacking direction or a specific focus, members may travel in different directions, pulling the organization apart. A successful leader leaves the organization stronger than it was. In order to do this, a leader must know herself and her stakeholders. A feminist leader’s vision must incorporate the goals of inclusion, diversity, and equity. Inclusion requires that the feminist leader involve all stakeholders in the development of the vision and empower all in the service of the vision. A feminist vision for school improvement should celebrate and embrace diversity; this includes hiring a diverse staff and requiring that all curricula and pedagogy are culturally responsive. The feminist vision values equity with the goal of closing the achievement gap, advocates for all students, and protects them from harm, bullying, and harassment. Empowering others will assist a feminist leader in the service of her vision; to do so, she must share power, work collaboratively, have the ability to pick the right people for the right positions, and nurture talent in others through guidance and mentoring. It is crucial that the feminist leader possess a sense of cultural competence and the ability to constantly compare her standpoint against her vision for the school.

1

Praxis, as defined by hooks (1994) is “action and reflection upon the world in order to change it” (p. 14). I define praxis as the bridging of theory and practice with a goal in mind, one of progress. Praxis is required when using knowledge in the service of others. Praxis is performative; it is a process. It requires taking action.


Reflection Reflection is a requirement for a feminist leader; examining her standpoint, her position of privilege (or lack thereof ), and institutional power dynamics, all impact her leadership. She must be aware of who her stakeholders are, what the needs and strengths of stakeholders are, and how these needs are being met and these strengths utilized by the school. A feminist leader must also reflect on the status quo of the school, the privileged, and how to create a nonhierarchical, egalitarian environment. She must be aware of the “bootstrap myth,” how the perpetuation of this does not help anyone gain empowerment; she must communicate these facts to staff and advocate for nonmajority and at-risk populations in the school to ensure that staff believe all children can achieve no matter where they come from, what they look like, or how they behave. Feminism is about empowering everyone, including men. Feminists are aware that traditional stereotypes are limiting and damaging to men as well as to women. Feminist leaders are aware that power over others is dangerous not only to the individual but also to the group, for it omits valuable perspectives from the dialogue. This is why it is so important to involve all stakeholders in decision making. According to Shapiro and Leigh (2007): Culturally competent women leaders must learn to understand these workings of power by becoming self-reflective about our own histories of internalized oppression, and the ways these vulnerabilities can be exploited by others. However, knowing ourselves, and appreciating our vulnerabilities to cultural messages of our lower value as women or members of a non-dominant group, is only a first step in acting as leaders in ways that are safe and effective in promoting change. (p. 96–97) It will take more time to gather all information when making shared decisions. Staff and stakeholders will likely be more invested in decisions because of this process. Gaining community involvement can be tricky, but feminist leaders make this a priority. It is imperative to have such involvement and support when working in a school. This can be broached by building trust through respecting and valuing all cultures. According to Lott (2007), “Feminist leadership in community organizations has been


described as encouraging the voices of those who are vulnerable and promoting skills needed to effectively question authority and end social injustice” (p. 27). Advocacy Advocacy involves speaking out in order to create systemic change and is another integral aspect of feminist leadership. Feminist educational leaders advocate for all stakeholders: for students and parents, staff, and community members. They also strive for the creation and implementation of fair and equitable policies and empower other leaders, teachers, and students to do the same. Feminist leaders are allies; through them social justice can become institutionalized within schools. There are current school practices that most people do not even think about, let alone critique, that perpetuate dominant gender discourses that are harmful for both women and men. For example, many schools have “sunshine committees,” which are groups within schools that handle the party planning and other recognitions such as birthdays, holiday celebrations, and other non-work-related functions. These volunteer duties primary fall on women, whether it be secretaries, paraprofessionals, or teachers. These committees are a throwback to a time when secretaries would shop for gifts for their bosses’ wives, facilitate staff recognitions, and provide setup and cleanup for events. The expectation is that women will do this work for free in addition to their other paid duties. Often, women hesitate to decline their “duty” for such work because they will then be seen as acting outside of the dominant discourse of femininity and thus as difficult, noncompliant, and even militant. Women also complete these duties because they do not believe they will be completed otherwise. When feminist leadership is present in a school, such division by sex is acknowledged, problematized, and dismantled; additional work is rewarded, not expected. Part of feminist advocacy should involve dismantling systems of privilege such as the sunshine committee and inequitable treatment of certain groups of students, for example, practicing informal discipline policies where popular or more academically inclined students are given more lenient consequences for behavior infractions, or recognizing that the student suspension rate is disproportionately high for students of color.


Dismantling privilege involves limiting the privilege of some for the benefit of the whole. As Suyemoto and Ballou (2007) state: Those of us with relatively more privilege than others will need to limit some of our privilege in order to build coalitions and allies and enable all coactors to feel connected to the process. The privilege of taking space to speak, for example, may need to be limited in order to actively make space for others whose experiences don’t afford them the privilege to “take” space without invitation. (p. 51) Listening to and valuing diverse voices and absences in voice is a necessity in recognizing where a school needs to change and where inequitable environments exist. Incorporating nondominant discourses into policy is a requirement in the development of more equitable school environments. Discursive practice within the organization tends to privilege certain terms and forms and people’s access to them; thus, there are many important issues within schools that are evaded. There is silence around issues of sexuality, pregnancy, and sexual harassment (Simpson & Lewis, 2005). Sexual harassment, for example, is seen primarily as a “woman’s problem.” A sexist environment decreases levels of felt influence, job satisfaction, and productivity; tolerance for sexual harassment is a better predictor for job satisfaction and psychological health than personal experiences with the phenomenon (Fitzgerald, Drasgow, & Magley, 1999; Settles, Cortina, Malley, & Stewart, 2006). These issues affect everyone in some way. Moreover, the dialogue of the school reinforces the status quo, often excluding those possessing token or minority status, “ . . . privileged discursive regimes are based largely on hegemonic understandings of masculinity and suppress or silence ideologies of femininity” (Simpson & Lewis, 2005, p. 1262). The issue is that women’s discourse, women’s issues, are seen to only affect women. Feminist leaders have been instrumental in advancing dialogue and defining women’s rights issues as human rights issues that affect the organization as a whole. Feminist leadership is necessary to continue this and various other dialogues and to bring them to the educational forefront: through the law, through policy, through consciousness raising.


Other areas in need of advocacy are issues of parenting for students, teachers, and leaders, both in terms of child bearing and child rearing. According to Chin (2007a), “Female managers experienced ‘emotional stress,’ primarily because of the pressure to meet expectations of being responsible and caring for people both inside and outside of their home. In contrast, male managers tended to focus on themselves and regard other things as beyond their control or responsibility” (p. 356). I argue that all female employees feel this sense of stress, not just leaders, and these are areas that can be addressed by feminist leadership. Women’s time spent away from career on child rearing and other family commitments is often perceived as representing a lesser commitment to their careers (Chin, 2007a). Feminist leaders work to change these ideas and to dismantle stereotypes of women as the sole, or primary, caretakers in the family and to advocate for childcare within educational institutions; they must also advocate for sexual harassment awareness and prevention and the inclusion of the LGBTQ community in policies to prevent harassment both among the employee and student populations. Feminist leaders are, first and foremost, educators. Thus, educational advocacy in the areas listed above is their first priority. Children cannot learn and adults cannot work successfully when an environment is unsafe. A major priority of the feminist leader is the establishment of a healthy school culture through the education of students, the training of staff, and the creation of inclusive policies. For example, antidiscrimination policies must enumerate protected categories such as race, ethnicity, religion, ability, real or perceived sexual orientation, real or perceived gender identity, and trans status to truly protect all students and employees; they should also include an antiretaliation statement. These policies should be written in student-friendly terminology and consequences should be posted. Violations of such policies should be clearly detailed and publicized. Leaders should designate at least one staff member to whom students can report incidents of harassment and gain information about the issue, including details of their legal rights and the resources that are available to them. Title IX of the 1972 Civil Rights Act protects students from sex discrimination in federally funded educational institutions; gendered harassment based on sex, sexual orientation, and gender identity (real or perceived) falls under the umbrella of sex discrimination. Most states have antibullying laws in place, of which students and parents should be made aware as well.


Feminist leaders advocate for, create, and promote trainings for staff to become educated on these issues, to implement the aforementioned policies, and to promote an open dialogue about ableism, race, class, gender, sexuality (etc.) so that all voices are heard and any problems that are occurring can be addressed. This can be done in staff meetings, but opportunities for employees and students to address concerns anonymously must also be provided; this can be done by conducting anonymous surveys on school climate and culture. Feminist leaders include the entire community of learners: students, teachers, administrative colleagues, community members, and board members in all trainings and surveys when feasible. Finally, feminist leaders encourage and participate in mentoring and institute mentoring programs for teachers and students with the goal of social justice advocacy. Students can be the best advocates for themselves if they are provided a little guidance.

Practice, Teaching, Research To further complicate the picture of feminist leadership, it is crucial that feminist leaders implement their vision, their reflection, and their advocacy (through praxis) into their daily practice, their teaching, and their research. Feminist leaders practice counterhegemonic projects: they write brave policies that protect all students and employees. They do not simply protect the privileged few who benefit from maintaining the status quo. They desire mutuality in student–teacher relationships, work toward equity in the curriculum at all levels, value diversity in their hiring practices, celebrate diversity within the student body, critique stereotypic notions, and provide training for staff to these ends as well. Feminist leaders question policies and research that promote essentialist notions and those absent a critique of privilege, power, and an analysis of intersectionality. They facilitate open dialogues on issues of race, class, gender, sexuality, and ableism. Feminist leaders also work toward full Title IX compliance within schools, which includes designating a Title IX coordinator at the district level to oversee complaints and to publish contact information so that parents and students know where to go with questions or claims of Title IX violations. Since feminist leaders strive to go beyond the minimum of what the law requires, they may designate a Title IX contact person on site, or a compliance officer. They also train


staff on Title IX regulations to prevent the harassment of employees and students. Practice Feminist leaders apply their vision, their advocacy, and their reflection, which possess the goals of empowering, challenging, and collaborating, into their day-to-day activities. The second-wave notion “the personal is political” is fitting to feminist leaders in this regard. They live their lives according to these principles. Feminist ethics with the goal of social justice enter into every decision, dialogue, and interaction. Their practice, in terms of their leadership and their interactions with others, is informed by content knowledge of policy, curriculum, pedagogy, and empathy. They stay current with new educational ideas and discourses and insert themselves into these dialogues. They read journals, are aware of current research and theory, and join and participate in professional organizations and professional learning communities. Attending and presenting at conferences is crucial in maintaining the knowledge that is necessary in becoming a true educational leader. Feminist leaders also work to establish and maintain connections within their building and district and make connections on the state, national, and even international level; they network with other leaders and activists in order to keep current and relevant. When leading in meetings and trainings, they practice the principles of inclusion and empowerment by involving all voices in the dialogue in a collaborative manner. Finally, feminist leaders continually evaluate their standpoints and take an inventory of their personal mission and goals against those of the school. Teaching Feminist leaders are first and foremost educators, although they may no longer be in the classroom full time. Feminist teaching involves the establishment of relationships; relationships are crucial in developing emancipatory and democratic classrooms: students play active roles in their educations and work with teachers to provide and produce higher-order thinking and culturally relevant instruction. Feminist leaders facilitate the building of relationships between teachers and students. Because they understand that no learning will occur without an ethic of care, they advocate for


the teaching of students, not standards. According to Williamson and Hudson (2003): . . . in schools headed by women, relationships with others are central to all actions. The leaders spend more time with people, communicate more, care more about individual differences, are more concerned with teachers and marginal students, and devote more energy to motivating others. In these schools, teaching and learning is the major focus, perhaps because women tend to know more about and be more personally involved in the teaching/learning process. (p. 6) Feminist leaders are true educational leaders as opposed to managers. Feminist leaders resist discriminatory practices such as tracking and “dumbing down” the curriculum for certain groups of students. They have high expectations for all and help students meet these by empowering and supporting teachers and providing them with adequate resources. Writing grants to supplement school funding, adding support staff, and creating programs to meet the needs of high-risk students are all priorities for feminist leaders. Creating interventions to meet the needs of struggling students is a part of the feminist leader’s mission. Attending professional development trainings to keep up on pedagogical techniques and new curricula will aid in this endeavor. Feminist leaders are involved in the teaching and learning process in general. They serve as support for teachers and advocate for learning to be democratic and participatory as opposed to autocratic and passive. They communicate the goal of participatory learning to teachers in their buildings and practice it in meetings and trainings. Research Feminist leaders conduct research in their own schools, both traditional and action research, on student achievement: on school culture, on levels of sexual, gender, and sexual orientation harassment, on levels of bullying and cyber bullying. They also conduct evaluations on the effectiveness of programs within their schools and study academics and behavior. They share their findings and involve all stakeholders, including community members, in strategies for improvement. This process is a continuous cycle.


Feminist leaders advocate for all teachers to conduct research in their classrooms. This will enable teachers to become more active in the educational process. Teachers are often asked to use materials that they have no part in creating, forced to use educational scripts and pacing guides, and asked to cover content without stopping and reteaching so that all students achieve mastery. They are commonly viewed as objects within educational research and are expected to enlist outside “experts” to inform them of what works best for their students. Teacher research not only empowers teachers but also improves student performance because it is geared to responding to individual student need; thus teacher research can improve teaching practices (Christianakis, 2008). As Bullock argues, “ . . . teacher research is revolutionary; it upsets the educational hierarchy, much like feminism upsets the patriarchal hegemony” (as cited in Christianakis, 2008, p. 99). Feminist leaders approach research from an insider standpoint. People they study are participants as opposed to subjects; they involve participants at every stage of the research process. In this sense, feminist research in education is democratic and participatory. Because the goals of involving teachers in the research process are to advance equity and improve schools from within, this research is also emancipatory. Feminist leaders will advance this agenda by conducting collaborative professional development and supporting professional learning communities where teachers work together to identify problems areas, devise strategies, and eventually create interventions to address the needs of students and schools. This work will contribute to the perception of teachers as experts in the field. For a conceptual model of feminist leadership, please see: http://tinyurl.com/jlmartin.

Conclusions and Recommendations Feminist leaders working to transform schools can expect to face resistance. Being strong and definitive may be seemingly incompatible with feminism; however, where there is change, there is conflict. Feminist leaders should not shrink in the face of struggle but understand, although at times uncomfortable, this is how change is enacted. It is only through this process that we can improve our schools. As Madden (2005) reminds us, “May a shared vision, a strong sense of the importance of the mission, and faith in the power of collective action give us the energy and determination to persist” (p. 12).


Diverse feminist leaders, both women and men, are needed to improve our schools from within. Feminist leaders can change how we view leadership in general and the field of leadership specifically. Perseverance is necessary in the realization of this challenging mission and in achieving success and overcoming obstacles (Gupton & Slick, 1996). Feminist leaders must not abandon their vision and its implementation; aspiring feminist leaders must continue to strive for authenticity. The following are recommendations that may assist aspiring feminist leaders in finding a formal position of leadership and in achieving success in their endeavors (adapted from Gupton & Slick, 1996). 1. Feminist leaders and aspiring leaders believe in women’s abilities in general and in their own abilities specifically; they must also believe that they have something to contribute to education. 2. Feminist leaders treat other women well (as opposed to treating them as competitors) so that more women will have the opportunities to lead. 3. Feminist leaders persevere in their endeavors; social change is not for the weak willed. 4. Feminist leaders and aspiring feminist leaders obtain mentors and mentor other women. This process allows women to learn and understand the hidden rules of the school, which is instrumental to their success. Mentoring and being mentored provide great systems of support when one may feel nothing is changing or when one faces resistance. It always helps to process with another person in the field. 5. Feminist leaders avoid gender stereotypes and traditional notions of gender and share these ideas with others in the school community; this will be beneficial for current and future women leaders, whether feminist or not. 6. Feminist leaders and aspiring feminist leaders plan career goals and provide a timeline for the fulfillment of goals. 7. Feminist leaders and aspiring feminist leaders network with people in the field, both inside and outside of their schools and districts. This can help leaders navigate organizational culture, find new mentors, collaborate, learn of innovative research and techniques, find new


resources, and gain allies. Attending and presenting at state and national conferences can help with these endeavors. Conferences are a great vehicle for making professional contacts. 8. Feminist leaders and aspiring feminist leaders create support systems both within and outside of the school community. This is instrumental in dealing effectively with occupational stress and surviving the pitfalls of educational leadership. Friends and family can provide needed support during trying times. 9. Feminist leaders and aspiring feminist leaders are comfortable with navigating the school politically. 10. Feminist leaders and aspiring feminist leaders advocate for gender equity to be taught in teacher education programs, particularly with regard to gender stereotypes, visions of leadership, and compliance with Title IX. For insight into feminist leadership in practice, see Martin’s “Teacher Leaders Working for Social Justice: Contributing to the Field” (in this volume). 11. Feminist leaders conduct research in their schools and encourage and support teacher research in classrooms. It is through this research that teachers will become active participants in the production of knowledge. This process will contribute to changing the perception of teachers as technicians to teachers as true experts in the field of education. Some leaders in education are hesitant to claim their feminism. They feel it will be either detrimental to their careers to do so or that it will alienate others. However, it is the brave pioneers standing up in the face of such conflicts who have facilitated positive educational and social change. I implore the reader to do the same.

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2 From Rags to the Riches of Radcliffe: A Historical Study of Female Graduate Leaders from Poor and Working-Class Backgrounds Jennifer O’Connor

Introduction The purpose of this chapter is to open a lens into the previously uncovered experiences of working-class females who were intellectual leaders in their high schools and were selected to attend the most prestigious women’s college in the country, Radcliffe College, between the years 1940 and 1970. These women were raised in poor and uneducated families but succeeded in becoming student leaders on the Ivy League campus and following graduation in their respected professions. These Radcliffe students (otherwise known as Cliffies) reached high levels of educational achievement despite gender and class barriers, and their legacy is as powerful in the twenty-first century as it was fifty years ago, given today’s remaining inequity in education. Their story can provide current and future generations of women students from low-income backgrounds a deeper understanding of successful strategies and pathways to upward mobility and leadership feats through education. A secondary analysis was conducted on an archived study at the Henry A. Murray Center, The Radcliffe Centennial Survey, originally conducted by Martina Horner in 1977. The purpose was to pursue my research interest (the relationship between leadership, academic, and professional 37


development among low-income Cliffies) that was distinct from that of the original work, which sought to gather basic demographic data of alumnae. I accomplished this by analyzing a subset of the original data sample from the analytical lens of social class and measured student leadership capacities postgraduation through career achievement. To enrich my interpretations of the quantitative findings, a historiography was conducted at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study and the Schlesinger Library Second; a content analysis of students’ and alumnae’s personal records including letters, diaries, reminiscences, periodicals, yearbooks, athletic and health reports, and the minute books of clubs and associations, alumni magazines, reunion notes, and college catalogs documenting leadership opportunities, positions, and academic life were also reviewed. As the field of women in education achieves legitimacy and popularity, new questions need to be asked about the history of gender in America’s institutions of knowledge, specifically concerning women’s access to higher education and the academic experiences of minority women and their potential to become leaders in our society. This in-depth historical understanding of working-class women will provide insights into how gender, education, and personal background shaped and impeded leadership prospects. This chapter chronicles an important period in the unfinished revolution in higher education equity for women from lower income brackets. To maintain and propel a momentum for equality, it is vital to understand the enduring complexities and challenges for working-class women. By illuminating their struggles and progress, the resulting knowledge will strengthen institutions in taking the next steps toward true equality and demand closer examination of working-class women reaching a new threshold of opportunity in the twenty-first century. Class consciousness and historical awareness can assist campus communities in embracing leadership opportunities for working-class women as undergraduates and alumni in the workforce. Women have been marginalized in research and practice in general and in historical research of higher education in particular (Woyshner & Kuo Tai, 1997). The experiences of working-class female students in higher education during the middle years of the twentieth century have never been analyzed. Within the last decade, feminist scholars have encouraged further investigation into the history of women in education. The following questions have been raised: What were the educational experiences of

From Rags to the Riches of Radcliffe 39

marginalized women such as linguistic, cultural, racial, and/or ethnic minorities? In an attempt to begin filling the knowledge gap about working-class students, this study investigates the unexplored conditions that have affected lower-socio-economic women’s college experiences and opportunities for leadership during and after their time as students. In 1997, Harvard College dedicated a gate into the Old Yard to celebrate the twenty-fifth anniversary of housing female students in the dorms. Intended as a symbol of opening, it was also a reminder of women’s historical separation at the institution. During the last half-century, female students have raised their aspirations and moved away from marginality and discrimination in the social and academic realms of Crimson life and turned to increasing positions of leadership on campus. Heightened attention has been given to trailblazing women who redefined gender expectations and equity at the College. Harvard’s relationship with women has been analyzed from the perspectives of Radcliffe and Harvard students, alumnae, faculty, and administrators. The historical relationship between gender and race at the institutions has further been acknowledged, but to a lesser extent. However, the College has yet to tell the historical story of the relationship between social class and gender. “Womanless history has been a Harvard specialty” (Ulrich, 2004, p. 10); the dismissal of class culture has been a joint project on behalf of both Harvard and Radcliffe. More importantly, this chapter reveals the untold story of how a Radcliffe education led to professional leadership opportunities for graduates.

Historical Context Abigail Adams said to her husband John Adams, “If you complain of neglect of education in sons, what shall I say with regard to daughters, who every day experience the want of it.” —Adams, 1776

Higher education, over the last two hundred years, has profoundly influenced American women’s lives (Grahm, 1989; Schuster, 1993; Schwager, 1997; Solomon, 1985; Woyshner & Kuo Tai, 1997). While the impact of women’s higher education has had revolutionary implications for American society, educated women have still not achieved equal status with men within the sphere of education (Glazer, 2000; Glazer, Benisom, &


Townsend, 1993; hooks, 1994; Martinez Aleman & Renn, 2002; Sadker & Sadker, 1994). The following brief historical overview of women’s higher education will present the advancements as well as the remaining oppositions for American women in achieving the promises of equality in America’s academies (Glazer, 2000; hooks, 1994). By the mid-nineteenth century, the expansion of higher education for women in the United States finally emerged (Faragher & Howe, 1998; Faust, 2001; Graham, 1989). Advocacy grew, in large part, because women’s education proved advantageous to society. Significantly, women’s special roles as mothers of male citizens offered the first powerful rationale for higher education (Solomon, 1985). Similarly, the justification of the function of women as schoolteachers emerged (Solomon, 1985; Weiler, 1997; Woyshner & Kuo Tai, 1995). Thirdly, women gaining political power with the right to vote began to seek opportunities outside the roles of mothers and wives and included themselves under the Jeffersonian principle that every individual should rise according to his/her abilities (Glazer et al., 1993; Schuster, 1993; Schwager, 1995; Solomon, 1985). In 1837, Oberlin College was the first to admit women, and Mount Holyoke was founded the same year (Faust, 2001; Martinez Aleman & Renn, 2002; Newcomer, 1959; Woody, 1929). The democratization of higher education facilitated by such landmark legislation as the Morrill Acts of 1862 and 1890 vastly increased women’s attendance (Newcomer, 1959; Nidiffer, 2002; Solomon, 1985; Woody, 1929). Vassar opened in 1865 as a college exclusively for women; Cornell accepted an endowment for a college for women in 1872; Smith and Wellesley opened for women students in 1875 (Micheletti, 2004; Newcomer, 1959). By 1880, 20,000 women were enrolled in college representing 33 percent of the college population (Harwarth, Maline, & DeBra, 1997; Micheletti, 2004). Between 1890 and 1910, enrollment at women’s colleges increased by 348 percent and female matriculation at coeducational colleges increased by 438 percent (Woody, 1929). By the turn of the twentieth century, coeducation for women had become the norm (Harwarth et al., 1997; Newcomer, 1959; Solomon, 1985; Woody, 1929). The 1920s were a high point for women’s education; female students represented 47 percent of the student body in colleges and universities. During this decade, 74 percent of colleges and universities were coeducational and the vast majority of female students attended these institutions


(Lasser, 1987; Martinez Aleman & Renn, 2002; Solomon, 1985). Unlike women graduates of earlier generations, those of the 1920s and 1930s knew that they would either take a job or pursue further study in preparation for professional work (Newcomer, 1959; Solomon, 1985). Despite marriage and a family, these women carried an awareness of expanding options in postwar, postsuffrage America. Even the Depression in the thirties did not completely extinguish younger women’s quests for achievement; for a variety of reasons, the more education a woman had, the more she determined to use it in gainful employment and in voluntary services. However, the gains that women had made as a percentage of the college population in the 1930s were reversed in the following decades. The percentage of women among undergraduates dropped precipitously from 1930 (44%) to 1950 (30%). The 1950s and 1960s represented a historically depressed level of women in higher education. Women represented 41.3 percent of college graduates in 1940, slipping to 23.9 percent in 1950, and remaining at a low of 35.0 percent in 1960 (U.S. Bureau of the Census, 1975). Beginning in the postwar period and continuing into the 1950s, the expansion of scientific and technological fields at the universities throughout the nation brought large numbers of men back for further education (Solomon, 1985). The same period saw college women diverted from their own graduate work for early marriage and jobs, which they took to support husbands in their undergraduate and graduate studies. After such employment, these women turned to life at home and the raising of families, putting aside aspirations of their own professional lives (Harwarth et al., 1997; Howells, 1978). During this time period, there was a general lack of awareness and assistance for Radcliffe students from lower-socio-economic backgrounds (Radcliffe College, 1944–45). Prior to financial aid and diversity recruitment, admissions partly depended on a student’s financial status (Radcliffe College, 1954). Students were selected on achievement and promise with regard to financial need. Many talented young women from low-income families could not compete with their more affluent peers in affording the price of tuition (Radcliffe College, 1954–55). It was considered a student’s responsibility to overcome significant financial obstacles if she wanted to attend the College (Radcliffe College, 1955–56). Consequently, many working-class women declined their invitations for admission because they did not believe they could dedicate their full attention to academics while


working in full-time jobs (Radcliffe, 1940). This persistence of inequality contributed to the gap between the daughters of different economic backgrounds in matriculating and graduating. Hence, the low percentage of working-class women who did graduate from Radcliffe were leaders during their undergraduate days as many of them held part-time and full-time jobs, maintained academic rigor in their courses, and were involved in extracurricular leadership positions on campus such as class secretary, president of the ethics society, and director of a community service organization. This academic and social training helped them develop their capacity for leadership in their postgraduate careers (Radcliffe College, 1954). During the 1960s and 1970s, even the most prestigious exclusively male institutions finally began to admit women. According to Busenberg and Smith (1997), women were initially the stepchildren of affirmative action because they were not originally included as a protected class under Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964. Following lobbying by feminists, Title IX of the Educational Amendments Acts of 1972 finally included sex as a discriminatory category, banning sex discrimination in federally funded educational programs whether in athletics or academics (Lasser, 1987; Martinez Aleman & Renn, 2002). In 1974, Congress also passed the Women’s Educational Equity Act, which made provisions for the technical and federal monetary support of local efforts to eliminate obstacles for females in every area of education (Harwarth et al., 1997; Micheletti, 2004). Women’s share of degrees climbed steadily during the 1970s and 1980s (Karen, 1991), during a period when the fraction of college-age young adults enrolled in school increased slowly but steadily. By 1982, women surpassed men in the number of bachelor’s degrees earned. Women have garnered more bachelor’s degrees than their male counterparts ever since.

Women in Higher Education Today One of the striking features of education in the United States today is the predominance of women among college students. In 1999, women received 61 percent of associate’s degrees, 56 percent of bachelor’s degrees, 57 percent of master’s degrees, and 42 percent of the doctoral degrees award (Guido-DiBrito, 2002). Unless a dramatic shift occurs, women in the United States will soon receive more doctorates than U.S. men, making


women the number-one recipients of all degrees in U.S. colleges and universities at all educational levels (Guido-DiBrito, 2002). Some factors that have contributed to the distinctive position of women in higher education in the United States are the decentralized structure of higher education (Jenks & Riesman, 1968), with more than 3,000 public and private institutions, which allowed for the creation of specialized colleges for women. Second, the existence of the social space for the independent political mobilization of women enabled them to create some of the first schools for women. Finally, women successfully exploited the ideology of individual opportunity to justify their pursuit of higher education. Feminist activism is responsible for much of the expansion in opportunities for women at Radcliffe and Harvard as well as other elite schools (Solomon, 1985; Woody, 1929). From the ongoing organizing activity of the American Association of University Women (AAUW; Levine, 1995) to Betty Friedan’s (1963) influential critique of the narrow options available to college-educated women to the passage of equal educational opportunity legislation for women (Stromquist, 1993), women’s access to higher education emerged because women successfully demanded a place. The parity women have achieved in higher education is a recent phenomenon; yet there is still progress to be made (Bashaw et al., 1995; Lasser, 1987; Martinez Aleman & Renn, 2002; Sadker & Sadker, 1994; Weiler, 1997; Woyshner & Kuo Tai, 1997). While women are more likely to attend community colleges, they are less likely to find themselves at the most selective colleges (Nidiffer, 2002). For example, there are several prestige hierarchies that exist within higher education, and within them women are better represented at the lower levels of the hierarchy in schools of education, nursing, and social work (Glazer, 2000; Martinez Aleman & Renn, 2002). Similarly, women hold fewer full professor positions and are underrepresented in all levels of basic science, technology, business, and engineering departments (Glazer et al., 1993; Solomon, 1985). Women are not equally represented at top-tier institutions. Hearn (1990) and Persell, Catsambis, and Cookson (1992) reported, based on an analysis of data on 1980 high school seniors, that women were disadvantaged in access to elite schools. While women have made progress since 1980, they remain slightly overrepresented in schools with higher acceptance rates, lower faculty/student ratios, lower standardized test scores, and lower fees (Karen, 1991). The small remaining sex gap at


top-tier schools is due to two factors: the relative scarcity of women in schools with large engineering programs and the tendency of women to enroll in school part-time—lower-status institutions are more likely to accept part-time students (Monthly Forum on Women in Higher Education, 1995).

Methodology For the purpose of this study, a secondary analysis was conducted on an archived study at the Radcliffe Institute of Advanced Study’s Henry A. Murray Center, The Radcliffe Centennial Survey, originally conducted by Matina Horner in 1977. As part of its centennial celebration, Radcliffe College undertook and financially sponsored this comprehensive survey of the life experiences of its alumnae from the classes of 1900 through 1975. The survey included questions about their family background and current family status, occupational and educational histories, and major life activities. Since historical research relies on existing sources of data typically found in archives, I began my search at the Henry A. Murray Research Archive as a secondary researcher. I had to determine the “fit” between the purpose of my analysis, which was to learn about the relationship between a Cliffie’s social class background and her leadership opportunities postgraduate from Radcliffe, and the nature and quality of the original data, which was predominantly to collect demographic data about alumni (Thorne, 1990).

My Secondary Analysis: Data Collection and Analysis During the thirty-year time period (1940–1970) under investigation for this secondary analysis, 3,354 alumnae participated in the survey. For individual classes, response rates ranged from 29 percent to 76 percent. Seven hundred seven (23.1%) respondents were graduates from the 1940s. At the time of the survey, these women were between the ages of 48 and 57 years and had been out of college for 26 to 37 years. One thousand eighty-nine respondents (32.7%) were graduates from the 1950s. In 1977, when responding to the survey, these women were between the ages of 36 and 47 years and had been out of college for 16 to 27 years. One thousand four hundred seventy-two (44.2%) respondents were graduates from the


1960s. These women were between the ages of 26 and 35 years at the time of the survey and had been out of college for 6 to 17 years. The sample consists almost entirely of white women and thus a limitation to this study is that social class is not strongly confounded with ethnicity. More than 50 percent of the respondents were first-born children. Graduates increasingly received advanced degrees over the thirty-year period. The number of women who married peaked in the 1950s at 95.3 percent and then dropped in the 1960s to a relative low of 86.1 percent. Similarly, the number of Radcliffe women who became mothers peaked in the 1950s at 88.9 percent and then dropped in the 1960s to a relative low of 65 percent. However, the low marital and motherhood percentages are misleading given that graduates of the 1960s were still single women of traditional marriage age and had yet to reach their peak fertility years by the time of the survey in 1977. Student diversity also increased over the thirty-year period. There was a significant increase in immigrant students, non–Anglo Saxon students, and students whose parents were not born in the United States. The concept of socio-economic status has been variously defined and measured (Betz & Fitzgerald, 1987). This data set includes two of the most standard social class indicators: fathers’ educational level and occupational status (Coleman & Rainwater, 1978; Hollingshead & Redlich, 1958). A combination of these two variables is used to determine students’ social class background. Using this information for the purpose of the secondary analysis, women were considered to be working class if their fathers had a high school degree or less. These fathers had occupations such as refrigeration mechanic in an ice cream plant, depot agent on the railroad, campus security officer, laborer, and electrician. Women were considered to be non-working-class if their fathers had a college or advanced degree. These fathers had occupations such as engineer, chemist, professor, dentist, lawyer, and banker. Given that their fathers had been college educated, it can be assumed that this group of women had been exposed to embodied cultural capital in childhood. Their fathers probably had higher incomes, attaining occupational prestige with colleagues with high cultural and social capital. During the middle decades of the twentieth century, higher education was not necessarily a prerequisite to professional status; thus for the group of women whose fathers attended some college, the social class


categorization was determined by prestige level of occupation. Clearly a limitation to this analysis is that the study is constrained by the relatively small percentage of working-class women who attended Radcliffe and by the rudimentary categorizations of social class. Yet even with approximately 8 percent of working-class survey respondents, the analysis provided an important perspective on gender, social class, and career development. Of the 3,354 women who graduated between the years of 1940 and 1970, 87 did not list enough information to determine social class by neither citing their father’s educational level and/or his occupation. Of the remaining women, 3,009 (92.1%) classify as non-working class. Two hundred fifty-eight (7.9%) women classify as working class. During the 1940s, there was a total of 84 (11.4%) working-class students. During the 1950s, there was a total of 89 (8.9%) working-class students. During the 1960s, there was a total of 84 (5.8%) working-class students. The number of working-class students basically did not change across the three decades even though the population of the student body increased in size. Similar to the demographic trends based on decade of attendance, more than 50 percent of all students were first born. There were also significantly more immigrant students from working-class backgrounds. Women from both class backgrounds were just as likely to marry, partner with upper-class husbands, and become mothers. To measure leadership opportunities postgraduation in the professions, the Hollingshead and Redlich Occupation Scale (1958) was used to categorize the occupational status and leadership attainment of the study’s participants. The scale ranges from the low evaluation of unskilled physical labor toward the more prestigious use of skill, through the creative talents, ideas, and management of individuals. The seven positions on the scale include: (1) executives and proprietors of large concerns and major professionals, (2) managers and propitiators of medium-sized business and lesser professionals, (3) administrators of medium-sized business and lesser professionals, (4) owners of small business, clerical and sales workers, and technicians, (5) skilled workers, (6) semiskilled workers, and (7) unskilled workers. Since the 1960s, studies have been conducted on women’s career orientation (Matthews & Tiedeman, 1964). The early studies suggested that the majority of young women did not plan to work outside the home. Studies in the early 1970s strongly suggested that the majority of young women planned to combine marriage and career, thereby replacing the centrality


of marital and motherhood roles in the lives of women (Rand & Miller, 1972; Watley & Kaplan, 1971). Due to the growing number of young women planning to combine career and marriage and the growing number of women holding leadership positions in society, the homemaking versus career orientation distinction decreased in usefulness as a dependent variable. Rather, it was necessary to describe the nature and degree of career orientation to understand women’s career choice behavior. Another major approach to the description of women’s career development utilizes the concept of career patterns originally developed by Super (1957) and first used in the study of male career development. A myriad of scales have been developed to extend the theory of women’s career orientation based on differing levels of vocational participation and occupational prestige (Betz, 1984; Harmon, 1967; Wolfson, 1976; Zytowski, 1969). For the purposes of this analysis, the following scale, originally designed by Matina Horner for The Radcliffe Centennial Survey, was used to determine the career involvement of participants. Horner created the following scale to measure the graduates’ participation in paid and volunteer jobs: 0. No Information, 1. No Work, 2. Part-time volunteers, 3. Full-time volunteers, 4. Part-time paid work, 5. Full-time paid work. To measure career involvement based on social class, ANOVA was employed. The following statements explain the statistical tests. For graduates from the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s, ANOVA measured differences in career intensity by social class background. To measure professional attainment based on social class, a chi-square test was computed for students’ age and level of job prestige on the 1958 Hollingshead and Redlich Occupational Scale. The following statements explain the statistical tests. For graduates from the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s, a chi-square test measured differences in professional status by respondents’ years of age: twenties, thirties, forties, and fifties. For graduates from the 1940s, 1950s, 1960s, a chi-square test measured differences in professional status by respondents’ social class background.

Findings: Leadership in the Family and Work Throughout their postcollege lives, women from working-class backgrounds were more likely to have higher involvement in their careers than


their peers from non-working-class backgrounds. Although career involvement for women during their twenties and thirties by social class background was not statistically significant by social class background, overall, women from non-working-class backgrounds were less likely to work than their peers from working-class backgrounds. Career involvement for women in their forties by social class background was statistically significant, F (1, 3261) = 8.501, p < .05, (Eta = .003, power = .830). Career involvement for women in their fifties by social class background was statistically significant, F (1, 3264) = 8.494, p < .05, (Eta = .003, power = .830). Overall, women from workingclass backgrounds volunteered more and worked in the paid labor force more than their non-working-class peers at midlife. They were leaders in their communities and careers. Regardless of social class background, women’s career involvement score was highest immediately postgraduation and decreased sequentially by age. There was significant difference on professional status attainment for women in their twenties by social class background, χ(7) = 25.371, p = .001. A higher percentage of non-working-class graduates than working-class graduates achieved leadership positions at the top three professional status levels immediately following graduation. As they approached midlife, graduates from working-class backgrounds eventually achieved equal professional heights in comparison to their nonworking-class graduates. It may have taken women from working-class backgrounds longer to achieve top leadership professional status, but their long-term dedication reflects their professional motivation and talent. A statistical analysis was conducted to determine the highest Hollingshead ranking that the graduates from working-class and non-working-class backgrounds ever achieved. Overall, only 8 percent of working-class graduates achieved the top professional status as top professionals in comparison to 21 percent of non-working-class graduates. Sixty-seven percent of working-class graduates achieved the second status level as minor professionals in comparison to 63 percent of non-working-class graduates. Hence, the percentage of women from working-class backgrounds who achieved major professional status was not as high as the percentage from nonworking-class women. However, the percentage of women from workingclass backgrounds who became minor professionals and administrators was higher than the percentage of non-working-class women.


Working-class women may have actively resisted what has been referred to as some of the gender-based traps of middle-class family life. Women from working-class backgrounds wanting to avoid the kind of domestic subordination they observed in their mothers (who most likely were not college educated, had limited career prospects, and were financially dependent upon their husbands) may have been reluctant to ascribe to the gender ideology demanded by the upper-class Radcliffe culture to become supportive wives, dedicated mothers, and upstanding members of their communities. Hence they were more likely to choose to continue involvement in the work force as opposed to becoming full-time homemakers during their midlife in comparison to their peers from nonworking-class backgrounds. Despite their humble origins, the women from working-class backgrounds apparently succeeded in their efforts to achieve professional success. These women clearly had talent and a drive to move away from their family’s social class environment. Their success in doing so is reflected in the fact that at midlife they were indistinguishable (at least in terms of leadership in the professions) from their more privileged sisters. The only significant difference among the women was in their twenties immediately following graduation, when non-working-class women achieved significantly more top positions in the work field. There were no significant differences in professional status attainment for women from the two social class backgrounds in their thirties, forties, and fifties. Non-working-class women’s faster postbachelor start in the work force and attainment of more top-level jobs during their twenties might have resulted from greater economic and social capital/networks and possibly their upper-class habitus (an embodied aspect of cultural capital). In order to level out any advantages that non-working-class women would have had due to cultural capital and family connections, working-class women may have needed to attain advanced degrees. Working-class women would most likely have been in graduate school during their twenties and thus achieved equal professional standing to non-working-class graduates in their thirties. In following their mothers’ paths, these working-class daughters chose to continue to work while raising a family despite the lack of financial necessity for such reasons as embodying the self-sufficiency displayed by their mothers. Although their mothers may have been trapped in


lower-tier employment, such jobs enabled working-class women to have an identity outside their families. Radcliffe daughters of these workingclass women may have been reluctant to be defined solely as wives and mothers in typical upper-class fashion. Having the model of their mothers, working-class Cliffies may have felt fortunate to have both the opportunity for more stimulating work than their mothers and their acquired knowledge to resist the trappings of the feminine mystique personified by their wealthy classmates.

Conclusion Overall, the results of the analyses detail a portrayal celebrating the resilience of Radcliffe women who overcame gender stigmas and class-based obstacles along their educational and professional journeys to become leaders in their communities and careers postgraduation. The midpoint of the twentieth century was a pivotal period of change, resistance, progress, and backlash for American women in higher education (Hartman, 1982; Harvey, 1993; Schuster, 1993; Solomon, 1985). World War II—a watershed event in American history and in particular for American women— offered greater access to higher education and increased employment opportunities and undermined long-standing beliefs about women’s and men’s distinct gender roles (Hartman, 1982; Harvey, 1993; Solomon, 1985). The contradictions and cultural tensions for Radcliffe women during the postwar years, the domestic 1950s, and the feminist 1960s have largely been told from the perspective of middle-class white sisterhood (Crimson, 1948, 1969; Eisenmann, 1995; Faust, 2001; Harwarth et al., 1997; Levine, 1964). A common thread of Radcliffe’s history during this period ignores the deluge of evidence and argument about differences among women in terms of class and that an elite degree could lead to many professional leadership opportunities for low-income women (Harwarth et al., 1997; Howells, 1978). With the addition of this historical perspective highlighting the generational experiences of working-class women, current higher education practitioners and administrators can examine how much progress has been made in the last half-century to accommodate the particular needs of this student population. Hopefully, this study will trigger such significant questions as when the intersection of structural variables such as social


class, gender, and leadership opportunities will be treated with the same recognition on college campuses as other minority classifications. This work will teach a new generation about a more diverse and contextualized history of educated American women and their leadership development. Working-class Radcliffe students (Cliffies) were path breakers for future generations of lower-socio-economic women at elite institutions. The question remains, as higher education practitioners and administrators, what have we learned from their stories to assist and improve the leadership possibilities for lower-socio-economic women in higher education today as they prepare for the labor force?

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3 Shirking the Maternal Shroud: A Call to Arms in Reinscribing Women Compositionists and Their Feminist Classrooms Rachel Grimshaw

Recently I had the opportunity to work as a T.A. in a course on gender and sexuality in film and literature, and my duties included a weekly meeting with the two instructors and other assistants. At one of these meetings, the subject of the glass ceiling came up. Several female colleagues and myself began to banter about the physical consistency of the infamous ceiling, and while we joked about its morphing construction from one of concrete or steel to one of opaque glassiness, it became clear to me that not one of us, though we differed in age and professional experience— an undergraduate gender studies major, two English graduate students, and a nontenured instructor of gender studies and English—was under the impression that the glass ceiling no longer existed. While the mood at that meeting was lighthearted, the subject of sex and gender discrimination in the workplace is anything but light, and as a female student on the verge of completing my graduate degree, the presence and implications of that glass ceiling are quite daunting. As an individual who one day hopes to teach English inside of academia, I have no way of knowing precisely where I will end up professionally. As a female student who specializes both in literature and composition, however, I can say with some certainty that my academic path, at least initially, will likely lead me to the door of basic-level writing and first-year composition. Because I believe this is 57


where my professional career will begin, and because I am aware that composition has its own unique gendered implications, it has become increasingly important for me not only to understand these disciplinary nuances but also to formulate some sort of response to them ahead of time. Composition, as a discipline, in many ways has always been a “woman’s” field, and in some respects, that is a fortunate set of circumstances for my current position (I will likely find a job), but in many more respects, I feel discouraged by both the historical and current climate of composition studies, its classrooms, and what I fear lies in store for a young, feminist composition teacher: a teacher with strong opinions not only about what constitutes the effective teaching of writing but also of what practices, methods, characteristics, and pedagogical formulations constitute an effective teacher who can be held accountable not only for the writing coming out of her class but also for the social awareness and critical ideas of the students compiling that writing. In order to become the professor I desire and envision, I will undoubtedly have to confront a very prevalent notion widely held by students and academics alike—that the female composition teacher is supposed to be nurturing and maternal—while simultaneously etching out an alternate identity and set of practices that I can not only be proud of but that I can also defend against a potential backlash of student and administration distaste for innovative and boat-rocking ideas and manifestations. I would first like to portray the current composition climate as I see and understand it in order to establish just exactly what it is I see as problematic and what it is I am already fighting against long before even stepping foot into my first college classroom. Composition has long been and continues to be a gendered discipline, and one reason is the continued trend of individuals defining not only the instruction of writing but also the act itself using gendered terms and along gendered boundaries. Academic writing in almost every other discipline is constructed through observation, analysis, interpretation, fact, data, argument, and so forth, and while composition encourages, elicits, and emphasizes each of these elements— and more—in the instruction of conventions and crafting of persuasion, it is arguably the only discipline that also invites emotion, feeling, and personal response and validates them as methods of expression inside the university. Gail Corning (1997) explains, “Disregarded as a strategy for making knowledge, emotion lurks largely ignored at the bottom of the

Shirking the Maternal Shroud 59

academic hierarchy, partly at least, because it’s gendered female; even the word ‘discipline’ implies a male domain of rigorous, orderly, rational, and pure mental process” (p. 46). Composition, as an act, therefore, is not only coded female, but as a subject, it is not always validated in the same ways or by the same standards as other disciplines. Moreover, the field is sometimes regarded as an unfortunate but necessary training ground so students may become equipped with the tools necessary for engaging in real academic or more scientific undertakings. The other and more pressing reason composition remains gendered is the majority of composition teachers are female, and the majority of these females are part-time or non-tenure-track employees. These two seemingly simple and straightforward statistics are problematic in and of themselves because they imply that while women have and find a ready place inside the English department or writing program, they are not privy to the same professionalism or salary as their male counterparts. While I find these hiring practices to be unfair and uncouth, they lie outside the scope of this project. What I am concerned with here, however, are the ways in which women compositionists are regarded inside the university, not because this is more problematic per se, but because these are the very formulations that will directly and negatively impact me once I get my foot inside the door. In explaining why female composition instructors are in high demand, Eileen E. Schell (1991) claims, “Many administrators and full-time faculty members believe that women make ideal candidates for teaching writing because the same qualities necessary for motherhood—patience, enthusiasm, and the ability to juggle multiple tasks—are qualities that effective writing teachers possess” (p. 79). While collaborative learning, portfolio assessment, writing across the curriculum, and other studentcentered approaches have come to be seen by many as ideal classroom practices concerning student writing, one aspect from composition’s past has not seemed to lose its prevalence, and it is the main tenet of current composition climate that will be addressed here: the idea and expectation of female composition teacher as mother in the classroom. Schell refers to this role that is both assumed by students and taken up by female compositionists—sometimes painstakingly and begrudgingly— as an “ethic of care” and explains, “for women teachers caring is not merely a natural instinct or impulse, it is a socially and historically mandated


behavior” (p. 78). Part of this social construct and academic pressure comes from administration, but an even larger part comes from students. Schell further claims, “Ethnographic studies and surveys of feminist classrooms demonstrate that students, both male and female, expect their women teachers to act as nurturing mother figures,” yet she cautions, “There is often conflict between that expectation and the teacher’s need to be taken seriously as a teacher and intellectual” (p. 78). Schell is certainly not alone in witnessing this conflict, however, as can be seen by Robin D. Crabtree and David Alan Sapp (2003) who, in their essay, share their unique experiences in their separate classrooms guided by a shared feminist orientation. In conveying the way her students have seen her over the years, Crabtree writes: Only after ten years, with increasing weight, graying hair, and other signs of aging, has this objectification diminished substantially. Of course, I now find that I am increasingly called on as a nurturer and mother figure, a concern my older female colleagues have often noted of their experiences. (p. 136) Crabtree’s options, then, fall right in line with prevalent expectations and assumptions. When she first entered the academy as an instructor, a fresh-faced, female, Ph.D., she was seen as an anomaly—a sexual object that differed from the staunch, white, tenured male instructor—and once she acquired a decade of teaching experience, instead of being taken at face value or being appreciated for her innovative approaches, she was, instead, expected to take her place as the maternal figure. One issue that is very much at play here is the fact that many of the factors informing student-centered approaches, particularly a collaborative learning environment, are some of the same tenets feeding into feminist pedagogy, which both simultaneously eases tensions and hopelessly complicates them. Susan C. Jarratt (1998) explains, “Composition and feminism, then, currently share to some degree an institutional site, and educational mission, and a conflicted relation to both” (p. 2). Jarratt further claims, “For both feminism and composition, the question of the subject has particular resonance and complexity” (p. 4). Composition aims to have students find their personal identity, form a distinct voice that develops at the same time processes and conventions are learned, and train that voice


so that it can speak to and about social issues and concerns. Feminism, in much the same way, seeks to analyze and deconstruct those social conventions and distributions of power in order to separate the “I” from sublimation, domination, structures of power, and systems of hierarchy. While they may appear quite different on the surface, both feminism and composition work to give credence to a voice and subject that might not otherwise be heard, because as Jarratt points out, “Both woman and writing, it seems, are made, not born” (p. 8). Collaborative learning environments have proven quite effective for student writers in the composition classroom because they allow students the opportunity to be more hands on and responsible for their own success, and I subscribe to their effectiveness. There is one aspect of collaborative settings, however, that lends itself to the maternal categorization of women and is therefore, at least in part, detrimental to the female compositionist. One marked characteristic of most, if not all, collaborative classrooms is a shared sense of authority. Instead of lectures, students form small groups for the sake of discussion, sharing ideas, offering feedback, asking questions, and so forth, and the instructor exists more as a facilitator and a source than the voice of authority. In this type of setting, Schell writes, “cultural feminists deemphasize a model of communication based on argumentation and endorse a rhetoric of mediation, conciliation, and shared authority” (p. 76). When applied to the feminist classroom, Schell further explains, “maternal thinking encourages writing teachers to create a supportive, nonhierarchical environment responsible to students’ individual needs and cultural contexts” and “an ethic of care can counteract patriarchal pedagogy’s ‘emphasis on hierarchy, competition, and control’” (p. 77). For the feminist instructor, this type of approach certainly seems to fit the bill as it allows each student to form and articulate a voice, free from the constraints of hierarchy, patriarchy, or oppression, while simultaneously allowing differences to be not only highlighted but celebrated in a community-inspired setting. This type of feminist approach can also work toward putting students at ease, particularly those belonging to groups that have been traditionally and historically marginalized or silenced. On the surface, this type of thinking and subsequent classroom approach seemingly supports both a collaborative environment and a feminist ideology, but to the detriment of students and feminist instructor alike, it can also simultaneously work toward supporting the very mechanisms it seeks to


undo. While the benefits of these types of practices have already been addressed, it is important to mention that inside these arguments, there does not seem to be any recognition of the potentially negative stigma this approach can create for the women who support and utilize it nor any mention of the tendency toward inequitable hiring practices the implementation of this approach often enables. Christy Desmet (1998) claims, “a refusal to classify writers by gender obscures the operations of power in the writing classroom and the academy in general” (p. 156), and feminist instructors “who unilaterally refuse to play judge in their classrooms therefore may occupy the panopticon unwittingly” (p. 157). To this issue of gender, I would also add formulations of class, ethnicity, race, language, and sexuality to compile the list of identity markers that can, and often do, become problematic in the composition classroom. When these markers are downplayed or ignored in the feminist-driven classroom in order to alleviate tension, hierarchy, or systems of power in an attempt to create a community in spite of diversity, these efforts, while formed from good intentions, can actually leave students feeling marginalized and encouraged to continue denying those aspects of self that do not fit the perceived or actual norm. To complicate the matter, students may come to see the feminist instructor as the perpetuator of the marginalization, and because the university is often still foreign to composition students, in particular, these practices can not only serve to insert the instructor into the watch tower but may even create the very interpretations of societal and collegiate norms feminism strives to fight against and overturn. Gail Stygall (1991) explains, “Liberal ideology in both cases assumes that the classroom is a free, open forum, because the instructor can mediate inequalities by articulating, modeling, and enforcing the rules of respectful, relevant exchange and development of positions,” but she also cautions, “in both the composition and feminist versions of collaboration, when the instructor withdraws, hierarchy and inequality may reappear” (p. 253). For this reason, composition instructors, feminist-oriented ones in particular, need to be cognitively and critically aware of our students, our assumptions, and our practices as they relate to the way we think about both the teaching of writing and the identities of the students compiling that writing. Many basic-level and first-year composition students are new to the university setting, and as such, they have not yet learned the discourse, codes, and proper conduct conducive to academic success. While student-centered


approaches such as portfolios—which allow students to avoid the risk of assessment early on—and small-group discussion—which allows students to avoid the risk of large-group criticism and potential embarrassment— can create a low-stakes and comfortable environment for students, when these approaches are combined with a nonauthoritative, noncombative, supportive, praising, available, and doting female instructor, student and teacher roles and expectations can become skewed beyond the point of recognition. Crabtree and Sapp (2003) an instructor who subscribes to and utilizes feminist pedagogy in her classrooms, describes a collaborative course she taught wherein students were encouraged to negotiate their own learning goals, and per their request, she lectured less and allowed them more group time to hash out ideas. At the end of the semester, not only did students resent the fact that they actually had to be assessed (because they had learned not to see her as authoritative) but many wrote on their evaluations that they did not feel like she “taught” the class and wished she had lectured more (Crabtree & Sapp, 2003, p. 138). Crabtree laments: Students sometimes write in their evaluations that I hate men, because I challenge gendered language and social structures; that I am too opinionated, because I have and articulate my own opinions; or that I am too intimidating, because I am intelligent and articulate and speak passionately. (Crabtree & Sapp, 2003, p. 138) Both of these types of student responses come from this shared sense of authority, which may work toward students developing ownership of their writing and of their academic success but certainly seem to have negative repercussions for the female teacher who struggles to gain and keep respect. Along this line, Crabtree cautions, “Women who practice feminist pedagogy, then, run the risk of undermining the very social power we have fought so hard to obtain, and with additional professional consequences” (Crabtree & Sapp, 2003, p. 138). Here we see firsthand some of the ramifications of an ethic of care. Crabtree, in an effort to share classroom authority with her students and in an effort to have them articulate their own needs for academic success, has not only created an environment where her expertise and ability are questioned by students but has also inspired student evaluations that could impede her professional advancement.


By looking at the experiences of Crabtree’s male colleague, David Alan Sapp (Crabtree & Sapp, 2003), who shares her feminist approach and pedagogy, we can begin to see, understand, and articulate the gendered professional consequences to which Crabtree refers. Sapp holds many of the same ideals as Crabtree, utilizes many of the same practices as she, and yet, he has had very different experiences with his students. He writes, “Most of my male students, oddly enough, also seem to appreciate the noncompetitive relationship they have with me” (Crabtree & Sapp, 2003, p. 136). He further claims: This provides me with the delicate task of making sure that my authoritative position is not just replaced by another male student voice, that space is available for a variety of student voices, and, in the process, that I do not also reassert myself as the ultimate authority. (Crabtree & Sapp, 2003, p. 136) In spite of his classroom resembling Crabtree’s, the result is very different. Sapp states, “I realize that as a male teacher, I have automatic and unquestioned authority, even though, as a self-identified feminist, I attempt to diminish it through classroom rhetoric and practices” (Crabtree & Sapp, 2003, p. 138). What we see, then, is that for the female feminist teacher who strives for collaboration and shared authority, respect dwindles, and for the male feminist teacher with the same ambitions, respect and authority are given automatically, in spite of their undesirability. I have seen this same sort of categorization along sex and gender lines in my work as a writing tutor at the University Writing Center. For many of the basic-level writers I tutor, English 1000 (Introduction to Composition) is their first college course. Several things become quite clear early on: these students have very little idea of what they are doing, of what is expected of them, but they also have preconceived expectations of instructor performance, and these expectations break down neatly along gendered lines. Students expect their female teachers to be kind, gentle, compassionate, understanding, lenient, and supportive. When teachers act in these ways, all is right in the world of composition. When students’ gendered expectations of female instructors are not met, however, these instructors are described or regarded as mean, unsympathetic, unfeeling, uncaring, or possessing a desire to see students fail. Conversely, male teachers are


expected to be knowledgeable, strict, authoritative, instructive, and direct. When male teachers fall into these guidelines, they are described or regarded as professional, smart, experienced, knowledgeable, and academic, and these teachers are readily respected, even when they appear harsh or gruff. When a male teacher is kind, gentle, or compassionate, however, that is an added bonus, and students are more likely to approach that teacher, but the respect earned by or given to that male instructor does not fluctuate based on a deviance from the students’ gendered expectations. Student expectations and university hiring practices are particularly problematic for my professional future precisely because my personality and pedagogy posit me as opposite—or in opposition to—what is expected of a female composition instructor. What, then, is at stake for an individual, like myself, who does not see the merit in coddling, but who, instead, desires to push students critically, to awaken activism, to expose them to texts that will make them question their truths and analyze their assumptions, to have them question their identities and the identities they have constructed for others? What do I risk losing by refusing to conform to gendered expectations of who I am, what I believe in, and how I operate in the classroom? What options are available for me and my future classroom when I know that my pedagogy and personality, while similar to those of male colleagues, are irrevocably irreconcilable with the maternal compositionist and gendered student expectations? The remainder of this essay will explore these personal and pertinent questions. Throughout my years as a student, writing tutor, and teaching assistant, it has become quite clear to me that while I enjoy working with literature on a personal and academic level, I have a genuine passion regarding composition. The ability to express one’s ideas clearly and cohesively is absolutely critical in having one’s voice heard and one’s ideas understood and appreciated, and there is something fundamentally satisfying in knowing one’s life work has visible and tangible personal and social impacts. Conversely, there is a particular tragedy that exists in formulating a substantial idea but lacking the tools or ability to articulate that idea to the outside world. Thus, teaching composition necessitates a certain amount of compassion for the writer and passion about the writing. While I do feel that I am a compassionate individual, I do not see how that compassion need be misinterpreted or misconstrued as a maternal instinct nor do I believe that the continuation of this maternal categorization and expectation of


women compositionists can be anything other than detrimental to myself, my female contemporaries who will soon be entering the university as instructors, and the writers we teach. In response to those who favor an ethic of care, Schell (1991) concedes, “If a feminist teacher adopts a maternal stance, she may better conform to her students’ expectations” but also asks, “what if her pedagogy favors critical challenge and intellectual vigor, not overt encouragement and nurturance?” (p. 78). This question is pertinent to my future as an instructor because I have no desire to cater to students’ whims and desires nor do I think it benefits them to be coddled, particularly because this action has no place anywhere else inside the university. Academia teaches, encourages, and rewards critical thinking, questioning, and responding among its active participants—both by instructors and students—but too often, these skills exist as an honor bestowed upon students at the culmination of their education. In other words, students are not privy to disciplinary nuances or discourse until they have proven their worth through time, labor, and achievement. Although professors can and should be aware of how students are acclimating to university life and its inherent expectations of performance, that awareness need reveal itself through clearly articulated course goals and objectives, guidelines, policies, directions, and assignments. Being more concerned about students’ emotional state and comfort level than with their intellectual vigor and academic voice and performance serves only to distance students both from their collegiate peers and from the rest of their academic journey. Because composition teachers often receive students at the very beginning of—or near to—their academic endeavors, it becomes our responsibility to act as the example of and not the exception to the rest of academia. That is not to say that we should favor bad teaching practices or unsound pedagogy but that in spite of our individual ideology, political orientation, or social views, academic integrity and vigor should remain central to teaching practices, regardless of which discipline students are actively pursuing or how long they have been a member of the university. Part of setting an example and encouraging critical vigilance, for me, comes in the form of utilizing a feminist approach inside the composition classroom. Even when students are not comfortable subscribing to feminism or selfidentifying as feminists, once they understand how feminism functions and what it is arguing for and against, many will find favor with or strongly


support the ideology that informs the movement. While part of this initial unease and resistance likely stems from unfamiliarity, an even greater amount will stem from preconceived notions of what constitutes feminism, or more pointedly, deep-seeded formulations of the sorts of people who would call themselves feminists. Sharon Bohn Gmelch (1998) states, “In one survey, 71 percent of the more than 350 male and female students at Michigan State University who were asked to define ‘feminism’ defined it favorably” (p. 3; see Gmelch, 1998 Jackson, Fleury, & Lewandowski, 1996, for complete data). Gmelch further explains, “But when the same students were asked to define a ‘feminist,’ fewer responses were favorable, and far fewer students were willing to attach the label to themselves” (p. 4). These findings directly correlate with my own experiences both inside and outside of academia. Feminism as a political or sociological standpoint or orientation is often viewed more favorably and forgivably than the actual feminists who subscribe to it. Gmelch contends, “Given widespread stereotypes of feminists as radical ‘feminazis’ or angry ‘male-bashers’ and lesbians, it is not terribly surprising that many students do not readily apply the label to themselves” (p. 4). While it is not necessarily surprising, it is certainly unfortunate that so many individuals fear the social reprimand that often accompanies a self-imposed identity as feminist. What is particularly striking is how many women readily and publically subscribe to the ideology and nuances of feminism but how the majority shy away from being associated with or identifying themselves as feminists. Fortunately for myself and the students who will enter my classroom, the university has a more positive view toward and a more enlightened definition of what constitutes feminism, although that is not to say that misinterpretations and misrepresentations do not occasionally occur. “In academia—the world of higher education and scientific research—feminism refers to scholarship and theoretical perspectives that place gender at the center of analysis and usually seek to explain the persistence of gender inequality” (Gmelch, 1998, p. 8). Feminism inside the university does not merely exist as a theoretical perspective, however, as many individuals who subscribe to this way of thinking about the world also find it necessary to be both socially and politically active in order to question, analyze, and ultimately undo patriarchal and hierarchal oppression. It becomes important, then, when using this sort of formulation in the composition classroom, not only to define what feminism means to the


instructor and academically but also to facilitate a discussion of that definition with students, so they can start with a clean slate and begin to formulate and articulate their own working notions of feminism. Noted feminist scholar bell hooks (2000) offers a simple but effective definition of feminism as “a movement to end sexism, sexist exploitation, and oppression” (p. viii). Put into such simple and straightforward terms, this articulation of feminism readily lends itself to interpretation and incorporation within the classroom. Here I would like to describe several aspects of my personal feminist pedagogy that I hope will allow me to shirk maternal expectations and develop a student-centered and facilitative classroom that will not require my authority as an instructor to be nonexistent but to be channeled into the development of culturally and socially literate writers and vocalizers of resistance. Composition courses at the university I attend are richly diverse along lines of race, ethnicity, religion, politics, sexuality, class, language, geography, and so forth, and this diversity not only creates a rich pool of potential narratives but also necessitates some maneuvering of personal, private, and often uncomfortable differences in identity and preconceived, misunderstood, and misconstrued notions about those identities. David M. Weed (1997) states, “To rejuvenate the notion of citizenship for post modernity, I think involves arguing for the idea that individuals have a stake in culture and a responsibility to understand its social and political implications” (p. 28). Creating socially, culturally, critically, and academically literate student thinkers and writers is a hefty and complex task, but it is my belief that navigating this sometimes-murky terrain is most effectively accomplished by utilizing feminist theory and pedagogy, but it cannot be a successful endeavor under false pretenses or through polite silences. College classrooms, which by their very nature are full of diversity, are referred to as “contact zones” by Wendy S. Hesford (1998), and she borrows the term from Mary Louise Pratt, who defines them as “space[s] in which peoples geographically and historically separated come into contact with each other and establish ongoing relations, usually involving conditions of coercion, radical inequality, and intractable conflict” (p. 134). Hesford claims, “When applied to the academy, Pratt’s concept of the contact zone challenges images of colleges and universities as stable and unified cultural sites where the principles of cooperation and equality obtain”


(p. 134). University students often see academia as a place of freedom and acceptance in terms of identity, speech, and ideology, and this is an understandable perception since the conservative current often does not ripple the visible surface of university life and operations. One long-standing trend in feminism has more recently become a part of many composition classrooms, and I find it problematic precisely because it uses the same masking features as the university: the viewing of debate as a form of dominance and exertion of power. Susan Jarratt (1991) expounds, “Some feminists vigorously reject argument on the grounds that it is a kind of violence, an instrument specific to patriarchal discourse” and for “some composition teachers, creating a supportive climate in the classroom and validating student experience leads them to avoid conflict” (p. 106). Oftentimes, this supportive climate is pursued and desired because current composition pedagogy stresses reading and writing as social acts, and to create an environment of shared social interaction is to create a literacy community. While I do subscribe to the benefits of regarding and approaching reading and writing as social activities, and while I do think student writers will function to their highest potential when active members of a literacy community, I do not believe a genuine community can be constructed when individuals are asked to leave their identities at the door in order to form a tentative and tenuous relationship built upon perceptions of sameness. It is important to mention that although I do not encourage or allow confrontational or oppressive debate in the classroom, I do believe that because composition requires students to draw upon and articulate their personal experiences, and because those experiences often relate to, are informed by, or are complicated because of identity constructs, those constructs need be welcome or visible in the classroom. Laura Gray-Rosendale (1997) asserts, “Attention to how students can challenge and resist the many identities constructed for them as well as how they can exercise their power of response should increasingly become a greater part of the process of writing education” (p. 155). In addition to understanding the identities that have been constructed for them, students also need to begin to understand the identities they have constructed for others. Identity visibility, then, necessitates students’ willingness and ability to see, understand, and empathize with classmates’ identities that will sometimes be foreign, intimidating, or even disconcerting, but it is an integral


and essential step in becoming socially and culturally literate citizens. Hesford (1998) asserts: In an era defined by a plethora of conflicts related to identity; by the blurring of national, cultural, and disciplinary boundaries; and by backlash against reforms that benefit women and men of color (e.g., affirmative action), it seems more pressing than ever to focus on how social differences intersect and are mobilized in campus politics and to examine the consequences of that intersection and that mobilization for particular communities. (p. 133–134) In forming a genuine community of literacy, it is not only important that students recognize and respect each other’s genetic, social, and cultural identity constructs, but it is also imperative that they begin to understand the ways in which these constructs connect to, interact with, and are complicated by each other, particularly when considering how hierarchy and oppression function within society. One critical text that helped me understand the interconnectedness of identity formulations when I was still new to the world of academia, and one I plan to implement into my composition courses, is a short but concise and critically vigilant piece by Audre Lorde (1999). In this essay, she claims that her identities include being “black, lesbian, feminist, socialist, poet, mother of two including one boy and a member of an interracial couple,” and she claims, “I usually find myself part of some group in which the majority defines me as deviant, difficult, inferior or just plain ‘wrong’ ” (p. 1). Lorde is certainly no stranger to the complexity of interconnected identities, but she also understands that in order to form a genuine sense of self, each of her personal identities must be given due attention, and none can be downplayed or silenced in order to please the majority or to earn acceptance in mainstream society. From her “membership” in so many diverse groups, Lorde has come to realize: Oppression and the intolerance of difference come in all shapes and sizes and colors and sexualities; and that among those of us who share the goals of liberation and a workable future for our children, there can be no hierarchies of oppression. (p. 1)


Several of the formulations that make up Lorde’s identity are the very ones I feel need to be addressed, understood, and validated in the composition classroom as acceptable and belonging inside academia, and these— not surprisingly—are the very same patriarchal and hegemonic formulations feminism seeks to reformulate and rearticulate: gender, sexuality, class, and race. In speaking of the interconnectedness of identity, Dorothy Allison (1994) writes, “What I know for sure is that class, gender, sexual preference, and prejudice—racial, ethnic, and religious—form an intricate lattice that restricts and shapes our lives, and that resistance to hatred is not a simple act” (p. 23). Resistance to outwardly imposed articulations of self is admittedly no easy task, but this refusal to conform or be subservient to systems of domination or power is inherent to a feminist pedagogy, and as such, we cannot be afraid to incorporate it into our classrooms or unwilling to extend an invitation to our students to join the ongoing discussion. We cannot stop there, however, as it is crucial that we also arm students with the tools to dissect and analyze the conversations they are witnessing and to understand the power of language. Corning (1997) eloquently describes language as “an act we wield as forcibly as a club on one another, chiefly to establish certain versions of reality” (p. 48). As we introduce students to new and challenging modes of discourse concerning language and identity, some student writers will undoubtedly be uncomfortable with encountering and reading about, entering into a communal and critical discourse with, and writing academic essays concerning these topics, precisely because for many, they will be uncharted terrain and an unexpected addition to the curriculum. It becomes our job, then, not only to structure course material and assignments with this acknowledgment in mind but also to possess a willingness to facilitate discussions that recognize and ease tensions about student qualms, fears, and feelings of inadequacy or discomfort. Hesford (1998) posits, “Feminists should develop writing pedagogies that reflect experiences and languages of traditionally oppressed groups and simultaneously bear witness to social constructions of whiteness and to the way such constructions shape reader–writer and student–teacher relations” (p. 148). In spite of—or arguably because of—students’ unfamiliarity with or resistance to categories of identity, feminist instructors need be reflective about why these topics are implemented into course curriculum, how they are inherently necessary, and what benefits they offer student writers; and armed with sound feminist ideology and pedagogy, they need to stand


resolutely against the potential backlash of dashed gendered expectations. Allison (1994) writes, “Class, race, sexuality, gender—and all the other categories by which we categorize and dismiss each other—need to be excavated from the inside” (p. 35). The time for psychological reward and emotional sustenance alone has passed, and in its place, the next generation of feminist composition instructors must be willing to shirk maternal expectations and seek alternate validation in their ability to awaken and inspire culturally and socially literate excavators: writers capable of discovering, interpreting, and articulating insightful, critical, and genuine meaning from the world surrounding them.

References Allison, D. (1994). A question of class. Skin: Talking about sex, class & literature (pp. 13–36). Ithaca, NY: Firebrand Books. Corning, G. (1997). Woman[ly] teaching: Gender, pathos, and politics in the writing classroom. In D. Penrod (Ed.), Miss Grundy doesn’t teach here anymore: Popular culture and the composition classroom (pp. 46–51). Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Crabtree, R. D., & Sapp, D. A. (2003). Theoretical, political, and pedagogical challenges in the feminist classroom: Our struggles to walk the walk. College Teaching, 51.4, 131–40. Retrieved February 1, 2010, from the JSTOR database. Desmet, C. (1998). Equivalent students, equitable classrooms. In S. C. Jarratt & L. Worsham (Eds.), Feminism and composition studies: In other words (pp. 153–71). New York: MLA. Gmelch, S. B. (1998). Gender on campus: Issues for college women. Chapel Hill, NC: Rutgers University Press. Gray-Rosendale, L. (1997). Everyday exigencies: Constructing student identity. In D. Penrod (Ed.), Miss Grundy doesn’t teach here anymore: Popular culture and the composition classroom (pp. 147–59). Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann. Hesford, W. S. (1998). “Ye are witnesses”: Pedagogy and the politics of identity. In S. C. Jarratt & L. Worsham (Eds.), Feminism and composition studies: In other words (pp. 132–52). New York: MLA.


hooks, b. (2000). Feminism is for everybody: Passionate politics. Cambridge, MA: South End Press. Jarratt, S. C. (1991). Feminism and composition: The case for conflict. In P. Harkin & J. Schilb (Eds.), Contending with words: Composition and rhetoric in a postmodern age (pp. 105–23). New York: MLA. Jarratt, S. C. (1998). Introduction: As we were saying. In S. C. Jarratt & L. Worsham (Eds.), Feminism and composition studies: In other words (pp. 1–18). New York: MLA. Lorde, A. (1999). There is no hierarchy of oppression. In E. Brandt (Ed.), Dangerous liaisons: Blacks, gays, and the struggle for equality (pp. 306–8). New York: New Press. Schell, E. E. (1991). The costs of caring: ‘Feminism’ and contingent women workers in composition studies. In S. C. Jarratt & L. Worsham (Eds.), Feminism and composition studies: In other words (pp. 74–93). New York: MLA. Stygall, G. (1991). Women and language in the collaborative writing classroom. In S. C. Jarratt & L. Worsham (Eds.), Feminism and composition studies: In other words (pp. 252–75). New York: MLA. Weed, D. M. (1997). Meaning is cool: Political engagement and the student writer. In D. Penrod (Ed.), Miss Grundy doesn’t teach here anymore: Popular culture and the composition classroom (pp. 22–29). Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann.


4 Whose Social Justice Counts? Addressing Issues of Social Justice and Equity in Schools Christa Boske

What are the forces that shape and constrain women school leaders in promoting issues of social justice and equity in schools? The purpose of this chapter is to build an understanding of the influence of lived realities and strategies (and success stories) that transform school practices and policies toward the elimination of exclusionary practices. This work is based on personal experiences as I moved from residential treatment (i.e., special education, program director, therapist), to a PreK–12 school social worker, to inner-city school leadership positions (i.e., coordinator, director, dean, assistant principal, principal) to a tenure-track university educational leadership faculty member within predominantly white, male, Englishspeaking, Christian, heterosexual PreK–12 school districts and university preparation programs. This chapter uncovers the influence of cultural dominance, oppression, and silencing in an effort to address oppressive practices in both PreK–12 public schools as well as higher education. Developing teachers and school leaders as agents of change requires a “moral vision and ethical norms . . . to account for and transform existing forms of dogmatism, oppression, and despair” (Laible, 2000, p. 686). Leading for socially just practices requires those who work in schools to listen to the lived realities of those who are underrepresented. There is a need to look within, to heighten awareness, and to deepen empathic responses. The possibilities for systemic school reform become imaginative possibilities when school leaders and teachers are committed to this process (Hilliard, 1991; 75


Stout, 1986) and internalize the knowledge and skills of reflective practice (Kottkamp, 1990; Osterman & Kottamp, 1993; Schon, 1983). However, creating deeper avenues for critical dialogue and promotion of a more just world are not often reflected in school policies or practices. Questioning oppressive school practices that perpetuate inequity and injustice for marginalized populations is still considered by teachers, school leaders, and university faculty as questionable, even dangerous (Bogotch, 2002; Boske, 2010a; Grogan, 2002; Marshall & Oliva, 2010). Those who challenge the status quo are sometimes subjected to a steady range of hostile ploys and communications, which Leymann (1990) describes as workplace mobbing. These experiences as well as others shared throughout this study illustrate the intersection of promoting issues of social justice and equity through counternarratives in schools and leadership preparation programs. This chapter is distinct from the growing body of literature centered on leading for social justice because few descriptions of lived experiences and strategies developed are identified by school leaders, especially females who identify as queer, as vehicles to counter resistance. To sustain social justice and equity practices, school leaders need spaces to create, practice, and share their lived experiences (Boske & McEnery, 2010; Capper et al., 2006). Making a difference in the lives of those who are marginalized begins with a personal commitment—understanding how personal identities influence how we navigate through arenas of power (Brown, 2004; Flagg, 1998; Marshall & Gerstyl-Pepin, 2005). Reflecting on these strategies fosters new ways of talking about education, including how to address injustices due to gender, race, class, sexual identity, and language.

Conceptual Framework Numerous scholars define what is meant by social justice (Blackmore, 2002; Bogotch, 2002; Furman & Shields, 2005; Gewirtz, 1998; Goldfarb & Grinberg, 2002; Marshall & Oliva, 2010; McMahon, 2007). For the purpose of this chapter, I assert social justice is context specific (Furman & Shields, 2005) and connect social justice-oriented work with action (Bogotch, 2002). In this study, leading for social justice and equity is defined as advocating for marginalized populations due to race, class, gender, language, sexual identity, ability (mental and physical), and other historically disenfranchised groups (Boske, 2010a, 2010b). For this chapter, I focus on the resistance or

Whose Social Justice Counts? 77

resilience of leading for social justice within public schools and higher education institutions, specifically within school leadership preparation.

Research Methodology The purpose of this self-study is to gain a deeper understanding of how personal lived experiences as a former closeted lesbian/gay/bisexual/transgender/queer (LGBTQ) PreK–12 school leader and nontenured university faculty member influenced my ways of “doing” social justice and equity work. Reflecting on my personal journey was considered a primary task in deepening my understanding of my work as a school leader and scholar preparing school leaders for social justice and equity work in schools (also see Terrell & Randall, 2009). Although scholars who prepare school leaders encourage reflective practice (see Barnett & O’Mahony, 2006; Gray & Smith, 2007; Ketelle & Mesa, 2006; Scribner et al., 1999; Sergiovanni, 2001; Smith & Piele, 2006), exploring attitudes, childhood experiences, and cultural assumptions is pertinent to deepening empathic responses toward issues of social justice and equity in schools (Brown, 2004; Cross et. al., 1989); however, this method of inquiry is still underexplored and is in need of further investigation (Boske, 2009, 2010b; Lindsey, Robins, & Terrell, 2009). Self-study is becoming increasingly important regarding the scrutiny between personal beliefs and school practices (Barnes, 1998; Whitehead, 1995). Self-study encourages practitioners to deepen their understanding of school practices (e.g., reflection, action research, teacher research, participant research, and practitioner research; Hamilton & Pinnegar, 1998). The methodology involves an in-depth examination, and in this case, the examination focused on my leadership development (Schein, 1989; Schon, 1983; Wheatley, 1994). The reflective process encourages intentional thoughtful examinations that seek to deepen personal awareness and critical consciousness (see Boske, 2009; Clandinin, 1995; Hamilton, 2002; Lindsey, Robins, & Terrell, 2009; van Halen-Faber, 1997). The selfexamination increased my understanding of personal cultural assumptions that impacted my critical consciousness regarding structural and institutional inequities as well as white privilege. My narrative identified significant events that contoured my identity as a school leader and scholar promoting issues of social justice and equity. Examining these issues


created spaces to investigate issues of privilege and power as a school leader and scholar committed to social justice oriented work (see Brown, 2004; McLaren & Kincheloe, 2007). Primary data were drawn from personal journal entries, formal documents, and official documents (test data, letters, and other forms of data) from places of employment. I also considered responses to guiding questions throughout my lived experiences. Secondary data included (a) interactions with supervisors and (b) communication with colleagues regarding roles and responsibilities.

Findings Two themes emerged from the study, including the use of centered strategies as well as conscious, deliberate, and proactive strategies to advance social justice and equity work in the face of resistance. Centered strategies include developing skills to look within and creating supportive networks. Conscious, deliberate, and proactive strategies include developing the knowledge, skill set, and willingness to address issues of social justice and equity. Centered Strategies The oversimplification of the significance of culture tends to make issues of social justice and equity seems less threatening, less political. When I entered school leadership, the notion of “tolerance” was considered “liberal” and perceived by teachers as “acting on behalf of students.” I worked in a historically racially segregated city in which whites lived on the north side of the city while black and Latino/a families tended to live on the south side. Although the city was composed of predominantly black and Latino/a children and families living in poverty, the majority of teachers and department chairs were white, male, English speaking, and middle/upper class. School counselors urged white students to enroll in advanced college preparatory courses while black and Latino/a students were encouraged to attend the local community college to earn a certificate as a nail technician, beautician, firefighter, cook, or auto mechanic. School leaders participated in “contests” to see “who could suspend the most students each month.” Black and Latino/a students were “locked out” of their


classrooms when the bell rang to ensure “those types of students” would not be afforded the same educational opportunities as students enrolled in advanced-placement courses. At this high school, several white students identified themselves as white supremacists and some as members of the Ku Klux Klan (KKK). They paraded around the school in Nazi attire shouting praises to Adolf Hitler. After presenting the hostility to other school administrators, locker searchers were conducted and letters were found indicating the possibility of harming students of color and “shooting up the school.” We also discovered white educators who allegedly encouraged these students to share their frustrations regarding racial tension in class. These beliefs allowed individuals to blame oppressed people for their “failure” in the system as well as for the “ills of society.” Achieving critical consciousness was not on their radar. The cultural myth of “pulling yourself up by the bootstraps” resonated with mainstream American popular culture with a message indicating hard work equals school success. Discussions regarding teachers’ and school leaders’ roles in dismantling structural inequities by interrupting hegemonic school practices embedded throughout the curriculum, pedagogy, and school policies were avoided. When speaking with white teachers as a school leader and scholar, they noted limited life experiences interacting with culturally diverse groups of people due to race, class, language, immigration status, ability (both mental and physical), and sexual identity. Several white teachers noted working specifically within inner-city schools because they “couldn’t find another job anywhere else” or noting “if they could work there, they could work anywhere” or “their hope was to work somewhere else and buy their time.” Many teachers in these schools blamed children and their families for the low achievement scores because “they just don’t care about education.” One white teacher noted during a formal teacher evaluation, “I don’t know what the hell the point is to all of this anyway . . . these kids will only get as far as a mobile home.” One black school leader recalled a white teacher, who was now her colleague, calling her a “dumb nigger” when she was a student in the district. Another black school leader in the same school district referred to an alleged closeted lesbian female as “carpet muncher” and “fucking dyke” during meetings concerning student discipline policies. As an assistant principal, I witnessed a middle school principal inform a young black male, who shared experiences being bullied, “If you didn’t act like such a faggot and hang around girls, you


wouldn’t have these problems.” Students who openly identified as “gay” were noted as “faggots” and “homos” by teachers, support staff, and school leaders. Resentment toward recent Mexican immigrants was noted by white school personnel who wanted “Mexicans to go back to their own country” and “take down the sign that indicates they are welcome here.” These experiences provided me with the realities of resistance. White colleagues assumed I shared similar values regarding how they understood issues of race, class, and immigration status, because I too, identified as white. Black and Latino/a peers assumed I identified as heterosexual because I “looked straight.” If people assumed we shared similar attitudes and beliefs, they continued to share their “real” thoughts, which provided me with insight regarding the realities the children and families faced each day within the school district and larger community. At the end of each conversation, I clarified where I stood on issues of social justice and equity. Most of the conversations ended in silence or with people stating, “I just thought we were on the same page.” Clearly, we were not. I realized the ability to move educators toward becoming more culturally proficient and changing the way in which they understood the lived experiences of those who live on the margins would be an uphill battle. On my first day as a school leader, a white union representative informed me, “You are working with the wrong mentors.” Both of my mentors were black (one male and one female), long-standing members of the community and committed to empowering black and Latino youth. I was directed by one of the union representatives to “choose another mentor or pay the consequences,” which translated to, “White teachers won’t work with you or support your decisions.” As a woman, men questioned my ability to “make decisions” because of my desire to “bring people to the table.” This was perceived as a “weakness” because, as one white male inquired, “Can’t you just make a decision on your own?” I explained that “yes” I could make a decision on my own; however, I must also “live with the consequences” of not affording people an opportunity to engage in democratic methods. The possibility of changing the perceptions of the union leaders or white teachers regarding cultural diversity was daunting at best. The central purpose of my inquiry was to provide spaces for educators and school leaders to move beyond the generic idea of implementing “cultural activities” to deepen their understanding of white privilege and structural inequities. I realized the need to utilize my power and privilege


as a white school leader to further develop my reflective skills and create supportive professional and school–community networks in an effort to eliminate oppressive practices. I hoped to cultivate vigorous dialogue and action to overcome the resistance toward greater acceptance and appreciation for culturally diverse groups, especially for students and families who lived on the margins. What happened? Simply working in culturally diverse school settings was not enough to cultivate openness to diversity. Mere exposure to culturally diverse situations actually reinforced stereotypical thinking for many educators, because they were not provided spaces for deep reflection. The problem stemmed from uncritical adoptions of cultural assumptions that limited how teachers and school leaders understood their identity, institutional inequities, and, for many teachers, their white privilege. The belief that each person controls her own destiny outside of the influence of institutional barriers was the first viewpoint to be challenged. White teachers and school leaders believed students were responsible for “pulling themselves up by their bootstraps” and “they too could make it if they just worked a little harder.” Such beliefs fostered cultural myths that allowed educators to blame groups of oppressed people for their “failure” rather than “looking within” and acknowledging what role they played in perpetuating hegemonic practices. They failed to understand how the system of failure embedded within school practices and policy disenfranchised children and their families. Many white educators came to the school district without the realization that they were beneficiaries of institutional and social systems. I realized the need to provide educators with safe spaces to consider the impact of personal beliefs and attitudes on their identity and decision-making practices. Before we could envision real change, we needed to look within and examine our generic ideals of cultural diversity and blindness toward the lived realities of oppression. When I entered academia, I was reminded of the parallels between my work as a school leader and as an assistant professor. I assumed scholars embraced beliefs of addressing issues of social justice and equity; however, I was wrong. What was presented during the interview process as seemingly positive attitudes actually masked a lack of real understanding of cultural issues, privilege, power, entitlement, and structural inequities. Getting a pulse on attitudes toward women and lesbian/gay/bisexual/ transgender/queer (LGBTQ) populations was my introduction to the


university’s culture and climate. I was the only female tenure-track faculty member in the department in more than ten years. As a woman, I was informed by a university supervisor he “didn’t know I could actually write.” Sexual comments toward female students were made openly by male colleagues as well as identifying women as “less valuable” than their male counterparts. My university mentor invited me to meet with him off campus to discuss course objectives for the semester. During the meeting, which ended up taking place at a bar, I was informed of my “beautiful eyes” and “hmm . . . mm . . . mm” was shared with me as his eyes moved from my head to my feet. I was asked numerous times about the “meaning” behind the ring on my left hand. My mentor asked who I was dating and for his name. I informed him of her name. He excused himself from the table and returned advising me to “never tell anyone what you have told me because you will be fired.” Although the university personnel policy protected employees according to their sexual orientation, I was informed of the “conservative nature of the university” and of my potential loss of employment if I told anyone I was a “dyke.” I overheard terms such as “faggot” and “dyke” as well as phrases like “that’s gay” from colleagues and university students. As a scholar interested in promoting issues of social justice and equity, I was determined to explore nuanced reasons for why and how scholars as well as aspiring school leaders advocate for or resist such issues and how attitudes and practices shift over time. Beliefs in individualism and meritocracy also constructed a climate and culture that reinforced assumptions regarding how children achieve success in public schools. My colleagues expressed their concerns for longstanding achievement gaps, blaming oppressed people for their academic failure in schools, increased disciplinary actions, and disproportionate rates of children identified as needing special education services. Racial derogatory remarks toward undocumented workers, recent Mexican immigrants, and Spanish-speaking communities were openly shared during formal meetings. Negative comments toward students of color were made regarding their “lack of intelligence” and “inability to pass licensure exams” as well as the need to “change their accents” were also communicated by scholars. The need to deepen critical consciousness was essential to dismantling the oppressive practices demonstrated by scholars and embedded within the structural arrangements of the program.


I recognized the potential to promote greater understanding through my line of inquiry and pedagogy. A university administrator suggested I “change my line of inquiry to his line of inquiry,” because he focused on the “hot issues” facing educational leadership. I informed the scholar of the responsibility to interrogate dominant cultural assumptions and eliminate structural inequities that perpetuate oppression. My line of inquiry centered on the intersections of the cognitive and affective domains of school leadership with a particular focus on how school leaders transform their sense of self to lead for social justice. This line of inquiry was organized into three specific areas of interest: (a) the influence of beliefs and attitudes on school practices, (b) pedagogical practices and programmatic structures within preparation programs, and (c) the study and support of school leaders as they address social justice issues within their school communities. I was quickly reminded “nobody cares about this diversity and social justice stuff.” In the next section, I discuss the conscious, deliberate actions taken to address the unjust policies, and practices implemented in U.S. public schools. As a school leader, I spent several months collecting student discipline records (by race, recipient of free/reduced lunch, gender, native language, subject, time of day, discipline concern, and steps taken before writing a discipline referral), student achievement data, delivery of curriculum, and implications of school policy. Whose social justice counted? White, middle/upper-class, English-speaking, Christian, heterosexual, and advanced-placement students were the smallest number of students on campus but received the most privileged opportunities within the school. As an assistant professor, I was reminded of the lack of critical awareness and resentment toward children and families who lived on the margins. Developing intercultural relationships, encouraging multicultural experiences, and reinforcing critical reflection throughout the school leadership preparation program was essential to interrupting structural and institutional inequities. Conscious, Deliberate, and Proactive Strategies As a school leader and scholar working with educators to promote their critical consciousness and deeper avenues for dialogue and reflection, I became more aware of the challenges associated with the lack of


complexity in understanding issues of social justice and equity in schools. As a result, I became more cognizant of conscious, deliberate, and proactive strategies to address the institutional practices that disfavor and disenfranchise marginalized groups. I recognized the need to address the heart of the issues by deepening critical consciousness, envisioning real social change, and interrupting cultural logic that reinforced the systems of inequity that exist in public schools. As a school leader in PreK–12 schools, I diligently unpacked the question, “Whose social justice counts?” I addressed how school leaders, teachers, children, and families understood cultural diversity, social justice, and multiculturalism. Cultural assumptions held by my colleagues as members of the mainstream (i.e., white, middle-class, English-speaking, Christian, heterosexual, able [mental and physical]) afforded me with opportunities to be “included.” After colleagues “realized” we did not tend to share similar beliefs or responses to underserved populations, many of my colleagues considered me an “outsider.” Creating spaces for vigorous dialogue regarding power relations in schools was identified as “threatening” and “not something we need to discuss here.” I was aware of my racial identity and the need to discuss how I benefited from my power and privilege. As a school leader, I used my lived experiences to create spaces for teachers to openly discuss how they understood culturally responsive practices. I facilitated focus groups during team meetings, distributed anonymous surveys, and conducted face-to-face interviews. I discovered many teachers and school leaders upheld generic ideals for multicultural education and lacked critical awareness regarding structural and institutional barriers. White parents who lived in predominantly black and Latino/a neighborhoods blamed oppressed populations for the school’s “failures” and “discipline problems” rather than recognizing the “system of failure” embedded in the district’s policies and oppressive practices. One white family approached me and asked, “Whose side are you on anyway?” A white student inquired, “Are you sure you’re really white?” Confronting situations like this often led to stressful and challenging conversations with school–community members. Whether I was a new organizational member or served the community for several years, I was aware of possible consequences, both positive and negative, for every action taken. Although consequences for addressing the needs of children


and families often led to unchartered territory, confronting oppressive hegemonic school practices and taking proactive stances were essential to making systemic change. Once I shared my beliefs regarding issues of social justice and equity, some colleagues attempted to eliminate my efforts to address issues of race and racism in schools. I responded by forming meaningful relationships with colleagues who aligned themselves with similar values and school practices. Once I subjected myself to the possibility of being socially eliminated from the educational organization, those who shared similar beliefs took notice of my actions. We met to discuss how we would form an alliance to interrupt oppressive school practices in an effort to honor students, family members, and the community at large. Allies introduced themselves as “people who believed in what I was doing” or “were trying to do the same things.” Each ally worked within schools with extreme caution. They identified their anxiety as “walking on pins and needles” or “waiting for the hammer to fall.” Our alliance became the foundation for grassroots movements that encouraged social justice and equity-oriented work. Collecting both qualitative (e.g., interviews, narratives, and open-ended surveys) and quantitative data (e.g., student achievement scores, disciplinary records, and curricular activities) provided a space for teachers and school leaders to deepen their understanding of the lived realities facing students and their families. The crippling effect of recognizing the presence of discriminatory practices on PreK–12 campuses seemed to paralyze teachers. Some responded with tears, some with rage, and others with denial. Providing spaces for vigorous discussions regarding “what the data tell us” centered on detailed accounts of invalid disciplinary actions, declining graduation rates, increased student absences, and oppressive pedagogical practices. It was imperative to address oppressive conditions as they occurred in the workplace to provide a context for teachers and school leaders to recognize how current decision-making practices perpetuated oppressive conditions. Those who serve children and families were encouraged to address the tension between hegemonic school practices, serving culturally diverse communities, and reflective practice. At the heart of this movement were opportunities to take action, interrupt oppressive practices, and work in socially just ways. Advocating for equity-oriented practices on each PreK–12 campus promoted human advocacy within each organization


and was at the heart of what we did as school–community members. We took a proactive stance by forming a partnership with a university to create professional development opportunities centered on racism, structural inequities, and institutionalized oppression, which led to the creation of the Multicultural Task Force. The Multicultural Task Force focused on reflective practice (considering dissonance between beliefs, lived experiences, and school practices), culturally proficient pedagogy, and building bridges between school and home. Teachers, support staff (i.e., security officers, police officers, secretaries, translators, social service community personnel, school counselors, social workers) and I worked collaboratively to disaggregate discipline data and student achievement scores as well as reflect on current pedagogical practices. Findings suggested school policies encouraged high rates of black/Latino/a children identified as needing special education services, a disproportionate number of black/Latino/a children receiving disciplinary actions, low student expectations, teacher preference for English-speaking students, and blaming disenfranchised children and families for “problems” facing the campus. As an assistant principal working to raise awareness regarding culturally responsive practices and promote democratic spaces for all school members, looking at data provided a space to explore the strengths and challenges facing students, especially those from marginalized populations. We began by looking at disciplinary practices and policies. Educators found it difficult to support why 2,335 disciplinary referrals were completed within six months, which totaled an average of 140,100 minutes of classroom instruction missed by students for alleged “disruption” and “disrespect” within one middle school. In this school, black students were three times more likely to receive a discipline referral than their white counterparts. Such findings provided spaces for educators and school leaders to deepen their understanding of structural inequities as well as their role in perpetuating oppressive school practices. The process afforded educators opportunities to listen to painful stories as well as the realities faced by those served. In three years, one school decreased discipline referrals by approximately 80 percent. School personnel addressed practices that reproduced social inequities and blamed children and their families for the ills of society. The school transformed itself to a community that promoted human advocacy.


As an assistant principal and principal, I made efforts to hire teachers and support staff who lived within the community and who made visible efforts to promote issues of social justice and equity. When I was a principal, a custodian, who was originally hired from outside the community, documented unclaimed overtime as well as duties that were not performed. For example, the kindergarten bathroom smelled from urine, children did not have access to toilet paper or paper towels, and soap was not provided. The school was infested with mice, ants, and rats. During a surprise visit from the city’s department of safety, the school was issued a ticket and informed we would be closed in one week if all of the issues noted on the ticket were not resolved. Upper administration expressed their “disinterest” in resolving the issues. After several phone calls to the central office with supporting documentation, as a principal, I was informed to “hire whoever you want.” At the same school, the school nurse and physical education teacher expressed interest in serving children “healthier meals” and providing families with resources for food. We started collecting data regarding the number of children who visited the nurse with complaints (e.g., constipation, vomiting, upset stomach) after school meals, the number of children who disposed of their school lunch in the trash, and the number of children who reported their only meals came from school. Data were collected during the next two months. More than 70 percent of students threw away their entire school meals because the food did not resemble meals prepared at home and complained about stomachaches and vomiting. During this process, I discovered the cafeteria staff left meat and other frozen food items “out in the sinks overnight.” This was considered “common practice.” After speaking with central office administration regarding the strong possibility of food contamination, I was informed to “hire a new cafeteria staff.” We proposed a plan supported in brain-based research as well as field studies regarding healthier choices for students. The proposal included hiring a chef who would prepare salads, sandwiches, soup, bread, and ethnic dishes aligned with the student population. The central office team supported our proposal because “it was cheaper” to work collaboratively with the food company rather than to hire an entire cafeteria staff. We surveyed families regarding the types of food served at home, how meals were prepared, and interest in learning additional information about nutrition and meal planning. Families expressed an interest in participating in programs on campus regarding food preparation and resources for


their families. I encouraged the school nurse and physical education teacher to visit schools who engaged in alternative meal programs as well as partnerships to meet the needs of the families. Central office administrators made comments regarding my need to “collect data,” “talk to people,” and “survey” community members. One white male administrator asked, “Can’t you just make a decision on your own? Are you that weak?” I replied, “Yes, I can make decisions by myself; however, I am not interested in serving my needs. I want to ensure we listen to the voices of those we serve.” When asked to hire new teachers at another school, I interviewed more than two hundred applicants over the phone, conducted more than fifty face-to-face interviews, met with candidates in the field, and worked with a team of teachers, families, and students to choose the best candidates for the school. The community’s strengths as well as concerns raised by members of the organization were openly shared with candidates throughout the interview process (i.e., historical school community racial tension, inequitable practices, and the need for critical pedagogy). The need to find educators committed to eliminating oppressive school practices was significant to transforming the school. Within three years, the school moved from being on the “watch” list to all of the students meeting state requirements for standardized testing. With more than eighteen years of experience in culturally diverse educational settings and ten years of school leadership experience, my professors encouraged me to enter academia. They encouraged me to share my passion and experience in leading for social justice and equity-oriented work. I accepted a position as a research assistant and worked as an adjunct on three higher education campuses preparing candidates to work in schools. Throughout my adjunct work, I discovered the need for consciousness raising, especially for preservice teachers who were members of the dominant culture (i.e., white, middle-class, English speaking, American citizens, heterosexual, attended regular-education PreK–12 classes). One white female preservice teacher noted, “I want to join the people with my shotgun so I could help fight the voluntary Texas border patrol keep out those illegal Mexican immigrants.” Several of the white preservice candidates identified children who were not members of the mainstream as “those” children and blamed “these” children for societal ills (i.e., crime, drugs).


As a tenure-track scholar preparing school leaders and teachers to undertake social justice work in schools, I quickly realized the challenges in raising their social consciousness and responses toward underserved populations. Candidates’ comments and lived experiences centered on standardized testing and perpetuating hegemonic practices. After presenting candidates’ written narratives, assignments, e-mails, and insights, each university afforded me opportunities to create spaces for students to conduct meaningful work by applying theory to practice. I utilized the word pilot within each program by collecting baseline data, surveying students, and receiving permission to conduct research. I examined how students deepened their perspectives, broadened their experiences, and drew meaning from their lives and work in schools. One means of proactively engaging students in reflecting on their ability to negotiate experiences and make meaning from complex dynamics (i.e., school organizations, society) included the incorporation of critical theory, reflective practice, and inquiry-based learning. Students were provided opportunities to learn from field-based experiences, connecting prior lived experiences and integrating their thoughts and actions taken. For example, students conducted home visits, curriculum and equity audits, and problem-based learning and facilitated processes in which all school community members engaged in addressing issues of social justice and equity in public schools. As a scholar preparing school leaders in Texas and Ohio, I was encouraged to revise administrative internship courses to engage students in culturally diverse school contexts, increase their critical consciousness, and promote leaders for social justice and equity. Students noted the need for their experiences to be “directly tied to the realities facing twentyfirst-century school leaders.” However, white male faculty members at one institution noted such changes as a “burden” because “now they would have higher expectations placed on them.” Discussions centered on pursuing programmatic revisions to align their vision and mission with other Research I institutions (e.g., University of Wisconsin–Madison, University of North Carolina–Chapel Hill, Texas A & M–College Station, and University of Texas–Austin). As a tenure-track assistant professor in Ohio, I was asked to create a social justice course for an educational leadership program. The course was approved and designated as a mandatory course within the educational leadership program. Students were provided spaces to critically reflect on their school leadership identity, immerse themselves


in the field, and deepen their empathic responses toward underserved populations. Students engaged in weekly audio/video reflections centered on cultural proficiency and identity embedded in a conceptual model entitled “developing a catalytic perspective” (Boske, 2009). The course also engaged students in applying critical theory to practice through conducting an equity audit, creating a research-based stance regarding social justice and equity issues, and translating their transformative work in schools to artmaking. Providing students with opportunities to lead created spaces for students to attribute their learning and professional growth to the subsequent experiences presented throughout the revised courses. A fundamental aspect of their learning and development as school leaders was their ability to engage in authentic immersion experiences, critically reflect on the influence of their school leadership identity, and participate in social justice work in schools.

Discussion How we lead matters. Looking within shapes how school leaders understand themselves in an effort to promote humanity in schools. This selfstudy inspired me to reflect on the historical construction of social formation as well as my willingness to partake in the privileges associated with being white in this society. The existence of power and privilege encourages me to confront my blindness to issues centered on systemic inequities and the need to abolish privileges associated with being a member of the dominant culture. Creating a counterhegemonic narrative encouraged me to question and hold suspect proclaimed societal truths. Engaging in courageous, meaningful, reflective dialogue encouraged me to share my truth centered on what I thought, felt, and witnessed in schools. Although actions taken were considered by some as dangerous, articulating my values and beliefs provided a space for me to discover the power of raising critical consciousness and building alliances. Aligning with practitioners who identified as culturally proficient created a unified force within each school system. This unifying force enhanced the lives of historically disenfranchised populations by acknowledging and addressing oppressive school practices. I consciously worked to engage in socially just practices that deepened my understanding and responses to underserved populations (Laible, 2000). My hope was to encourage dissent from mainstream conformity


that maintains beliefs centered on the superiority of one group over another. This self-study encouraged me to understand how gender, race, and sexual identity permeate issues facing children and families in schools. Looking within to examine the existence of personal cultural assumptions was the first step to promoting social justice issues in schools. I realize the need to take personal risks, to become introspective, and to transform my practices. As a scholar preparing preservice school leaders, I must allow time, space, and intellectual guidance for students to analyze forces that promote hegemony and strategies to identify their authentic selves (see Cross et al., 1989). Promoting an authentic self provides opportunities for aspiring school leaders to engage in understanding the social construction of difference (see Gergen, 1999), as well as insight regarding the influence of wider social forces influencing America’s educational system (see Sleeter & Grant, 2009; Marshall & Oliva, 2006). This self-examination might encourage those who prepare school leaders to address the realities of human oppression, politics of education, and historical cultural misconceptions embedded in the fabric of our nation’s wider social forces (see Marshall & Gerstl-Pepin, 2005; McLaren & Kincheloe, 2007). Opportunities such as these provide spaces to address complex struggles for power within educational arenas. These complex struggles include understanding how power and privilege shape whose social justice counts. The journey of raising critical consciousness and becoming more culturally proficient urged those who prepared school leaders to provide them with intellectual guidance. Shields and Edwards (2005) propose school leaders move from managerial to dialogic leadership (p. 63). Such considerations encourage school leaders to willingly engage in conversations regarding the influence of race, class, gender, or any other interest they hold. Creating such spaces encourages school leaders to develop a strong sense of self (see Elson, 1986). It also requires faculty to provide spaces for students to question their beliefs and school practices (Shields & Edwards, 2005; Shields et al., 2002). There is value in caring for others and addressing ways to fundamentally improve the lived experiences of those who have been ostracized, especially children within our nation’s schools. As Freire (1970) reminds us, social change will occur for oppressed groups when they “create a new situation, one which makes possible the pursuit for fuller humanity”


(p. 29). These findings reinforced the need to take this charge seriously. School leaders need to deepen their understanding regarding power and privilege, as well as their role in perpetuating oppressive school practices that lead to unjust experiences. Such work requires that school leaders deepen their empathic responses and pay closer attention to the lived experiences of underserved people. The need for those who have been marginalized to mobilize themselves is coined identity politics. Within such spaces, members of subordinate groups center on their lived experiences (e.g., civil rights movement, women’s movement, LGBTQ movement) and validate the challenges, concerns, and achievements of these groups. Schools did not seem to serve as spaces in which the distribution of power and resources were openly discussed. There was a need to preserve cultural memory and create spaces in which underserved groups of children and their families mobilized themselves around their group identity. Raising awareness and deepening empathic responses was a conscious movement in need of forming coalitions with people in positions of power and privilege. Leading for social justice involved conversations centered on “special interest groups” versus “promoting humanity.” The divide often prevented educators from seeing beyond the lens of group identity in order to consider the needs of all children. In other words, people who were members of the dominant culture (white, heterosexual, Christian, employed, two-parent family) needed to investigate what it meant to be black, Latino, poor, single, LGBTQ, unemployed, or all of the above. Engaging in reflective work was a challenging and emotional process. The transformative work reminded us certain groups had less access to resources than others, fewer ways to make their voices heard, and forces that pushed them to live on the margins. The process encouraged people to think critically about aspects of their identity as well as the need to use power and privilege to form coalitions to interrupt oppressive practices.

Implications Little has been written about the strategies PreK–12 U.S. school leaders use to sustain themselves as leaders of social justice and equity oriented work (Brown, 2004, 2006; Marshall & Oliva, 2010; Theoharis, 2007). While this work is based on personal experiences within the United States,


there is an aspect of universality to how I overcome resistance, regardless of context. We might consider further research regarding how educators and school leaders unpack their lived experiences to interrupt hegemonic practices in schools. First, we might explore how educators and school leaders understand the impact of their childhood experiences, social interactions, and attitudes toward culturally diverse populations. How do educators and school leaders deepen their empathic responses and internalize their lived realities? To what extent, if any, are educators and school leaders immersed in spaces in which they are encouraged to investigate their role in perpetuating hegemonic practices in schools? Future research might begin by examining how individuals look within and internalize reflective practices to empower children and families who live on the margins. Future research might also center on school leadership practices, pedagogy, and policy making that fosters cultural proficiency. Such studies may need to document educators’ prior lived experiences and school practices, tracing their progress and transformations throughout their schooling and career. Furthermore, these studies might investigate processes in which educators and school leaders develop new identities that encourage social justice and equity-oriented work. Third, studies centering on people of color in schools might uncover ways to build bridges between mainstream and disenfranchised populations. Researchers (Boske, 2010a; Delpit, 1995) have suggested people of color tend to feel isolated and ostracized by oppressive school practices that encourage the perpetuation of cultural myths. To what extent, if any, do school leadership programs provide mentoring and support for students of color? Finally, I realize I cannot expect aspiring school leaders to take risks if I do not demonstrate courage, reflect on my school leadership identity, or transform my school practices. The key implication noted throughout this study is the significance of looking within and making conscious decisions that sustain transformative work centered on improving the lived experiences of underserved populations. This method of inquiry continues to be underexplored and is in need of further investigation (Boske, 2009; Lindsey, Robins, & Terrell, 2009). Finding allies is critical to building a supportive network to sustain an educational agenda centered on addressing exclusionary practices.


Providing spaces for students to examine values, their commitment, and shared responsibility in promoting systemic change is significant. Acknowledging lived experiences and cultural knowledge provides school leaders with a sense of purpose. Recognizing the importance of developing meaningful familial and social relationships with people who share similar beliefs creates the emotional support necessary for school leaders and teachers to engage in dismantling hegemonic practices. Providing safe spaces to deepen empathic responses and identity is crucial to sustaining practices and policies that promote social justice and equity-oriented work. If we allow time and intellectual guidance for those who desire to engage in this type of work, they too may discover their authentic selves (see Cross et al., 1989; Gergen, 1999).

Conclusion I developed and used centered strategies (see Boske, 2010b; Brown, 2004; Lindsey, Robins, & Terrell, 2010) as well as conscious, deliberate, and proactive strategies (Boske & Tooms, 2010; Dantley & Tillman, 2006; Furman & Shields, 2005) to advance social justice and equity work in the face of resistance. The experience of identifying as a white LGBTQ woman shapes what I do and encourages me to think racially and as well as sexually about the impact of heteronormativity in schools. We will need to hear more accounts of women’s experiences in the field and ways in which racial and sexual identity become more comfortably visible. The tension of moving between oppression and attempts to break through boundaries established by the dominant culture may need to become more transparent. The lived experiences shared in this chapter provide spaces to reconsider how those who live on the margins undertake the transformation of society to achieve liberation through transformative work. I attribute my transformative work, which in part is due to consciousness raising, to the strategies noted in this study. These strategies urge us to deepen our empathic responses and listen respectfully to those who can see what we cannot. Raising our own consciousness is the first step to undoing the invisibility of gender, race, sexual identity, and other forms of difference. This work requires understanding and paying close attention to members of marginalized populations as social actors. The transformative work supports efforts to address the marginalization of students and their


families—to create safe and intellectually stimulating places for learning as well as increasing critical consciousness, ability, and willingness to address social justice issues. What we need are women committed to working actively against privilege and interrupting hegemonic practices. Paying closer attention to people’s truths is fundamental to progressive change and promoting a more just world.

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Gergen, K. (1999). An invitation to social construction. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Gewirtz, S. (1998). Conceptualizing social justice in education: Mapping the territory. Journal of Education Policy, 13(4), 469–84. Goldfarb, K. P., & Ginberg, J. (2002). Leadership for social justice: Authentic participation in the case of a community center in Caracas, Venezuela. Journal of School Leadership, 12(2), 157–73. Gray, D. L., & Smith, A. (2007). Case studies in 21st-century school administration: Addressing challenges for educational leadership. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Grogan, M. (Ed.). (2002). Leadership for social justice [Special Issue]. Journal of School Leadership, 12(2), 112–15. Hamilton, M. L. (2002). Change, social justice and re-liability: Reflections of a secret (change) agent. In J. Loughran & T. Russell (Eds.), Improving teacher education practices through self-study (pp. 176–89). London: RoutledgeFalmer. Hamilton, M. L., & Pinnegar, S. (1998). Conclusion: The value and the promise of self-study. In M. L. Hamilton (Ed.), Reconceptualizing teaching practice: Self-study in teacher education (pp. 234–46). London: Falmer Press. Hilliard, A. G., III. (1991). Do we have the will to educate all children? Educational Leadership, 49(1), 31–36. Ketelle, D., & Mesa, R. P. (2006). Empathetic understanding and school leadership preparation. Leadership Review, 6, 144–54. Kottamp, R. (1990). Means of facilitating reflection. Education and Urban Society, 22(2), 182–203. Laible, J. C. (2000). A loving epistemology: What I hold critical in my life, faith, and profession. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 13(6), 683–92. Leymann, H. (1990). Mobbing and psychological terror at workplaces. Violence and Victims, 5, 119–26. Lindsey, R. B., Robins, K. N., & Terrell, R. D. (2009). Cultural proficiency: A manual for school leaders. Thousand Oaks, CA: Corwin Press.


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5 Teacher Leaders Working for Social Justice: Contributing to the Field Jennifer L. Martin

. . . if we do not define ourselves for ourselves, we will be defined by others—for their use and to our detriment. —Audre Lorde

. . . teachers who take leadership roles in their schools are successful agents and conduits in promoting cultural change. Their work as leaders—in and out of their classrooms—seems to push the school culture toward a more inclusive and collaborative one. When the work of teachers is held in the highest regard and is made visible throughout the school, the culture of the school shifts from authoritative, linear, and mechanical to open, responsive, and thoughtful. For some time, scholars and others have pushed the educational pendulum toward more collaborative and inclusive models. —Beachum and Dentith

America’s current public education system and those who work within it are subject to a polarizing public debate. Perhaps because all of us have attended school, we all have opinions about teachers, teaching, and school funding (whether or not we have training in education). To complicate this, the media have launched a large-scale assault on teachers and schools, demanding that teachers need to do more with less, at lower pay. A popular idea is that anyone can just decide to be a teacher, without any pedagogical 101


training. To further complicate matters, there are several divides within the field of education that exacerbate negative perceptions of teachers. First, there is a natural gulf between teachers and administrators that includes a distinct division of labor and a hierarchical power dynamic. Second, there is a separation between higher education, often making policy and curricular decisions that affect K–12 education, and the practical field in which teachers work. The crux of the problem is that public school educators are not viewed as professionals. They are not looked upon as experts in their field; university professors are seen as experts, although most have spent far less time (if any) in public K–12 classrooms. Despite all of the divisive political and social commentary about education, the American public school system is seen as a lone panacea, possessing not only the ability but also the responsibility to fix all of society’s ills. With the everincreasing demands on schools, teachers are expected to take on more responsibilities, many of which include leadership roles. However, some teachers do this work for the good of the school and are not necessarily compensated monetarily for it. There are many problems within public education that require fixing, but these changes should come from within; involving teachers in these solutions by respecting and valuing their knowledge is a cost-effective and empowering place to begin. Negative public opinions of teachers can contribute to teacher frustration and alienation, which can lead to teacher turnover and attrition. Such perceptions have contributed to an environment where teacher autonomy and academic freedom have been greatly reduced. As Steel and Craig (2006) point out: Researchers have pointed to uncompetitive salaries, high levels of teacher isolation, and unfavorable working conditions as among the possible causes. Surely the lack of opportunities for professional growth is a significant factor as well. In many cases, teachers are given highly structured, scripted curriculum materials for use in their classrooms, and systems of districtwide assessment and accountability procedures necessarily limit the professional autonomy of educators. (p. 677) When teachers feel undervalued, underpaid, and unappreciated, when their work and knowledge are deemed to be meaningless, they are more

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hesitant to act as leaders in their schools. However, when teachers are empowered, when their knowledge is valued, they are more likely to contribute their knowledge to making schools better. As Wahlstrom and Seashore Louis (2008) state, “Pedagogical knowledge and skills provide the basic building blocks for instruction, but workplace factors also affect student learning. Among these are teachers’ job satisfaction, a sense of professionalism and influence, collegial trust, and opportunities to collaborate” (p. 460). Essentially, teachers need to be empowered in order to empower others. I will share a personal anecdote to illustrate my point of the undervaluing of public school teachers in the current social and political system. I recently attended the American Educational Research Association’s Annual Meeting, where I was shocked and dismayed to hear a female scholar and leader in the field of educational leadership extol the virtues of the No Child Left Behind Act because “now teachers will be held accountable.” Most teachers have always held themselves accountable for the learning that occurs in their classrooms and schools. This shocking statement speaks to the gap that exists between the university, which educates teachers, and the field in which teachers work. Although educators themselves, professors can do much to contribute to the negative perceptions of teachers. K–12 and higher education professionals must work together for social justice; they must advocate for increased academic freedom for teachers, a reduction in the negative perceptions about teachers, school improvement that utilizes teacher knowledge, and the creation of emancipatory classroom environments. As Jones, Webb, and Neumann state (2008), “In educational leadership programs, professors should require preservice and in service teachers to identify ideologies, epistemologies, or any other discourse that marginalizes and devalues teachers and PK–12 students within schools. Teachers must have the kinds of protection and freedoms to engage students in the hard work of socially-just pedagogies” (p. 11). Teachers and professors must develop and maintain a collaborative relationship, as opposed to an adversarial one. In this chapter I explore how teacher leaders perform social justice work within their classrooms and schools and how this work can be transformative. As part of my investigation, I have examined the literature on teacher leaders, teacher researchers, feminist teachers, and social justice educators. In addition, I have used myself as a source of anecdotal


information. I conducted a self-study of my own social justice work to delineate what teachers can do in their classrooms and schools in order to create more equitable educational environments. This examination and this work on the part of teachers will hopefully accomplish two things. First, it will create more equitable environments, which may play a part in closing the achievement gap. This is crucial in changing the perception that public schools today are failing. Second, it will change the negative public perception of teachers and contribute to the notion that teachers are indeed professional, capable of growth, and true contributors to the field of educational research in their own right. Teacher leadership has many benefits including empowering teachers, creating more collaborative work environments, and sharing successful pedagogical techniques to increase student achievement. It can also contribute to reducing teacher isolation and increase their “commitment to the common good” (Wahlstrom & Seashore Louis, 2008, p. 461). It is erroneous to infer that teachers do not contribute and have not contributed to leadership within schools throughout the history of American education. As Strodl (1992) indicates, “To restrict leadership to the principal’s office is to assume that teachers never deal with conflict on their own, never inspire students to higher levels of accomplishment, never respond to school-wide policy issues, or never influence the formation of collective opinions, never contribute to the configuration of school climate and culture” (p. 6). In fact, most teachers have always worked to positively impact school culture, have lent their ideas to school improvement plans, and have fought to close achievements gaps, and advocated for educational equity in their classrooms. But teachers cannot lead alone. Teachers who work in isolation can do much within their classrooms to reduce gender inequities or racial or sexually based harassment, for example, but when their students leave the classroom, they are again faced with the potential hostile world of the school hallway. Collegiality promotes teacher leadership (Phelps, 2008), and teachers can do more for the school culture and for the school in general if they are able to work in concert with other teachers and administrators. As Phelps indicates (2008), “When teachers recognize that leading increases their overall difference-making ability, they will be more inclined to seize the chance to serve in this capacity” (p. 120). Teacher leadership can truly transform a school.


Teacher research is another area of leadership in which teachers can engage. Currently, they are often left out of the process of research in general. They are neither trained to nor given the time to conduct research. Teacher research can be emancipatory, freeing both teachers and students from regimented, irrelevant, and culturally unresponsive curricula by devising programs, interventions, and effective lessons. As Christianakis (2008) notes, “Excluding teachers from educational knowledge production and requiring them to follow curricular scripts demeans their expert knowledge and relegates it to ‘craft’ or ‘technical work.’ Including teachers in educational research honors and makes important their knowledge” (p. 107). Valuing teacher research equates to valuing teacher expertise, which is necessary in viewing teaching as a profession. Many teachers consider themselves informal leaders: stepping outside their classrooms to assist in the creation of the school’s mission, to advocate for the best interests of their students academically, and to create safer educational environments for both staff and students. As Strodl (1992) argues: Transformational leadership changes the lives of organizations, nations and people. Critical to the success of the informal leader is the leader’s ability to empower followers. As a person who empowers others the informal leader connects with followers in terms of conflicts, problems and issues to enable followers to become successful. (p. 11) The key to fostering maximum change is in inspiring group action. There are many impediments to teachers being viewed as leaders in their own right. One impediment is the perceptions of administrators. There still exists a historical divide between what is viewed to be “teacher work” and what is considered “administrator work.” As O’Connor (1992) indicates: Teacher leadership requires changes in traditional roles, attitudes, and school organization: roles which enable teachers to take on alternative responsibilities without leaving the classroom, attitudes that value teachers’ work with adults as well as students, and school organization that provides time and professional support for the new roles. . . . Clearly then, teacher leadership requires a shift in authority relations in schools. (p. 20)


It is important that teachers and administrators find ways to work together to create policies at the district and state level and to improve schools from within (O’Connor, 1992). Educators need time and support to be able to negotiate these roles. Time may be the greatest obstacle to this; restructuring schools in terms of organization, teacher workload, roles, and responsibilities is necessary. Contributing to a school’s vision and risk taking are common aspects of teacher leadership, but stepping up as a social justice leader or advocate can be dangerous for teachers. Teacher leaders are often in the unique position of having to do the unpopular thing, that is, speaking out if they disagree with school policies and practices that they deem harmful for students, such as tracking students, implementing a scripted curriculum as opposed to being guided by needs of students, and focusing much instructional time on preparations for standardized testing. But this is a necessary system of checks and balances within a school organization. In order for teachers to insert themselves into these dialogues and to take on leadership roles, they must be willing to take risks, be assertive, and value their own knowledge about teaching and students in order to impact school reform (Beachum & Dentith, 2004). Teachers and administrators must work together toward positive school reform for social justice. If this does not occur, then it is doubtful that negative perceptions of teachers will change, that our schools will improve from within, or that the achievement gap will close. Giroux (2001/1983) argues that social transformation should be the goal of public education: “ . . . learning is not about processing received knowledge but actually transforming it as part of a more expansive struggle for individual rights and social justice” (p. xxvii). Much to the detriment of our children and our society, this is becoming less and less a priority. Embracing the concept of teacher leaders can lessen the demands placed on administrators and on schools in general toward a more transformative and egalitarian educational environment. “Combining the best of both [teachers and administrators] can ease increasing educational demands, reconfigure hierarchical power structures, and unite teachers and administrators in the interest of genuine renewal and true transformation” (Beachum & Dentith, 2004, p. 285). Teachers must feel empowered in order to lead and to empower others (hooks, 1994).


Social Justice Teacher Leaders: Advocating for Students, Advancing the Profession Lieberman and Miller (2004) discuss three types of teacher leaders: advocates, innovators, and stewards. Advocates stand up and speak out for what is best for students. Innovators develop and implement creative new ideas. Stewards shape the profession of teaching in a positive manner through their work. Social justice educators do all three of these, which ultimately improves schools. Social justice education benefits both the school and the teachers. As O’Connor (1992) indicates, “Leadership experiences empowered them, increased their self-confidence and their willingness to take risks in their classrooms. We would posit that children are the direct beneficiaries when teachers ‘put my teaching in perspective and provide richer classroom interactions’ ” (p. 21). Teachers can do much to improve their schools from within, from creating policies to in-servicing other teachers on pedagogy, content, and technology. Teacher leaders can work with students to create positive cultural change within schools and across districts through trainings; they can conduct traditional and action research in their classrooms and schools in order to create better solutions to students’ academic and behavioral challenges and solve schoolwide problems. Research based decisions assists in affirming the diversity of the student body, creating student-led incentives to succeed, and celebrating accomplishment and improvement. Phelps (2008) writes, Teacher leaders can change schools for the better. A willingness to assume a greater degree of responsibility allows a teacher leader to function as a school’s conscience . . . Fulfilling this moral purpose, in turn, raises teachers’ levels of contribution and multiplies their possible impact. (p. 120) Again, this work benefits teachers. However, if teachers are not receiving recognition for their hard work, if this expectation falls more on one group of people (e.g., women teachers), and/or if they are not being compensated (whether monetarily or through provided flex time) for their extra work, then we are just placing undue pressure on already overworked teachers, which will exacerbate the burnout rate.


During my fifteen years in public education, I have found that the expectation of teachers has much to do with traditional gender roles. In terms of formal leadership in American public schools, traditional gender role expectations are, to a large degree, still at play. Men are still considered to be “natural choices” when determining who will run a school. This is changing with many women taking on the formal responsibilities as principals and high-level central-office administrators, but when it comes to informal leadership, having one’s voice heard, participating in policy decisions or budgeting, often men’s voices are more valued. As Wilson (2007) laments, “How many women have contributed their best at meetings only to find that when a man says the same thing moments later, it is hailed as genius—and his idea” (p. 34). Additionally, when it comes to the expectations of who will plan parties, activities, or provide cleanup, this expectation often falls on women—many of whom take on these additional duties without complaint.

Feminist Teacher Leadership: Working in the Margins Working to help all students achieve is crucial, but when environments are not safe, this can be virtually impossible. Social justice work is necessary to finding solutions to these and other problems, to creating more equitable school environments, but often this work is done is isolation because it can be dangerous and frightening. Challenging the status quo of a school sometimes can mean risking one’s job. It is easier to go along with how things have always been done. However, teaching can be a political act through which teachers, as Fine (2007) suggests, “can address social inequality and injustice” (p. 181). For example, teachers can advocate for the removal of sexist, racist, and homophobic language within their schools. We must not underestimate the power of “teachable moments.” Teachers who are advocates for social justice do not ignore hate speech, for example. Their interventions can do much to dismantle hegemonic masculinity and the policing of heteronormativity that often dominate student discourse. Teachers who are advocates for social justice serve to protect their students even if it means they are on the line. Additionally, there is a perception that some students do not want to learn or cannot learn; nothing can be further from the truth. Teachers who advocate for social justice also work to educate the most difficult and resistant students. It is


within this spirit of social justice advocacy in education that I now share some of my own teaching story involving the incorporation of feminist teaching principles and working for equity and inclusion in my own classroom and school. In my work as a high school teacher, I have noticed much inequity in my observations of others. Although this is not the norm, I have been angered when I have seen or heard about harassment being tolerated by teachers and administrators. For example, I observed a gym class where a white male gym teacher organized a scrimmage basketball game for the boys while he allowed the girls to sit on the bleachers and talk. When a boy attempted to sit on the same bleachers, the gym teacher questioned his masculinity and his sexuality; in other words, if he did not want to play sports, not only was he gay, but he was also less of a man. This teacher’s own views about gender dictated how he ran his classroom; his limited views included a dominant discourse of hegemonic masculinity that resulted in gender inequity, heteronormativity, and sexual orientation harassment. This and other events in my personal and professional life impressed upon me the need for teachers to be allies, to go above and beyond to protect their students. This mindset led me to work in a nontraditional environment. In my third year of teaching I took a position teaching English at an alternative high school for at-risk students. Students were sent to this school for behavioral reasons. This was a small program with a soft cap of eighty students. Oftentimes, this was the students’ last chance at an education and a diploma. Immediately, I noticed a gender specific problem within the school. My female students were experiencing something that was negatively affecting them—sexual harassment. The male population of the school at that time was approximately 80 percent. Many of my female students came to me complaining of this problem. Girls came to me in tears, lamenting how boys in their classes and in the hallways taunted them, propositioned them, humiliated them, grabbed them sexually without their consent, degraded them, spread sexual rumors about them, made judgments about their sexuality, and so forth. This was done with a sense of entitlement and served to perpetuate the male-dominated culture. The girls were simultaneously upset about what was happening to them and protective of their harassers. They did not want to report what they were experiencing because they did


not want to get their “friends” in trouble. Although they were conflicted, their choices not to report perpetuated this dominant discourse. The boys, on the other hand, believed that because their sexual harassment went unreported, their behavior was therefore acceptable to the girls. In other words, they felt they were doing nothing wrong. To compound this problem, the notion of “snitches get stitches” was deeply embedded within the school culture. If students were to snitch on other students for whatever reason, there was a real fear of retaliation. Perhaps most dismaying to me as a teacher was the fact that the girls who reported these behaviors to me communicated the idea that enduring sexual harassment was just how life was for women, and there was nothing they could do about it. Many of my female students had been victims of abuse—physical, emotional, sexual—which may have contributed to the fact that they attended the alternative school in the first place. Such abuses have detrimental effects on students and their academic performance; often students stop caring about themselves and everything around them, including school. They fail classes and act out. If their behavior is disruptive enough, they are sent to the alternative program. These students also deserved a safe, structured, and supportive environment in which to learn. However, the female students were not receiving this. I had experienced sexual harassment as a young college student, although I did not call it that at the time. This was before Anita Hill and there was not a name for this phenomenon in popular parlance. It was the late 1980s, and I was taking a freshman math course. When comparing my test scores with a classmate, I noticed that she had been granted more points than I although we had identical answers. I went to speak to the professor during his office hours. He agreed to give me the additional points, but not without complementing me on my appearance, replete with details on certain outfits I had worn previously and explicit descriptions of my body and his opinions about it. I felt extremely uncomfortable, but I was not equipped to deal with this. I remember feeling that I just wanted to leave. I did leave, and never returned. I remained in the class but received the worst grade of my undergraduate career. As an adult, I know that I had recourse to deal with the situation, but as an eighteen-year-old, I did not. No one prepared me with the information that could have helped me in this situation. I did not want my students to experience what I did. I made it my


duty to determine how best to share with them the information that would help them deal with such gender-based discrimination. Based upon my experience with women’s studies, which came late in my undergraduate studies, and my research on how such courses have helped to empower college-aged women, I knew that a women’s studies program at the alternative high school could help the female students and contribute to a cultural change within the school. Their previous life experiences had taught many of these students that they were nothing more than victims. Their only defense to this was to act as if degrading treatment was “no big deal.” In actuality, they were taught to be victims somewhere in their lives (most likely repeatedly); the sexual harassment they were facing was simply more of the same. For many of these girls, their defenses had taught them to become “the tough girls,” “the violent girls,” or those who could not be hurt. Current research suggests that sexual harassment is a major problem in today’s K–12 schools (AAUW, 2001/1993; Fineran & Bennett, 1999; Gruber & Fineran, 2008; Stein, 1999). According to the research of Gruber and Fineran (2008) on bullying and harassment in schools, 52 percent of students are bullied, 35 percent are sexually harassed, 25 percent of males and females are victims of cyberbulliying, 79 percent of LGBTQ students experience bullying, and 71 percent of LGBTQ students experience sexual harassment. However, sexual harassment has the greatest impact on self-esteem, mental and physical health, trauma symptoms, and substance abuse issues (Gruber & Fineran, 2008). These studies suggest that students in K–12 schools are more likely to experience sexual harassment than individuals in the workplace or in higher education. Peer sexual harassment is a problem for both females and males, but females still experience the majority of it. Males often experience sexual harassment at the hands of other males (sexual orientation harassment), whereas the sexual harassment experienced by females is most often perpetrated by males. Females also experience more instances of physical harassment than do males. Sexual harassment is a complicated phenomenon involving various interrelated factors such as gender, patriarchal norms, and issues of power. Students typically do not report incidents of sexual harassment (AAUW, 1993/2001). To compound this problem, schools often do not take action when incidents of sexual harassment are reported (Kopels & Dupper,


1999; Meyer, 2009). This failure on the part of schools causes a cadre of other problems for the victims. Ignoring claims of sexual harassment or viewing them as typical adolescent behavior or as mere bullying will not make the problems go away. In fact, to not deal with the issue of sexual harassment in a proactive manner only serves to create an environment that is more hostile where students do not feel safe and protected by the adults around them. When schools fail to intervene, they may be doing more than reinforcing the traditional hierarchy and devaluing the voices of girls; they may also be implicitly encouraging a pattern of male violence (Stein, 1996) and reinforcing hegemonic masculinity, which is a primary cause of homophobic harassment and sexual harassment based on gender (Meyer, 2009). Self-esteem, gender-role orientations, locus of control, and sexist beliefs all serve to reinforce the phenomenon of sexual harassment. Research on college-age women suggests that women’s studies courses have been successful in raising women’s self-esteem (Stake & Gerner, 1987; Zuckerman, 1983), encouraging more egalitarian gender-role orientations in female students (Harris, Melaas, & Rodacker, 1999), altering women’s loci of control toward a more internal orientation (Harris, Melaas, & Rodacker, 1999), and decreasing sexist beliefs (De Judicibus & McCabe, 2001). My goal in bringing women’s studies to high school was to create a culture of empowerment where girls would find strength in their own voices, learn strategies to deal with harassing behaviors, feel they had control over their lives and bodies, and decrease sexual harassment within the school environment. School culture is shaped by the behavior and practices of students, teachers, and the administration. If students are taught to recognize what constitutes sexual harassment and strategies to deal with harassers, then this awareness may translate into action. If students refuse to tolerate sexually harassing behavior when they experience it or witness it, then this may cause the perpetrators to alter their behavior. My objective was to determine if exposing girls to the intervention would alter their perceptions and responses to sexual harassment enough to change the school culture to one that is less tolerant of sexual harassment in general. At this time I was asked by other teachers why I did not include boys in the women’s studies course. Certainly the boys needed an intervention. All of my students benefited from learning more about gender, media literacy,


and sexual harassment on a day-to-day basis in my other courses when “teachable moments” came up and in my choices of course content in English. However, the girls needed a more intensive intervention; thus the idea of an all-girls women’s studies course was born. My approach represented an alternative to the victim/reactive approach; mine was a proactive approach to teaching the creation and maintenance of boundaries. Creating this intervention represented an affirmative action for the purpose of promoting gender equity within a school environment that was underserving the female student population; thus, this proposition to reduce the gender and sexual harassment occurring within the school culture was in compliance with the requirements of Title IX (see Klein, in this volume). The female students in the alternative school did not view their experiences and voices as primary. They were accustomed to taking the back seat in classes and in hallways where the boys were louder and male privilege set the agenda. My objective was to determine if my approach would be effective in transforming student behavior. If female students were provided a place where they felt safe enough to share their experiences, learned about the nature of harassment and the power dynamics it involves, learned of the policies and procedures regarding sexual harassment in the school environment, and learned to find confidence enough with their own voices to file formal complaints when necessary, then, I surmised, sexual harassment within the school would decrease because of the activism of female students. Prior to the course, the majority of female students had experienced sexual harassment. Most felt that sexual harassment was a problem in their school. Interestingly, although the majority of students reported experiencing some form of sexual harassment, only half of them reported it to teachers or administrators. Conversely, of the students who had not experienced it, the majority indicated that they would report incidents of sexual harassment when and if they experienced them. These findings indicate that sexual harassment has a disempowering effect on its victims. Thus, in order for me to assist in reducing sexual harassment levels within the school through the women’s studies course, information about sexual harassment had to be provided as well as an emphasis on the importance of reporting incidents when they occurred. Teaching empowerment strategies for victims to use in harassing situations was also part of the course.


During the course, students learned about what behaviors constitute sexual harassment, what it feels like to be sexually harassed, what to do when experiencing it, and why victims often do not report. Students shared their own stories of facing sexual harassment and learned from one another how important it is to support victims. I feel as if people don’t report sexual harassment because too many people get away with it and the person that it happened to is afraid that nothing is going to happen to the person who did it; and they will do it again because they got away with it the first time. I think that witnesses are scared to report it because they are afraid that that person is going to find out and do something to them. We need to start being there for these people if we know any and talk them through it. —Jenny I have learned lots of things about sexual harassment. It is really a crazy thing. Some people don’t take it serious enough or girls just don’t like to report it or they are scared. I have been through the experience and I know how it feels. It makes you feel really nasty, like someone has violated you and if you’re a virgin it feels like someone has stolen something from you and you can’t get it back—something so precious can’t be replaced. These things haunt you 4-real. —Fran Prior to the course, many students did not feel the things they had experienced were in fact harassment. Those who felt they had been harassed also felt they had no recourse against their harassers, assuming that the school would not do anything in terms of providing consequences for the perpetrators; this was often based on personal experience. Additionally, many students were initially resistant to the course in general. It was easier for them to blame victims than to acknowledge themselves as victims. Eventually, all of the students who took part in the class bonded over their similar experiences and realized that they could deal effectively with the issue, as would the school. I have experienced sexual harassment a few times, but in some cases I did not know how to deal with it. As I got older, I began to understand what it was and why I shouldn’t let it continue to happen to


me. Last year [at another school] I was in my math class and a boy came up to me and humped me. That really pissed me off. I told him he needed to stop and he called me a bitch. Then I tried to hit him, but he ran so I told the principal; nothing major happened. —Delia People fail to report sexual harassment because they are usually or more than likely scared. They don’t want to make it worse than it already is. We can change this by teaching young girls that it’s okay. It’s not their fault. We need to send the message out to other women that we support them in whatever they do, so they are no longer scared, and we could decrease the rates of sexual harassment. —Cynthia I have been harassed in school and out. What’s funny is guys think they can walk on the small ones. I have been harassed in a store. Yes, it can be reported; then you have to feel like the bad one. All the girls I know have been harassed. I have seen it in school. It’s in the open. I don’t understand why teachers act like they don’t see it. That’s why some think it doesn’t get taken care of, ‘cause no one ever sees it. —Susan What I have learned in this course is that women have the same rights as men. . . . I now know the difference between flirting and sexual harassment. While we’re on the subject of sexual harassment, we had plenty of people expose their personal ordeals and we all supported them to the fullest. We learned a lot about one another and this class brought us all closer. I know that everyone learned something about themselves or someone else. We revealed how vulnerable we can be and we helped one another build up nerve and self-esteem. I appreciate all of the students who have showed a sign of change even though they fought it at first. I feel that this class should continue as an after school activity every other week. I’m glad you decided to initiate a class like this even after many people claimed to hate it. I’ll admit I was one of those, but I changed my mind. —Linda In terms of the curriculum, students examined sample sexual harassment policies and then wrote their own. They practiced filling out reporting forms.


I stressed the fact that it is crucial to keep records of specifics when experiencing sexual harassment: dates, times, behaviors, quotations from perpetrators, and the like. We practiced setting boundaries, and what to say when one is harassed. For example, students practiced, in loud strong voices, mantras such as, “No, stop it. What you are doing is harassment and that is not okay with me. If you do not stop I will report this as sexual harassment.” Through this training, I found that teenage girls are not taught how to say “no,” especially to boys, especially in a culture of male privilege and entitlement. We had to practice this frequently over time. I found that they were embarrassed to say the word “no” for a variety of reasons. Girls are still taught, through socialization and the mass media, to be compliant, to be nice, and to “get along.” Also, in dating etiquette, girls are still taught to be “nice” when they reject. They are taught to reject through subtle nuanced responses. Boys are taught the opposite message: they are taught pursue; they are taught that girls do not really say what they mean, that “no” means the opposite of “no” (see De Becker, 1997). Because of this, I taught my students to be clear and definitive, which had an empowering effect on them. Additionally, students participated in two days of assertiveness and self-defense training to reinforce boundary setting and to learn to deal with physical intimidation. Before I entered this class, I knew basically nothing about feminism, equality, women’s rights, and actually how much of an issue sexual harassment was before. I kind of felt overpowered by men. I still feel like a man could bring me down, but I hope to learn more and be able to stand right back up and face the situation face-to-face. I hope this class will soon become a year-long class so many girls can become more aware of the situations going on in our every day lives. —Ann I take sexual harassment more serious now. I think it has had an effect on the school because the girls are taking things a lot more serious. Even if a guy is just joking around, they are taking it a lot more serious because they have learned more about it. People in the school are taking it more serious because the girls don’t play anymore. They don’t mess around. They report something if something happens or they go talk to someone instead of keeping it to themselves. —Sherri


I believe this class should be all year round. It teaches us to stand up for ourselves and that should not have a time limit. I can’t wait to have a child, to have a boy, and teach it the qualities to be a good man and support equality. I’ve learned a lot from this class and recognize things on a day to day basis. For instance, sexism, it still happens everywhere. But now I have the voice and tools to stick up for myself and others. —Cassie Eventually the students began to stand up for each other when negative comments were made in the hallways or in classes. They were careful not to use degrading language, and they would correct the language usage of others. In fact, the climate of the school changed. Girls stood up for themselves and for each other in ways that I had never seen before. This suggested to me that the girls who took part in the intervention were beginning to understand that they had a certain degree of control when faced with sexual harassment; they learned that there were things they could do about sexual harassment and that they did not have to accept such behavior as a normal fact of life. Many of the students in the class communicated that they were interested in passing on what they had learned to younger girls. This was possibly the most encouraging finding to suggest that real learning had occurred. I am achieving so many things in life and it is because of this class. I am starting to realize about sexual harassment, and now that I do there are a lot of girls who thank me and they call for advice when they need it because I am a role model for these young girls (women). I thank this class for my achievements and I hope I can pass them down to my kids one day. I am truly loving this class because of what I will do in the future. —Tenisha During the semester in which the women’s studies course was taught, from September to mid-January, there were a total of thirty-five office referrals for sexual harassment. More specifically, there were thirty-two office referrals for inappropriate comments of a sexual nature. There were two referrals for inappropriate sexual touching, and there was one


referral for inappropriate sexual gesturing. The former two referrals were considered to be criminal sexual conduct and were committed by two different students. One of these students was expelled after a district hearing. During the second semester, from mid-January to June, there were a total of eleven office referrals for sexual harassment. More specifically, there were ten office referrals for inappropriate comments of a sexual nature and one office referral for inappropriate sexual gesturing. Incidents of sexual harassment were reduced by more than one-third during the second semester. A combination of factors contributed to this reduction. As a result of the women’s studies course, the girls spoke up when faced with harassing comments or behaviors from the boys. They voiced their discomfort to the boys when such behaviors occurred. Many girls also spoke up when they witnessed the harassment of others. As a result of their drawing attention to such conduct that otherwise may have gone unnoticed by the staff, the boys were less likely to participate in it. There are two reasons for this. First, many of the boys, unchallenged by their peers, felt such conduct was acceptable prior to the women’s studies course. After, they learned that this behavior was unacceptable and ceased to engage in it. Second, the boys who knew such conduct was unacceptable in the first place were less willing to engage in such conduct because they realized there was a heightened risk of getting caught; the girls made these acts more visible by voicing their disapproval. Also, as a result of the course, many girls were more willing to report the sexual harassment they experienced and witnessed. Thus, the administration was able to identify perpetrators who previously may have gotten away with such conduct. Administrative interventions with these boys may also have contributed to the reduction of sexually harassing conduct. When the boys realized that there were administrative consequences for their actions, they were less likely to engage in sexual harassment. More work must still be done at this school regarding sexual harassment, sexism, issues of power, and gender roles. Ideas such as female bonding, assertiveness training, and techniques to promote trust and empowerment need to be reinforced. The results found here may provide insight into how to create a curricular intervention to deal with problems such as sexual harassment in schools. Although this women’s studies


course included only girls, it could be expanded and tailored to include boys as well. The teacher research that I conducted was empowering for the students and for me. I used traditional research techniques, a mixed-methods approach, to study this issue and the effectiveness of the intervention I created. I developed an instrument to measure sexual harassment and assessed the students’ locus of control prior to and after the intervention. I found that students were more internally motivated after the intervention. For more information on sexual harassment, on this intervention, and on my specific research results, see Martin 2005, 2008, 2009a, and 2009b.

Consequences for Social Justice Work As a teacher working for social justice, one expects to face a certain amount of resistance from colleagues, administrators, and students who represent and thus benefit from the status quo. For example, during the women’s studies course, I faced a certain amount of resistance and even hostility from the male student population. Some did not understand what I was doing. When I explained the purpose, many were amenable to it. Some who engaged in such behaviors were angered that they would not be able to get away with it any longer. However, I never expected that I would face repercussions from a male colleague for facilitating this intervention that benefited the entire school culture in general. In subsequent years after the first incarnation of the sexual harassment intervention, the high school women’s studies course that I created and facilitated evolved into something different. After the change in culture, the specific focus on sexual harassment was no longer so prominent. Instead, the curriculum changed to suit the students’ interests; male students who were interested in the material joined the course, and the curriculum incorporated service learning; students worked on projects to raise awareness on gender issues that affected people globally. One day as I was teaching my class, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find a former student of mine who now attended the adult education program that is housed in the same building. I could tell this student was upset. I stepped into the hallway and asked her what was wrong. She informed me that her history teacher, whom I had never met,


announced that men were superior to women. She had previously taken my women’s studies course and felt no qualms about standing up to him and his ideas and citing examples of why this was false. He retorted, “Name any woman who has created anything comparable to what men have achieved.” She indicated that I would not be happy with his ideas. He responded that he would debate me on this issue any time, in his classroom with students present. At this point, I understood that I would have to intervene for this student. I went to the administrator of her adult education program and related the situation so that she would not be reprimanded for walking out of class without permission. After this incident, students from this teacher’s class, many of whom I had had as students previously, would say things such as, “Mr. Soandso wants to debate with you. Why won’t you debate with him? Are you scared? Are you afraid you’ll lose?” In fact, the teacher challenged me to the debate through these students. I was outraged by this. To me, this was not a debatable issue. I would not entertain his challenge with a response. His comments in class were tantamount to racist justifications for separate but equal. Did this teacher have no understanding of systems of privilege or historical inequities that prevented women from achieving greatness on par with men or left women’s accomplishments out of the dialogue all together? After a few days, I realized that this teacher was communicating to his students that I was fearful of this debate. There was no way I would engage in such a useless dialogue or stoop to his unprofessional behavior. In the students’ minds, if I were to “lose” this debate, then this teacher’s opinion would be right in their eyes. This was a “lose/lose” situation. I went to the administration and informed them of the situation and that these comments were a violation of Title IX and thus illegal. The principal was very understanding; he spoke to the teacher, who subsequently wrote letters of apology to all of his students. The teacher never said a word to me about this incident, and I never did officially meet him. I share this story because it illustrates the fact that when teachers are advocates for social justice, often they become targets. I was targeted because my views and activism were incompatible with the status quo and hegemonic masculinity. I encountered another surprise when I attempted to take my women’s studies intervention on the road. I pitched the idea of bringing it to another, more traditional, high school. I met with a high-level administrator with the


hopes that she would be interested. When I explained my plan to her, she indicated to me that she could not approve. She informed me that she did not want to know the extent of the problem of sexual harassment in her school. When I asked her why, she replied, “because then we would have to do something about it.” I took two things from this experience. First, my research was not valued because of my role as a classroom teacher. Second, I learned that not all administrators support teachers, teacher research, and protecting students; in other words, some are unprepared or ill equipped to do this difficult work. The goal of advancing equity for her students was not part of her agenda. This administrator did not want to put in the time and work in the short term although it would have helped her school in the long run.

Social Justice Challenges for Teacher Leaders Bullying and harassment prevention is both a popular topic and an important issue for today’s educators. However, there are some groups that are left out of this dialogue. LGBTQ harassment is a topic that is not often broached in schools. With today’s increasingly conservative political agenda trickling into the public schools, as realized in abstinence-only education, for example, many educators are afraid to speak out as allies. However, as educators, we are required to protect all students and create safe educational environments for them. We are also legally obligated to protect LBGTQ students from sexual harassment as indicated by Title IX case law; many educators are unaware of this fact. According to Williams, Connolly, Pepler, and Craig (2005), between 1 and 3 percent of adolescents report being gay or bisexual; another 10 percent are questioning. Sexual harassment has been reported to be a significant problem for these populations, as is a hostile peer environment (Williams, Connolly, Pepler, & Craig, 2005). LGBTQ youth are three times as likely as their nonminority-status peers to skip school because of safety issues and to report having been injured by or threatened with a weapon. These students are more than twice as likely to report being in a physical fight at school. LGBTQ youth are more than four times as likely to attempt suicide (Bochenek & Brown, 2001). Suicide is a leading cause of death for these youths, who report feeling greater levels of alienation, helplessness, hopelessness, loneliness, and worthlessness than their


heterosexual peers. This is a problem that is still not addressed in schools as readily as it should be and thus requires social justice advocacy. According to GLSEN (2007), 86 percent of LGBTQ students reported being harassed verbally because of their sexual orientation, 44 percent have been physically harassed, 22 percent were physically assaulted, and 75 percent hear homophobic remarks. Ninety percent of students heard the word “gay” used in a negative manner, such as “that’s so gay.” Tragically, 60 percent of these students failed to report these incidents to school staff members because they felt that nothing would be done about it. Thirty-one percent of students who did report their experiences with harassment indicated that nothing was done in response. Homophobic and sexist language is common in today’s schools. Language is often where harassment starts. If school officials intervene when they hear harassing language used, they may prevent more serious offenses from being committed. Teachers must be encouraged to intervene when they hear this type of language and be trained how to do so effectively. Teachers should be trained to intervene with both covert and overt forms of harassment. Social justice educators must lobby for such trainings for staff and students. There are severe consequences for students who experience harassment based on their LGBTQ status. These students generally report having more problems emotionally and behaviorally than do their sexual majority counterparts. Additionally, these youth report having less access to family and peer support than do their heterosexual peers (Williams, Connolly, Pepler, & Craig, 2005). The effects of harassment on LGBTQ youth are great and they include: avoiding certain parts of the school, having difficulty in paying attention in classes, participating less in classes, and skipping classes altogether (Sadowski, 2001). According to Rivers and Noret (2008), students who report being harassed because of actual or perceived sexual minority status also report engaging in more health-risk behaviors, such as drug use. Unfortunately, most schools do not specifically include the category of LGBTQ status in policies and procedures prohibiting harassment and bullying. Schools with gay–straight alliances (GSAs) have been found to be more welcoming to LGBTQ students than schools without them (Sadowski, 2001). Awareness must be raised on issues of sexual harassment based on gender and sexual orientation in teacher education programs and in professional development programs. It is also important that school districts


enumerate their harassment policies to include sexual harassment based upon gender identity and sexual orientation (real and perceived) whether this is required by law or not. Teacher education programs and school districts must inform those new to the profession about the protections of Title IX. Often, teachers do not know how to deal with harassment and bullying. Training on these issues is crucial for all teachers. On October 26, 2010, the United States Department of Education Office for Civil Rights issued ten pages of guidance to approximately 15,000 school districts and to colleges and universities receiving federal funds delineating their responsibilities to protect students from sexual and gender-based harassment and harassment based upon race, color, national origin, and disability. What will be new to many schools is that the guidelines make clear that students’ sexual orientation and gender identity and expression (real or perceived) are protected under Title IX. If school districts fail to adequately protect these students, the Department can withdraw federal funds or place conditions upon them. Those districts and schools who may have failed to protect LGBTQ students in the past will now have to rectify this. This may result in harassment prevention training for staff and students and changes to enumerated policies to prohibit harassment. This is good news for social justice educators and advocates and for our students.

Advice for Social Justice Educators There are many things that we can do to make school environments healthier and more equitable for our students. First and foremost, policy changes are necessary for equity to be possible (Darling-Hammond, 2010). Advocacy is required on the state and federal levels so that schools are adequately funded. Some schools work together for social justice reform. However, some teachers may be working alone and in small coalitions in order to facilitate larger-scale changes in their schools and districts. Teacher leadership and teacher research can contribute to necessary reforms. For social justice principles and practices to become institutionalized, we must begin to value the knowledge of teachers and view them as experts in their field. This change requires advocacy, and it may require additional training for some. Teaching must be seen as a profession, one that does not always


require outside intervention from politicians and professors. To this end, teachers must be their own advocates. As Christianakis (2008) argues, Teacher researchers upsets the “class” divisions operationalized in higher-ed-driven, top-down patriarchal research models. . . . teacher research situates findings in real life classrooms with real life constraints. Such positionality challenges “one size fits all” notions, such as those implemented by the Bush administration and the NCLB law. (p. 112) If teachers desire to make changes within their classrooms and schools, they should first determine whether they have enough training. Courses and professional development in research methodology and action research can be beneficial. Current and future social justice educators should read professional journals and other literature and stay current on the legal, social, and political issues that affect education. They should involve themselves politically when education is under attack. They must speak out at board meetings and involve themselves in the current educational dialogues. Teachers interested in social justice work and in transforming schools as places of democracy and emancipation must work in coalitions and step into leadership roles. Shared leadership is crucial in achieving and sustaining high-performing schools. Administrators must utilize teachers’ strengths by creating opportunities for them to employ them. Collaboration with teachers can lessen the burden on administrators (and empower teachers), but sharing leadership requires courage and trust. Administrators who work for the goals of social justice can inspire group action. This type of leadership is risky but ultimately makes schools safer and more productive places and can reduce administrator workload. Professional learning communities (PLCs) can assist in all of these endeavors. The main focus of PLCs is student learning; increased teacher decision making and empowerment are natural extensions of this. Teachers are to be given time to collaborate on student need, reflect on practice, and devise solutions to problems of assessment and learning. Teacher reflection is informed by theory with common goals: to raise student achievement, close the achievement gap, and advance equity. This is the true definition of praxis, which enables teachers to participate in the production of knowledge, which contributes to the notion of teachers as


professionals. Collecting data by tracking and analyzing student achievement is crucial in pursuing these endeavors. Focused professional development, in conjunction with professional learning communities, is required for school reform and teacher empowerment. Professional development should be a regular practice in the overall school reform and not the “flavor of the month.” . . . teachers judge professional development to be most valuable when it provides opportunities to do “hands-on” work that builds their knowledge of academic content and how to teach it to their students, and when it takes into account the local context (including the specifics of local school resources, curriculum guidelines, accountability systems, and so on). (Darling-Hammond, 2010, p. 227) Often, professional development can involve teachers sharing their research, knowledge of content, process, and technology with other teachers. Guidelines for administrators who seek to support teachers as true professionals are many. Administrators must first create a positive work/ school environment, which includes ensuring adequate working conditions. They must learn to give up a certain degree of control and trust in teachers’ abilities and judgment. They must listen to viewpoints that do not accord with their own, value teacher autonomy, and recognize and validate the accomplishments and contributions of teachers. Administrators must support and mentor teachers (and create, support, and value mentoring programs). It is important that they provide positive feedback (not just criticism), expect growth, and support teachers as learners. They must encourage collaboration and work to reduce teacher isolation. They must also empower teachers by encouraging leadership beyond the classroom; this is how we may begin to grow teacher leaders (adapted from Steel & Craig, 2006; Wahlstrom & Seashore Louis, 2008). Public education has been under attack for some time. This must change because public education is the only system that must educate all students. It is truly the last bastion of democratic education in America. It is not a perfect system, but it can be improved. These improvements should come from within. Providing safe, harassment-free schools with culturally relevant curriculum is necessary in closing the achievement


gap and reducing the dropout rate for many populations of students. Enlisting the assistance and expertise of teachers can assist in these reforms; teacher leadership and teacher research are necessary components. In order for us to view the teaching profession differently, we must move away from hierarchical thinking toward an empowerment model. We must cease viewing teachers as technicians and begin to view them as professionals. Educational leadership for social justice must work toward these changes in order to truly improve our schools, for they are worth saving.

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6 Course Guides, Equity, and Achievement: The Shaping of Student Status Lisa P. Hallen and Elizabeth J. Allan

More girls are graduating from high school; more women are earning associate, bachelor, and graduate degrees than ever before (Aud et al., 2010). Achievements like these prompt many to ask, is gender equity really a problem in education? Progress seems obvious and, though it is widely accepted that girls and women have made many gains in terms of access and representation in education, quantity does not always equate to quality. Data continue to point to gender-based dynamics shaping climates and experiences that are less than equitable for girls. For instance, while girls are ahead or equal to boys on most standardized measures of achievement in the early grades, by the time they graduate from high school or college, they have fallen behind boys on high-stakes tests such as the SAT, ACT, MCAT, LSAT, and GRE. (Sadker, Sadker, & Zittleman, 2009, p. 24) Girls’ opportunities in sport and other cocurricular activities were dramatically expanded by the passage of Title IX, but thirty-five years later, girls represent only 41 percent of high school athletes (NFHS, 2009), and discrimination against girls and women in sport continues to be a documented problem (National Women’s Law Center, 2010). In terms of both quality and quantity of teacher time and attention in classrooms, girls receive less than boys (Sadker, Sadker, & Zittleman, 2009). Sexual 131


harassment, cyberbullying, and girl fighting also contribute to school climates that can erode self-esteem and confidence for girls (AAUW, 2003; Paludi, Martin, & Paludi, Jr., 2007; Sadker, Sadker, & Zittleman, 2009). Aggregate numbers lead some to assume that girls have achieved parity in educational achievement or even surpassed it. However, girls’ and women’s progress in fields traditionally thought to be male dominated have not advanced at the same rate across the educational spectrum. For example, while there are more girls than boys enrolled in advanced placement (AP) programs in sum, there are far fewer girls than boys enrolled in AP STEM- (science, technology, engineering, mathematics) related programs, namely calculus BC (the highest level of calculus offered by the College Board AP program), chemistry, computer science, and all three sections of the physics curricula; physics, electricity and magnetism, and mechanics (The College Board, 2009). STEM programs have received significant attention by the National Governors’ Association and are a focal point for growth in high schools and colleges, yet fewer women are enrolled in the secondary pathways that prepare them or expose them to further study in these fields. This trend continues in college. An analysis of associate’s degree attainment reveals that while 96 percent of associate’s degrees in family and human services were conferred to women in 2008, only 10 percent of the associate’s engineering and engineering technology degrees were conferred to women (Aud et al., 2010). Likewise, in four-year institutions, while advancing in social sciences and other disciplines, women earned considerably fewer bachelor and graduate degrees in engineering and engineering technologies, physical science and science technologies, and computer information science and support services (Aud et al., 2010). These data indicate that parity has not been met, especially in the STEM fields, which continue to be male dominated and highly rewarded spheres. Women are also underrepresented in other educational arenas. For example, only 1 in 17 girls who played on a high school athletic team will have an opportunity to play in college (Acosta & Carpenter, 2010). Similarly, while the numbers of women in educational leadership continue to grow, it remains the case that women are clustered at lower rungs of the prestige ladder (Allan, in press). These disparities can have far-reaching consequences. Once students graduate from high school, graduate from college, and move on to careers,

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economic outcomes still reflect a stubborn pattern of inequity. Referring to young adult graduates, Aud et al. (2010) found that: In 2008, at every educational level, the median of the earnings for young adult males was higher than the median for young adult females; for example, young adult males with a bachelor’s degree earned $53,000, on average, while their female counterparts earned $42,000. (p. vi) This one strand of evidence (higher high school completion, higher degree attainment, but in limited fields with smaller earnings regardless of degree) points to a larger picture. Though great strides have been made, there are still considerable inequities including earnings and social capital. These realities are often lost in debates that portray women’s education as equal to, or perhaps even superior to, men’s educational experiences in U.S. institutions. While the past forty years of legislative progress have helped create greater equity for girls, there is danger in the notion that we are at a “mission accomplished” stage. Gender equity need not be framed as a zero-sum game, though it is often represented this way. Rather, we assert that schools can improve educational climates for all students without disadvantaging either gender. Further, when considering disparities rooted in socioeconomic status (SES) and race, it is clear gains are necessary for both boys and girls, particularly those from low-SES backgrounds. In referring to her studies on white working-class students, Weis (2008) writes: The production of class . . . must be understood as deeply nested in race and gender. By nested, I mean that race and gender lie within class and class dynamics wherein both the production and movement of class can be understood only with serious and continued attention to the ways in which other key nodes of difference both wrap class and simultaneously serve to produce it. (p. 292) Thus, it is necessary to examine gender, race/ethnicity, and SES as linked in a complex web of production. While this analysis foregrounds gender and SES in particular, our approach was guided by understanding the social construction and interplay of multiple identity categories.


Socioeconomic Status and Student Achievement Historical accounts of American higher education have shown SES disparities in college enrollment for centuries (Lucas, 1994; Thelin, 2004). Many advances have been made by lower-SES students as colleges, laws, and higher education policies have evolved over time (Lucas, 1994; Thelin, 2004). However, a more recent analysis by the National Center of Education Statistics (NCES) shows that socioeconomic differences in college enrollment have existed and persisted since 1972 (Planty et al., 2009). Since then, immediate college enrollment has been higher for highincome students than for their lower-income peers (Planty et al., 2009). For more than thirty-five years, extensive research and policy efforts have focused on assisting lower-income students with increasing their academic achievements in high school and continuing to postsecondary enrollment. In spite of these efforts, a significant socioeconomic gap persists. Lower-income students are six times more likely to drop out of high school than their higher-income peers (Wirt et al., 2004). Students whose parents do not have college experience are more likely to be from lowSES backgrounds (Chen, 2005). Over the past three decades, low-SES students’ educational aspirations have been rising, but their postsecondary enrollment statistics continue to fall behind middle- and higher-SES peers, especially those whose parents have a postsecondary degree (Planty et al., 2009). In addition, it has been widely established in the literature that lower-SES students are less likely to be placed in courses that prepare them for college-level study and less likely to go to college than peers from higher-SES backgrounds (Chen, 2005; Gamoran & Mare, 1989; Lucas, 1999; Oakes, 1995, 2005; Rosenbaum, 1975; Sirin, 2005; Weis, 2003; Yonezawa & Wells, 2005). These and others concur that lack of academic preparation in high school adds to the barriers faced by many lower-SES students, particularly when navigating the high school-to-college transition. The analysis highlighted in this chapter emerges from our interest in examining ways in which educational paths can be shaped and potentially limited through curricular processes that are often thought to enhance equity. While we consider multiple aspects of girls’ identities, a feminist analysis ensures that gender is not overlooked as is often the case when it is assumed that gender equity has been achieved. In sum, we draw upon feminist perspectives to analyze how high school course guides may


contribute inequity as they shape understandings and beliefs about who is/ is not capable and desirable in particular courses of study. We write as parents, educators, and scholars who have first-hand experience with schools. Allan is a professor of graduate studies in higher education and women’s studies at a public university, and Hallen is a doctoral student who currently works as a high school guidance counselor in a public secondary school. Our analysis builds from Allan’s (1999, 2003, 2008) policy discourse analysis research, where she offers new ways of viewing problems and policy in educational contexts. Hallen’s experience as a high school guidance counselor led us to consider how policy discourses carried by public school documents may contribute to reinscribing gender and class inequities. Informed by her experience as a high school guidance counselor, Hallen noted how course placement and student socioeconomic status seemed to be related. In one high school, though the free/reduced lunch rate was approximately 40 percent in a given year, the school’s F/R lunch enrollment in AP courses was only 9 percent. Similarly, she noticed gendered patterns based on different courses and programs, such as enrollments in higher-level STEM classes or in “at-risk” courses.

Tracking in Schools In a modern comprehensive public high school, ability grouping is a common and thoroughly ingrained practice in both instruction (by teachers, administrators, and policy makers) and learning (by students and parents). Ability grouping has existed in public high schools for more than a century, and it follows that educators in 2010 were themselves educated in tracked classes and have taught tracked classes, particularly at the junior high and high school levels. Tracking is often accepted as a normal aspect of school organization and instructional management, rendering the process invisible and unproblematic to many educational stakeholders (Anyon, 2006; Apple, 1990; Carlson, 2006; Fine, 2003; Oakes, 2005; Weis, 2003). In addition to the presumed common sense of this practice, there are other frequently cited reasons why tracking methods continue. Oakes (2005) provides four assumptions that undergird tracking, which include: students learn better when with their academically similar peers; slower students will feel more positive about themselves if they are with similarly abled students; school placement processes appropriately and equitably


reflect students’ past achievements and native abilities; and instruction is easier for teachers in similarly grouped classrooms. These four assumptions are linked with nuanced ideas of ability, meritocracy, and appropriateness and have contributed to the normalization and invisibility of tracking in schools. Hence, its long-term effects are rarely called into question (Anyon, 2006; Apple, 2006; Brantlinger, 1993; Oakes, 2005; Weis, 2003; Yonezawa & Wells, 2005; Yonezawa, Wells, & Serna, 2002). Tracking Outcomes The organization of high school curricula helps shape students’ future economic paths and possibilities. Students’ placement in high school courses has been found to have a significant impact on their preparation and readiness for college-level study. Much of the research posits that differentiated curricula produce stratification among students, with those placed in upper-level academic positions earning the greatest benefits both academically and socially (Gamoran & Mare, 1989; Gamoran et al., 1995; Hallinan, 1994; Heck & Mahoe, 2006; Kelly, 2007; Lucas, 1999; Oakes, 1995, 2005; Rosenbaum, 1975; Sirin, 2005). Educators and sociologists have also studied how culture, race, gender, and SES impact educational placement and perceived ability (e.g., Carbonaro & Gamoran, 2002; Hallinan & Sørensen, 1987; Heck & Mahoe, 2006; Oakes, 2005; Sirin, 2005; Weis, 2003; Yonezawa & Wells, 2005). Heck and Mahoe (2006) summarize this pattern as follows: Students’ previous academic records are used as a justification for subsequent placements, without addressing the problem of how raceethnicity and social class can contribute to placement decisions or the consequences of those decisions for students’ likelihood to integrate academically and socially to further their chances of educational success. (p. 438) In sum, for decades, scholars have analyzed tracking outcomes and have questioned the degree to which schools, as social systems, are sorting students according to different characteristics under the dominant pedagogical strategy of ability grouping (Apple, 2006; Carbonaro & Gamoran, 2002; Fine, 2003; Oakes, 2005; Oakes & Guiton, 1995; Rosenbaum,


1975; Rumberger & Palardy, 2005). Yet the debate continues in academic circles and the practice of tracking continues in most public comprehensive high schools.

Research Design Our analysis is framed by poststructural discourse theories shaped by Michel Foucault’s configuration of power and subjectivity and feminist appropriations of these. Feminist poststructural perspectives provide new lenses with which to view “commonsense” practices, to challenge hegemonic representations, and to consider alternative strategies that promote equity and social justice. The policy discourse analysis method has been applied in research related to women’s commission policy reports (Allan, 1999, 2003, 2008), diversity action plans (Iverson, 2005), and images of educational leaders and leadership (Allan, Gordon, & Iverson, 2006; Gordon, Iverson, & Allan, 2009). More specifically, this chapter builds on insights from Hallen’s research, where she employs policy discourse analysis to examine a national sample of U.S. public comprehensive high school documents and investigate questions about achievement specifically related to socioeconomic status, equity, curricula, and organization of public secondary schools. Her work addresses the following questions: What are the predominant discourses that emerge from a sample of U.S. public high school course guides? What subject positions/images of students emerge from these discourses? What realities are likely to be re/produced as a result of these subject positions and their representation across the curriculum in U.S. public high schools? In this chapter, we add feminist theory and gender as primary lenses through which to view Hallen’s data. First, we highlight some key concepts forming the basis of policy discourse analysis. We then summarize Hallen’s study of U.S. public comprehensive course guides. Finally, we share our perspectives about how this research underscores the importance of considering a feminist approach to understanding and addressing school problems and policies. Policy Discourse Analysis More than simply a stretch of text on paper, discourse includes language, speech, text, and meaning, representations that both reflect and shape


reality. Allan (2008) refers to discourses as “dynamic constellations of words and images that are actively reinforced, resisted, and reconstituted” (p. 6). Ball (1990) writes: . . . discourses are about what can be said, and thought, but also about who can speak, when, where and with what authority. Discourses embody meaning and social relationships, they constitute both subjectivity and power relations. . . . Thus, discourses construct certain possibilities for thought. They order and combine words in particular ways and exclude or displace other combinations. (p. 2) Usher and Edwards (1994) explain that in a Foucauldian position, these discourses can be construed as truths. They write: Foucault is not claiming that a discourse is a set of true statements but rather that a discourse, in defining what can be said and thought, provides the means for statements to be assessed as true, the reasoning which enables truth-claims to be made and validated. (Usher & Edwards, 1994, italics added, p. 90) Important to this investigation, discourses shape policies and practices (Allan, 1999, 2003, 2008; Bacchi, 1999; Ball, 1990; Carlson, 2006; Marshall, 1997; Pillow, 2000, 2003; Scheurich, 1994). Understanding policy as discourse allows researchers to investigate other relationships and realities at work that are created by the language and texts used to craft policies (Allan, 1999, 2003, 2008; Ball, 1990; Scheurich, 1994). In the context of a public high school, discourse influences operations, management, instruction, curriculum, and classification of students, among other functions reflected in the school environment and in a school’s documents. All of these discursive influences are at work and circulating throughout policy construction (Allan, 1999, 2003, 2008; Ball, 1990; Foucault, 1995; Marshall, 1997; Scheurich, 1994). Policy discourse analysis is a method to uncover and dismantle dominant, naturalized images by analyzing policy as discourse (Allan, 1999, 2003, 2008; Bacchi, 1999; Iverson, 2005; Marshall, 1997; Scheurich, 1994). Policy discourse analysis “ . . . provides an opportunity to examine ways in which policy can both support and subvert dominant discourses


that emphasize particular perspectives and obscure others” (Allan, 2008, p. 32). This method allows us to uncover images of students and examine how they are represented across curricular tracks within a larger sociopolitical landscape. High School Course Guides as Data Source Many schools outline the central way students access their education through annually published documents that describe high school classes or levels of study, called course guides. These documents are booklets that depict school rules, procedures, and policies. Course guides outline a school’s mission and reflect a school’s values and culture. These documents are a relevant data source because they also describe a school’s curriculum, rules, academic policies, prerequisites, corequisites, reward systems, and, in some cases, the course placement process. In addition, course guides often (but not always) include other academic indicators that help explain course content, what is expected in each course, and for whom (which students) they are designed. Some course guides describe how a student gets placed in various courses/tracks, while others simply describe the different courses available to students. School documents like curriculum guides are cultural artifacts. They comprise words, policies, and rules, but they also carry and convey values, images, and ideas. These images produce powerful messages about student capabilities, school priorities, mattering, difference, dominance, and other overt and discrete ideas about merit, choice, responsibility, success, and failure. These messages contribute to school culture and to the perspectives of those making decisions about student capabilities, their potential, and what they are permitted to do academically and socially. As such, these documents provide a valuable yet underutilized source for examining ways in which discourses contribute to creating particular realities in schools.

Initial Findings At first glance, it makes sense that curriculum guides and related policies facilitate school organization and management of students and personnel. However, when examined through the lens of discourse theory, it is possible to see how these documents also draw upon and reinscribe dominant


discourses that shape environments where schools and their officials are positioned as expert gatekeepers of the curriculum. In turn, students and their parents are often positioned as outsiders or supplicants petitioning to become insiders. Next, we elaborate these initial patterns, including discourses of professionalism and gender. Discourse of Professionalism A dominant discourse of professionalism does not stand alone in normalizing particular approaches to administering school curricula. Rather, this discourse, like others, is supported (and contested) by a web of other discourses. For example, the discourse of professionalism is supported by the broader discourse of enlightenment humanism that privileges autonomy, reason, and progress as the means of achieving human rights and freedom (Weedon, 1999). A discourse of professionalism also intersects and is closely aligned with discourses of excellence, quality, and productivity commonly invoked in academic contexts (Bensimon, 1995; Gumport, 1993; Hey & Bradford, 2004; Readings, 1996). So while we describe a dominant discourse of professionalism made evident by the curriculum guides, we also want to emphasize, as Readings (1996) does in his examination of a discourse of excellence in universities, that these guides carry “divergent . . . discourses, even if one discourse dominates over the others at certain moments” (p. 14). A critical examination of the discourse of professionalism in education (especially teacher education) has been the focus of scholarly attention related to education reform (e.g., Bloch, 1987; Densmore, 1987; Heyning, 1997; Labaree, 1992; Larson, 1990; Popkewitz, 1994, 1995; Seddon, 1997). According to Heyning (1997), most educational reform policy reports published in the 1980s advocated for increased professionalism in teaching. “The cultural appeal of professionalism is often grounded in notions of upward mobility and it is believed that teachers will receive higher professional status if they become more like doctors and lawyers” (p. 8). Typically, the concept of professionalism is linked to ideas about quality, dependability, excellence, efficiency, and autonomy (Bensimon, 1995; Heyning, 1997; Popkewitz, 1994). Professionalism is also described as “a state of mind that must be earned through integrity, commitment, trust and honest hard work” [italics added] (Heyning 1997, p. 8).


Specialized knowledge or training, juried entry, and regulation of standards are traditional benchmarks of professionalism described in the literature (Argyris & Schon, 1974; Heyning, 1997; Seddon, 1997). Professions have been recognized as “gatekeeping mechanisms, making demarcations between self-regulating communities and other occupational groups that consolidated the power of the former at the expense of the latter” (Seddon, 1997, p. 232). Larson (1990) argues that professionalism as a discourse is inextricably linked to power/knowledge and serves to produce status and rewards through a system of expertise rooted in codified knowledges. Accordingly, a dominant discourse of professionalism produces a prestige hierarchy even within a “community of credentialed knowers” (like the academy). She writes: The unequal ability to produce or appropriate authoritative statements distinguishes the leaders from the led, the official from the unofficial spokesmen [sic], the orthodox from the marginals or the dissenters, the prestigious from the more obscure institutional roles and even, after all that, the talented from the less talented. (Seddon, 1997, p. 234) Thus, as it is dispersed, the discourse of professionalism serves to differentiate and regulate in ways that come to appear normal. The discursive formation of subject positions and subjectivity provides that professionalism can become a “state of mind.” Its dispersal guarantees that individuals learn not only to judge others but also to see themselves according to particular “standards” established through the discourse (Allan, 2008). Policy as Discourse: Constructing Student Status A close reading of the curriculum guides collected for this investigation reveals that a student’s track and/or course placement is limited or controlled by a range of factors. There are multiple instances where a school’s course selection or course change policies are incongruent with its stated mission. Generally, school mission statements reflect an ideal of working together (school, parent/s, and student) to foster maximum learning and achievement. However, some course guides send a different message. For example, one school’s course guide described a three-step change process including: completing a procedural form called “parent override


form” by a firm deadline; taking a standardized test by a firm deadline; and a final decision made by a department chairperson. This policy conflicts with an earlier one that touted a student’s ability to choose classes that are “appropriate for their career.” However, as this policy illustrates, it is ultimately a department chairperson who determines what career (and what courses) may be most appropriate for students. A dominant discourse of professionalism contributes to shaping a troublesome outsider subject position, where students or parents are in the position of having to petition for a change in academic program. The dominant discourse constructs the image of school officials being “in charge,” “in control,” and “knowing best”: images of parents and students who request a change are therefore challenging the judgment of the professional expert and must undergo an extensive vetting process. In such an environment, students and parents are typically rewarded for compliance by following the rules delineated in the curriculum guides and related policies. Those familiar with the system know how to follow the requisite rules and guidelines to gain entree/insider status. In contrast, those who are not (or choose not to be) socialized in the norms shaped by the dominant discourses will likely be at a disadvantage when seeking to gain insider status. Some course guides list subjective requirements such as “selfmotivation” and being “intellectually curious.” Several course guides made note of students being “invited” to take certain classes. Kelly (2007) also found this pattern in his study of North Carolina course guides, where he made the observation that “when one is confronted with such requirements for course placement, it may feel as if gaining entry into courses was like gaining entry into an elite country club” (p. 24). Conversely, other course descriptions for middle to lower track levels frequently mentioned their suitability for “hands-on” students. Individualized assessments can also be used in exit rationale as well as entree criteria. Sadker and Sadker (1994) noted that high school guidance counselors and teachers steered girls away from advanced math and science classes if they weren’t required for graduation due to their perceived ability to handle stress: “ . . . they literally excuse them, a dismissal less likely to be offered to male students” (p. 125). Though perhaps unintentional, school leaders do influence students’ choices, at times in gendered ways (Sadker & Sadker, 1994; Sadker, Sadker, & Zittleman, 2009). Who then


is positioned to make assessments about a student’s characteristics and what criteria are used for these assessments? (Kelly, 2007). How do one’s own gender identity and assumptions about students’ gender identity affect course placement? Individualized assessments, along with prohibitive language, helps school officials control which students are placed in which classes according to vague ideas of “appropriateness,” and, at times, behavior, instead of a student’s choice, ability, and interests. Gender Discourses Most of the academic content in the course guides is written in a genderneutral way, as one might expect. However, the discourse of professionalism is supported by a dominant discourse of masculinity where autonomy, competition, and being in control are emphasized as natural traits for boys/men. In turn, a dominant discourse of femininity constructs the feminine subject as lacking masculine qualities and possessing those in direct contrast. Thus, it has come to be seen as “natural” for girls/women to be more collaborative, nurturing, and compliant than their male counterparts. Numerous scholars have described ways in which gender socialization is likely to influence educational outcomes (e.g., Klein et al., 2007; Sadker & Sadker, 1994; Sadker, Sadker, & Zittleman, 2009). For example, citing Walkerdine’s study on teacher beliefs about learning potential (1989), Jones and Myhill (2004) note, “ ‘girls were felt to lack something, even if they were successful’ while on the other hand it seemed that ‘boys were felt to possess the very thing that girls were taken to lack’ ” (p. 548). In light of these gender dynamics, when a curriculum guide describes a human anatomy class as appropriate for “the serious science student,” we are left to wonder what criteria are used to determine this. How might many girls, their teachers, and even parents assess their abilities in science differently than many boys? Individually assessed criteria for course enrollment further contribute to the dominant discourse of (school) expertise and can play into naturalized images of student ability. When considered against the backdrop of dominant discourses of gender, social class, and race/ethnicity, it is possible to see how well-intended school policies and practices may unwittingly advantage some students more than others. For instance, if boys are assumed to be “naturally good” at science and girls “naturally good” in English, how might course descriptions reinscribe or potentially resist this bias? (Jones & Myhill, 2004).


What might the repercussions be for the student? How might girls, whose identities are often associated with dominant discourses that emphasize compliance and obedience (Jones & Myhill, 2004), work against a dominant discourse of professional expertise to challenge a placement decision? Further, how might girls access academic pathways that continue to be male dominated if not encouraged or approved by school personnel? Similar dynamics may operate for those students and their parents who do not see themselves as “professional” by virtue of their family background and/or academic/educational credentials. As gender discourses shape expectations for appropriate behavior, they also construct deviancy for some girls as depicted in this policy excerpt: North High School [a pseudonym] encourages pregnant students to withdraw from active participation in the regular school program at the end of the semester in which their pregnancy begins and no later than such time as they can effectively perform the tasks expected of them at no risk to their health. Students who choose not to withdraw are encouraged to enroll in the Fresh Start Learning Center or Northside Learning Center [both pseudonyms]. Pregnant students are not barred from participating in school activities. However, the student participates at her own risk. Neither the school, its employees, nor its agents are responsible for any non-negligent injuries to the mother or child. The student should use common sense and good judgment in participating in school activities. Pregnancy is not considered an illness as far as school attendance is concerned. Pregnant students are not given an exception to the school attendance policy and are expected to return to school as soon as possible after childbirth. Students do not qualify for any type of maternity leave. In this example, a gendered discourse of virtue conveys images of shame, alienation, and punishment that result in a bad girl subject position. Reading through the lens of discourse theory, the message is that girls who are pregnant are less valuable as students as they are not encouraged to continue their learning in the same school while pregnant. This is mirrored in Pillow’s studies on pregnant teens, where school policies


focused on deviance, silence, and control rather than the mothers’ and infants’ physical/emotional needs (Pillow, 2003). Pillow writes, “teen pregnancy operates outside the norm of legitimate reproduction, marking it as a site of moral concern and state control” (2000, p. 202). This framing of teen mothers as the policy problem involves dominant norms about who should/should not reproduce, at what age, and how often. Citing Cusick (1989), Pillow writes, “teen pregnancy presents the paradox of young women fulfilling their reproductive responsibilities, but not in the way the state wishes them to” (2000, p. 202). The girls at the focus of this policy are also in a double bind as they are encouraged to withdraw/become invisible yet also expected to abide by the attendance policy.

Summary and Recommendations It is important to note that these are initial findings based on several policy documents, and more extensive analysis is forthcoming. We do not claim that these patterns are representative of all schools, nor do we assume that these policy examples are created to restrict achievement. However, we assert that using policy discourse analysis on school documents like course guides can serve to extend educators’ understanding of factors that may influence all students’ learning opportunities. This analysis can help promote understanding about how high school course guides contribute to constructing, re/producing, and carrying images of students with regard to ability, motivation, attitude, and merit, among other characteristics. These images are shaped in part by dominant and naturalized discourses of professionalism and gender and contribute to constructing images of what is considered “normal” and “acceptable.” As such, they influence student/parent/educator beliefs about student capabilities. A student’s placement in high school courses has a significant impact on his or her preparation for college. It is therefore relevant to discuss how and for whom high school courses are often organized, described, and offered. As Oakes (2005) states, “whenever we sort students in schools and treat them differently, we need to examine all the possible effects of these practices” (italics added, p. 92). Though the rationale behind the origin of tracking may no longer be in place, more than a hundred years later, schools’ tracked processes are still dominant and are


helping to shape dominant discourses about student achievement. Oakes (2005) writes: The assumptions about the native abilities and appropriate future places of the poor and minorities that so influenced the form of the high school at the turn of the century may have changed considerably, but the mechanisms we use for sorting and selecting students for school programs and instructional groups have remained much the same. So have the results. (p. 39) We concur and add that likewise for girls and women, even while much has changed in terms of access to education and achievement, dominant gender discourses continue to frame images and expectations about appropriate behavior for girls/boys and men/women that are often limiting. If the dominant discourses shaping curriculum guides are aligned more closely with professionalism and masculinity, it is more likely that girls and boys from lower-SES/working-class backgrounds will be disadvantaged, even if the policies are designed to be gender neutral and appear to maintain broad educational goals. College enrollment patterns continue to indicate a significant socioeconomic gap spanning the past thirty-five years, and as discussed previously, college enrollment in certain majors reflects obvious gender disparities. Studies like the one described here can add to scholarly discussion and policy considerations that may help more low-SES students succeed in high school and continue in college, with the hope of advancing their professional and economic opportunities. Likewise, this method can shed light on girls’ discursive representations and yield new strategies for promoting equity in a broader array of secondary courses that may help increase their enrollment in postsecondary STEM-related areas, as highlighted in this chapter’s introduction. Given that statistics about achievement in high school, particularly when analyzing SES, have reflected disparities for more than thirty-five years, it is clear that current strategies continue to fall short. Likewise, regarding gender, women’s advancement in degree attainment has been extremely successful, though degree type and earnings continue to lag behind their male counterparts. We recommend that school leaders strongly consider curriculum guides, school policies, and other policy-related documents


(i.e., policies and policy silences, handbooks, mission statements, norms, routines, scheduling procedures, celebrations, gatekeeping rules) as windows through which to shed new light on old problems in order to grapple with the complexities of student achievement in schools. Educators may also benefit from deepening their understanding of how different methodologies address patterns of inequity. How can a critical awareness of dominant discourse help understand and resist status-quo tendencies? How can leaders help create alternative discourses for students that shape a more confident and capable sense of themselves? Finally, educators must also create a broader understanding of the statistics that are available. Questions educators could ask include: How often do we analyze our students’ disaggregated educational achievement statistics? What happens to our students once they graduate? Which students go to college? Which ones take remedial courses in college and why? Which students pursue which majors? What are the patterns in our school’s student population? How do first-generation college students fare? How can we focus our resources on improving our educational achievement for all students? How can we make sure our policies found in handbooks and course guides accurately reflect our school mission? Analyzing dominant discourses, like those reflected in curriculum guides, will help educators become more aware of naturalized policies and practices that may contribute to socially reproductive outcomes. Such analyses can help shed light on well-intended policies and practices that may undermine the goal of promoting socially just schools and high achievement for all students.

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(Ed.), The formation of school subjects: The struggle for creating an American institution (pp. 25–62). New York: Falmer. Brantlinger, E. A. (1993). The politics of social class in secondary school: Views of affluent and impoverished youth. New York: Teachers College Press. Carbonaro, W. J., & Gamoran, A. (2002). The production of achievement inequality in high school English. American Educational Research Journal, 39(4), 801–27. Carlson, D. (2006). Are we making progress? Ideology and curriculum in the age of No Child Left Behind. In L. Weis, C. McCarthy, & G. Dimitriadis (Eds.), Ideology, curriculum, and the new sociology of education: Revisiting the work of Michael Apple (pp. 91–114). New York: Routledge. Chen, X. (2005). First generation students in postsecondary education: A look at their college transcripts (NCES 2005-171). U.S. Department of Education, National Center for Education Statistics. Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office. Cusick, T. (1989). Sexism and early parenting: Cause and effect? Peabody Journal of Education, 8(4), 113–31. Densmore, K. (1987). Professionalism, proletarianization and teacher work. In T. Popkewitz (Ed.), Critical studies in teacher education: Its folklore, theory and practice (pp.130–60). New York: Falmer. Fine, M. (2003). Silencing and nurturing voice in an improbable context: Urban adolescents in public school. In M. Fine & L. Weis (Eds.), Silenced voices and extraordinary conversations: Re-imagining schools (pp. 13–37). New York: Teachers College Press. Foucault, M. (1977/1995). Discipline and punish: The birth of the prison (2nd ed.). New York: Vintage Books. Translation by Alan Sheridan. Gamoran, A., & Mare, R. D. (1989). Secondary school tracking and educational inequality: Compensation, reinforcement, or neutrality? American Journal of Sociology, 94(5), 1146–83. Gamoran, A., Nystrand, M., Berends, M., & LePore, P. (1995). An organizational analysis of the effects of ability grouping. American Educational Research Journal, 32(4), 687–715.


Gordon, S., Iverson, S. V., & Allan, E. J. (2010). The discursive framing of women leaders in higher education. In E. J. Allan, S. V. Iverson, and R. Ropers-Huilman (Eds.), Reconstructing policy in higher education: Feminist poststructural perspectives (pp. 81–105). New York: Routledge. Gumport, P. J. (1993). The contested terrain of academic program reduction. Journal of Higher Education, 64(3), 283–311. Hallinan, M. T. (1994). School differences in tracking effects on achievement. Social Forces, 72(3), 799–820. Hallinan, M. T., & Sørensen, A. B. (1987). Ability grouping and sex differences in mathematics achievement. Sociology of Education, 60(2), 63–72. Heck, R. H., & Mahoe, R. (2006). Student transition to high school and persistence: Highlighting the influences of social divisions and school contingencies. American Journal of Education, 112(3), 418–46. Hey, V., & Bradford, S. (2004). The return of the repressed: The gender politics of emergent forms of professionalism in education. Journal of Education Policy, 19(6), 691–713. Heyning, K. E. (1997, March). Professionalism and reform in teaching curriculum: An archaeology of postsecondary education. Paper presented at the annual meeting of the American Educational Research Association, Chicago, IL. (ERIC Document Reproduction Service No. ED 407 110). Iverson, S. V. (2005). A policy discourse analysis of U.S. land-grant university diversity action plans. Unpublished doctoral dissertation. University of Maine, Orono. Jones, S., & Myhill, D. (2004). “Troublesome boys” and “compliant girls”: Gender identity and perceptions of achievement and underachievement. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 25(5), 547–61. Kelly, S. (2007). The contours of tracking in North Carolina. High School Journal, 90, 15–31. Klein, S., et al. (Eds.). (2007). Handbook for achieving gender equity through education (2nd ed.). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Labaree, D. (1992). Power, knowledge and the rationalization of teaching: A genealogy of the movement to professionalize teaching. Harvard Educational Review, 62(2), 123–54.


Larson, M. S. (1990). In the matter of experts and professionals, or how impossible it is to leave nothing unsaid. In R. Torstendahl & M. Burrage (Eds.), The formation of professions: Knowledge, state and strategy (pp. 24–50). London: Sage. Lucas, C. J. (1994). American higher education: A history. New York: St. Martin’s. Lucas, S. R. (1999). Tracking inequality: Stratification and mobility in American high schools. New York: Teachers College Press. Marshall, C. (1997). Dismantling and reconstructing policy analysis. In C. Marshall (Ed.), Feminist critical policy analysis: A perspective from primary and secondary schooling (pp. 1–39). Washington, DC: Falmer. National Federation of State High School Associations (2009). 2008–09 High school athletics participation survey. Retrieved 28 July, 2010 from: www.nfhs.org/content.aspx?id =3282&linkidentifier=id& itemid=3282 National Women’s Law Center. (2010). The battle for gender equity in athletics in elementary and secondary schools. Washington, DC: Author. Retrieved July 28, 2010, from http://www.nwlc.org/resource/ battle-gender-equity-athletics-elementary-and-secondary-schools. Oakes, J. (1995). Two cities’ tracking and within-school segregation. Teachers College Record, 96(4), 681–90. Oakes, J. (2005). Keeping track: How schools structure inequality (2nd ed.). New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Oakes, J., & Guiton, G. (1995). Matchmaking: The dynamics of high school tracking decisions. American Educational Research Journal, 32(1), 3–33. Paludi, M., Martin, J., & C. Paludi, J. (2007). Sexual harassment: The hidden gender equity problem. In S. Klein (Ed.), Handbook for achieving gender equity through education (2nd ed., pp. 215–29). Mahweh, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Pillow, W. (2003). “Bodies are dangerous”: Using feminist genealogy as policy studies methodology. Journal of Education Policy, 18(2), 145–59. Pillow, W. S. (2000). Exposed methodology: The body as a deconstructive practice. In E. A. St. Pierre & W. S. Pillow (Eds.), Working the ruins:


Feminist poststructural theory and methods in education (pp. 199– 219). New York: Routledge. Planty, M., Hussar, W., Snyder, T., Kena, G., KewalRamani, A., Kemp, J., Bianco, K., & Dinkes, R. (2009). The Condition of Education 2009 (NCES 2009-081). National Center for Education Statistics, Institute of Education Sciences, U.S. Department of Education. Washington, DC. Popkewitz, T. S. (1994). Professionalization in teaching and teacher education: Some notes on its history, ideology, and potential. Teaching & Teacher Education, 10(1), 1–14. Popkewitz, T. S. (1995). Teacher education, reform and the politics of knowledge in the United States. In M. B. Ginsburg & B. Lindsay (Eds.), The political dimension in teacher education: Comparative perspectives on policy formation, socialization and society (pp. 54–75). Washington, DC: Falmer. Readings, B. (1996). The university in ruins. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Rosenbaum, J. E. (1975). The stratification of socialization processes. American Sociological Review, 40(1), 48–54. Rumberger, R. W., & Palardy, G. J. (2005). Does segregation still matter? The impact of student composition on academic achievement in high school. Teachers College Record, 107(9), 1999–2045. Sadker, M., & Sadker, D. (1994). Failing at fairness: How our schools cheat girls. New York: Touchstone. Sadker, D., Sadker, M., & Zittleman, K. (2009). Still failing at fairness: How gender bias cheats girls and boys in school and what we can do about it. New York: Scribner. Scheurich, J. J. (1994). Policy archaeology: A new policy studies methodology. Journal of Education Policy, 9(4), 297–316. Seddon, T. (1997). Education: Deprofessionalized? Or regulated, reorganized and reauthorized? Australian Journal of Education, 41(3), 33–50. Sirin, S. R. (2005). Socioeconomic status and academic achievement: A meta-analytic review of research. Review of Educational Research, 75(3), 417–53.


The College Board. (2009, February). The 5th annual AP© report to the nation. Princeton, NJ: Author. Thelin, J. R. (2004). A history of American higher education. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Usher, R., & Edwards, R. (1994). Postmodernism and education: Different voices, different worlds. London: Routledge. Walkerdine, V. (1989). Counting girls out. London: Virago. Weedon, C. (1999). Feminism, theory and the politics of difference. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Weis, L. (2003). Acquiring white working-class identities: Legitimate and silenced discourse within the school. In M. Fine & L. Weis (Eds.), Silenced voices and extraordinary conversations: Re-imagining schools (pp. 88–108). New York: Teachers College Press. Weis, L. (2008). Toward a re-thinking of class as nested in race and gender: Tracking the white working class in the final quarter of the twentieth century. In L. Weis (Ed.), The way class works: Readings on school, family, and the economy (pp. 291–304). New York: Routledge. Wirt, J., Choy, S., Rooney, P., Provasnik, S., Sen, A., Tobin, R., et al. (2004). The condition of education 2004. NCES 2004-077: U.S. Department of Education. Yonezawa, S., & Wells, A. S. (2005). Reform as redesigning the spaces of schools: An examination of detracking by choice. In L. Weis & M. Fine (Eds.), Beyond silenced voices: Class, race, and gender in United States schools (rev. ed., pp. 47–62). Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Yonezawa, S., Wells, A. S., & Serna, I. (2002). Choosing tracks: “Freedom of choice” in detracking schools. American Education Research Association, 39(1), 38–67.


7 The Risks of Sex-Segregated Public Education for Girls, Boys, and Everyone Susan S. Klein1

Many people have called Title IX the most important law passed for women since they obtained the right to vote in 1920. Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972 is the primary U.S. civil rights law prohibiting sex discrimination in education.2 Title IX is patterned after Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, which helped implement the 1954 Brown v. Board of Education Supreme Court decision prohibiting race segregation. Title VI makes discrimination on the basis of race, color, and national origin in programs and activities that receive federal financial assistance illegal.3 1 This chapter is based in part on the April 27, 2010, presentation at the Clearinghouse on Women’s Issues meeting in Washington, D.C., by Drs. Bernice Sandler, Senior Scholar at Women’s Research and Education Institute, who is known as the “Godmother of Title IX,” and Susan Klein, Education Equity Director, Feminist Majority Foundation and editor of the Handbook for Achieving Gender Equity through Education (Klein, 2007). Klein updated and expanded on the Clearinghouse presentation in developing this chapter and Sandler, along with Rosalind Barnett, Nancy Brown, Kim Gandy, Elizabeth Homer, Amy Katz, Renata Maniaci, Jennifer Martin, Dawn Pickard, and David Sadker, reviewed and suggested many improvements in the chapter. 2 Title IX (20 U.S.C. § 1681): No person in the United States shall, on the basis of sex, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any education program or activity receiving federal financial assistance. 3 Title VI of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 (Pub. L. 88-352, title VI, Sec. 601, July 2, 1964, 78 Stat. 252.): No person in the United States shall, on the basis of race, color, or national origin, be excluded from participation in, be denied the benefits of, or be subjected to discrimination under any program or activity receiving federal financial assistance.

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Title IX prohibitions against sex discrimination are limited to education and thus not as broad in scope as Title VI, but the principles prohibiting sex segregation in education are very similar to the principles prohibiting race segregation. However, few educators and others understand the risks and problems with sex-segregated public education as well as they understand the reasons for racial integration. In many areas, Title IX has contributed to more deliberately equal treatment of girls and boys, women and men in education. This has led to many triumphs for women’s equality. For example, in 2008 to 2009, women finally earned more doctorates (50.4%) than men (Bell, 2010). Title IX has also helped men and boys by allowing them to participate in traditionally female courses of study such as home economics, nutrition, and nursing and to be protected from homophobic sexual harassment (Sandler & Stonehill, 2005; The Triumphs of Title IX, 2007). However, the Bush administration signaled that it planned to allow singlesex classrooms and schools in 2002 when its Department of Education (ED) issued a notice to change the Title IX implementation regulation to increase schools’ flexibility in using deliberate sex segregation in public education. The Bush ED issued proposed changes in Title IX regulation in 2004 and made them final in 2006 (Office for Civil Rights, 2006; Title IX Defined web page). This ED 2006 Title IX regulation allows K–12 nonvocational schools more flexibility in their use of purposeful and absolute sex segregation than the Congressionally reviewed 1975 Title IX regulation had permitted.4 Legal experts point out that this sex segregation violates Title IX, the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, the Equal Educational Opportunities Act, and in some cases also state laws. Based on the Feminist Majority Foundation (FMF) study of the “State of Public School Sex Segregation in the States” (Klein, 2011) and insights from others, it is likely that officially approved sex segregation was used in about 1,000 U.S. K–12 public schools in the 2007 to 2009 school years. FMF and organizations participating in the National Council of Women’s Organizations and the National Coalition for Women and Girls in 4

Purposeful sex segregation means that males and females are separated or excluded by a rule or policy based on their biological sex (not gender roles). This segregation has been absolute, meaning that no exceptions are made to allow any boy in girls’ classes or the reverse. We recommend that if sex segregation is allowed, that it no longer be absolute.

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Education have requested that the Obama Administration and Secretary of Education rescind this 2006 Title IX regulation and return to the 1975 Title IX regulations used by other federal agencies. But as of November 2010, this has not happened. This chapter provides multiple insights on why sex-segregated public education is risky for everyone while addressing six public policy reasons to rescind the Bush administration’s 2006 ED Title IX regulation, which contributed to the increase in public school sex segregation. Other critically important reasons why sex-integrated education (or nonsexist coeducation) is desirable include: increasing the development of human potential by decreasing sex stereotyping and creating expanded expectations for girls and boys, helping students become better socialized for real life and work that are not sex segregated, increasing the full use of neuroplasticity in brain development, and increasing variability among the species5 (Barnett & Rivers, 2004; Klein et al., 2007; Pickard, 2010; Sadker, Sadker, & Zittleman, 2009). Using the 1975 Title IX regulations,6 sex segregation in public education should only be allowed if it meets all legal requirements and if there is compelling evidence that it is more effective in achieving gender equity outcomes7 than comparable (less risky) coeducation. Many view purposeful

5

Pickard noted that inbreeding of members of groups that practice sex and other types of segregation such as Hasidic Jews has led to genetic problems and recommends diversity for human survival. 6 We sometimes use the 1975 Title IX regulations (plural) when discussing the pre-2006 Title IX regulations because they were issued by different federal agencies. These regulations only allow sex segregation for limited exceptions, such as affirmative or remedial purposes to end sex discrimination in the desired outcomes. The ED 2006 Title IX regulation (singular) conflicts with and does not replace these federal Title IX regulations from other agencies. 7 Gender equity outcomes: 1. Ensure that both women and men acquire, or are given equitable opportunity to acquire, the most socially valued characteristics and skills (even if they have been generally attributed to only one sex), so that fewer jobs, roles, activities, expectations, and achievements are differentiated by sex. This would be accompanied by a decrease in gender stereotyping in decision making by or about individuals and a decrease in sex segregation in education and society caused by gender stereotyping and other inappropriate discriminatory factors. 2. Ensure parity or equity between women and men in the quality of life, academic, and work outcomes valued by our society, without limitations associated with sex stereotypes, gender roles, or prejudices. Both women and men have important roles to play in attaining these outcomes.


sex-segregated public education (as it is generally practiced) as turning back the clock toward increased sex discrimination and sex stereotyping that is harmful to everyone (Stone, 2007). The rest of this chapter will make recommendations on standards that should be used (hopefully after the rescission) when deciding if any sex segregation is allowed even for increasing gender equality in the outcomes. The following six public policy reasons to rescind the ED 2006 Title IX regulation provide a framework for our discussion of the risks of sex-segregated public education. 1. The 2006 ED Title IX regulation conflicts with stronger protections against sex discrimination in public education that are still guaranteed under the 1975 Title IX regulations used by other agencies, the U.S. Constitution, and other federal and state laws. 2. Inappropriate public school sex segregation has increased since the Bush administration signaled it would weaken the Title IX regulation in 2002. 3. Separate is rarely equal, especially in public education. Sex segregation has a negative impact on both girls and boys because it often favors one sex over the other and encourages misguided sex-stereotyped education practices. 4. Most justifications for deliberate public school sex segregation are improper because the sex-segregation strategies they actually use violate legal standards and are based on scientifically unsound educational policies and practices such as false beliefs that males and females learn in different ways. 5. There is no credible evidence that sex-segregated public education is more effective in increasing gender equality and other desirable outcomes than less risky equally well-resourced gender equitable coeducation. 6. Sex-segregated public education in the United States is more expensive than the less risky coeducation alternatives. These reasons are intertwined. For example, good research on this topic must be conducted using a framework that addresses legal issues as well as educational, psychological, and economic measures. Thus, it is important


to assess gender equality in the educational practices as well as in the outcomes that result from these activities and to compare sex segregation with coeducation and the impact on both girls and boys.

Public Policy Reasons to Rescind the 2006 Bush Title IX ED Regulation Reason 1. The 2006 ED Title IX regulation conflicts with stronger protections against sex discrimination in public education that are guaranteed under the 1975 Title IX regulations used by other agencies, the U.S. Constitution, and other federal and state laws. Early History of Title IX Protections against Sex Segregation In the early 1970s, much public attention focused on adding the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA) to the U.S. Constitution and on ways girls and women were not always treated fairly in education. When Title IX passed in 1972, routine sex segregation, such as woodworking or shop for boys and home economics for girls, or career days for boys and fashion shows for girls, was no longer allowed. The 1975 Title IX regulation used by the Department of Health, Education and Welfare’s Office of Education and later the Department of Education (ED) created in 1980 provided guidance on how Title IX should be interpreted. It prohibited most sex segregation in education institutions that received federal financial assistance. For the most part, sexsegregated classes, programs, and schools have always been considered sex discrimination under Title IX. Sex stereotyping is also considered sex discrimination. Essentially, Title IX says that other than the exceptions listed in the law, it is illegal to classify (or discriminate against) people on the basis of sex, just as under other laws such as Title VI of the Civil Rights Act it is illegal to classify or assign students on the basis of race or national origin. Thus, extra benefits or opportunities cannot be given based on the sex or race or national origin of a student. Students can be sorted in many other ways, such as test scores, previous grades, and so forth, but not by sex or race. All federal agencies except the ED still use the stricter provisions against sex segregation in the 1975 Title IX regulations rather than the


more permissive 2006 Title IX regulation. These 1975 Title IX regulations contain a few exceptions where some sex segregation is allowed. For example, certain youth groups, such as the Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts and fraternities and sororities, may meet in schools. Under Title IX, some K–12 schools that were single sex before 1975 can remain single sex.8 Dormitories may be single sex (although coed dormitories are increasingly popular). Additionally, sexuality education classes can be conducted separately for boys and girls. Also, under the 1975 Title IX regulations, some sex segregation is allowed in athletics such as in contact sports. But the most relevant exception for this discussion is that under the 1975 regulations, some affirmative action (to help females or males) is allowed as long as the purpose is to reduce sex discrimination—the key purpose of Title IX. However, few deliberate sex-segregated programs were used for affirmative action under Title IX before the Bush administration signaled that it was weakening the standards required to justify sex segregation under Title IX. For example, when some science programs were designed to attract girls, some parents of boys objected and pointed out that their boys needed this kind of program, too, and boys were allowed in. The same practice was followed with the programs that were developed primarily to help women overcome math anxiety (Tobias, 1993). Also, instead of segregating girls to provide them with remedial support or affirmative benefits to help them receive more equitable outcomes, many people active in the women’s movement have pushed for coeducational classes and schools to become less sexist and for more gender balance in classes such as physics. They have also encouraged the identification and use of best practices from private single-sex and coed schools. Examples include encouraging females to speak up, using a variety of teaching techniques including collaborative learning and competitive activities, and encouraging teachers to consciously pay equal attention to

8 However, other laws such as the Fourteenth Amendment and the PA Equal Rights Amendment have been used to prohibit sex segregation. Women were allowed to enter the Virginia Military Institute after the 1996 Supreme Court decision, and the 1983 PA decision allowed girls to attend the previously all-male academic Central High School in Philadelphia (Klein, 2007, Chapters 5 and 9).


all the students in the class, not just those who are the most vocal and active (Klein, 2007, especially Chapters 7 and 9; Sadker, Sadker, & Zittleman, 2009). The 2006 ED Title IX Regulation Weakens Protections against Sex Discrimination Allowing single-sex classes, programs, and schools, especially when they reinforce sex stereotypes, is the biggest threat to Title IX since the 1984 Supreme Court Grove City College v. Bell decision, which limited Title IX protections only to specific programs that received targeted federal funding. This meant that enforcement of Title IX was extremely limited from 1984 until Congress passed the Civil Rights Restoration Act over President Reagan’s veto in 1988. For example, sex discrimination in athletics was generally allowed during these years because the federal government rarely funded athletic programs. The Civil Rights Restoration Act made it clear that Congress intended Title IX and other federal civil rights laws such as Civil Rights Act Title VI to apply to the whole institution providing education services, not just to the specific program or student receiving federal financial assistance (Nash, et al., 2007). When the draft version of this 2006 Title IX regulation was released in 2004, only about 100 of the more than 5,000 public comments were supportive (Klein, 2005), but the Bush ED proceeded to issue the 2006 version with few changes. Many discussions of the history of this 2006 ED Title IX regulation improperly attribute it to provisions in the 2002 No Child Left Behind legislation. However, that legislation did not call for a change in the Title IX regulation. It did allow for single-sex education “consistent with existing law” specifically as one provision for local programs and it required guidance on single-sex education. The Bush ED of its own volition issued a notice of proposed regulation in 2002 to let advocates of single-sex education know that it planned to allow more flexibility in purposeful single-sex education. (See more details under reason #2, FMF’s Title IX Defined web page, and Klein, 2005). The limited safeguards in the 2006 ED Title IX regulation specifically allow single-sex classes, schools, programs, and extracurricular activities in primary and secondary nonvocational public schools as long as there


is “substantial equality.” This 2006 regulation also includes procedural guidance limiting some inappropriate sex segregation by requiring that: •

Enrollment in a single-sex class or school must be completely voluntary.

•

A “substantially equal” coeducational class or extracurricular activity in the same subject or activity for the excluded sex must be provided.

•

An “important governmental objective” “to improve educational achievement of its students,” provided that the “single-sex nature of the class or extracurricular activity is substantially related to achieving that objective” must be shown. These “sex-based means used to further that objective” must be “genuine” and (must . . . ) “not rely on overly broad generalizations about either sex.”

•

A link between an education goal and the single-sex program must be shown. The 2006 Title IX regulation requires that the “single-sex classes or extracurricular activities are based upon genuine justifications and do not rely on overly broad generalizations about the different talents, capacities, or preferences of either sex and that any single-sex classes or extracurricular activities are substantially related to the achievement of the important objective for the classes or extracurricular activities.” (Office for Civil Rights (2006) Section 106.34 (b) (3)). This standard was defined in more detail in the 2010 ED and Department of Justice (DOJ) Amicus Brief in the Vermilion Parish School Board case where a dissertation by the school’s principal used inaccurate information about the benefits of his “experiment” to justify sex-segregated classes to the school board.

•

Evaluations are required every two years to justify the continuation of the single-sex class, program, or school and to ensure that they are based on genuine justifications that do not rely on sex stereotypes.

Although these procedural requirements in the 2006 regulation provide some restrictions on inequitable and illegal sex segregation, collectively they are rarely followed by schools implementing sex segregation. (See Klein, 2010, 2011 and the discussion under Reason 2.) Legal experts have pointed out many flaws in the 2006 ED Title IX regulation that show weakening Title IX conflicts with the way Congress intended it to be interpreted, as well as with the U.S. Constitution’s


Fourteenth Amendment Equal Protection Clause, federal laws such as the Equal Educational Opportunities Act (1974), and equal rights provisions in state constitutions (Nash et al., 2007). Proponents of adding the Equal Rights Amendment to the U.S. Constitution point out that the ERA would provide more extensive and stable legal protections against sex discrimination in all public entities. For example, ERA would also protect against sex discrimination outside of education programs and activities and in public entities even if they are not recipients of federal financial assistance.9 The cases against schools that have engaged in sex segregation by the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) and the recent briefs appealing the Vermilion Parish Federal District Court decision that allowed sexsegregated classes to continue provide many details on how regulations for Title IX should be interpreted so that they are consistent with the existing civil rights protections (American Civil Liberties Union, 2010; National Women’s Law Center, 2010; Stone, 2007; U.S. Depts. of Justice & Education, 2010). Reason 2. Inappropriate public school sex segregation has increased since the Bush administration signaled it would weaken the ED Title IX regulation in 2002. The Increase in Sex Segregation in Public K–12 Education Over the years before and two decades after the passage of Title IX in 1972, single-sex private education declined and deliberate single-sex public education was rare. Single-sex public education was so rare that it was barely mentioned in the Handbook for Achieving Sex Equity through Education (Klein, 1985). The 1994 classic Failing at Fairness: How America’s Schools Cheat Girls reported that “Today, single-sex schools are an endangered species; they are [often] illegal in the public system and vanishing rapidly from the private sector” (Sadker, Sadker, & Zittleman, 2009, p. 253). From 1975 to 2002, equity advocates focused on counteracting accidental or deliberate sex discrimination in coed schools. Attention was 9

While this chapter focuses on public schools, even private K–12 schools that receive some federal financial assistance are covered by Title IX prohibitions against sex discrimination, including illegal sex segregation.


on creating gender-equitable coed physical education classes as required by the 1975 Title IX regulation (Geadelmann et. al., 1985), on ensuring that previously sex-segregated vocational education schools and classes would be integrated, and on identifying and decreasing sex-discriminatory classroom interactions in coed classes (Lockheed, 1985). During the 1990s, a few Congressional efforts to suspend Title IX to allow experiments with public school sex segregation failed. In 1996, new well-publicized single-sex schools were established in New York City and California. They were justified under the affirmative provisions in the 1975 Title IX regulation to advance gender equity. The Young Women’s Leadership School of East Harlem was established in 1996. But this public school faced legal challenges because there was no evidence that it was more effective in helping its female students succeed and overcome sex discrimination than comparably well-resourced coed schools serving the same types of students with a similar commitment to gender-equitable education.10 The evaluations of the 1996 California dual academy experiment (where the state provided extra funds to six paired girl and boy schools) found that they created more problems (especially for boys) than they solved (Datnow, Hubbard, & Woody, 2001). The Supreme Court decisions allowing girls into the Virginia Military Institute and men into the nursing program at Mississippi University for Women also helped discourage sex segregation in public education. Despite these fairly well-funded single-sex experiments in New York and California, before 2002, the major focus was on equity in instruction, especially in creating sex equity in coeducational classroom interactions. But, concerns changed and the Handbook for Achieving Gender Equity through Education, 2nd Edition (Klein, 2007) devoted most of Chapter 9, “Gender Equity in Coeducational and Single-sex Educational Environments,” and a good part of the summary Chapter 31 to this emerging challenge to gender equality. The forthcoming FMF study of the “State of Public School Sex Segregation in the States” (Klein, 2010) documents more than 600 public 10

As of 2010, this school is still operating along with Young Women’s Leadership schools across the nation. These public schools and their affiliates also receive support from the Young Women’s Leadership Network (www.ywlnetwork.org). However, none of the CA Dual Academies remain sex segregated.


schools with purposeful single-sex classes in school years 2007 to 2008 and 2008 to 2009. These totals include about eighty public single-sex schools or dual academies. This estimate does not include many more public schools that only have: •

Short-term segregated sexuality education as allowed specifically in 1975 Title IX regulation.

•

Sex-segregated physical education classes. (Many of these classes do not involve contact sports and violate Title IX.)

•

Sex segregation for youth in the juvenile justice system (correctional schools).

•

Unintentional sex segregation in elective or special courses— especially common in vocational education and special education.

However as noted earlier, it is likely that there were even more than the 600-plus public schools that did not publicize their deliberate sexsegregated classes. Most published estimates of schools with single-sex classes are based on information in the National Association of Single Sex Public Schools (NASSPE) website maintained by single-sex education advocate Leonard Sax. The FMF researchers used multiple sources for information on public schools with sex segregation and found both overreporting and underreporting on the NASSPE website. Despite rhetoric that single-sex education is an important public school choice, it is very difficult to find information on single-sex education strategies on school websites. An examination of the Office for Civil Rights (OCR) 2006 large-sample survey results indicated that many coed public schools said they had single-sex academic classes for the 2006 to 2007 school year. This suggests that they started this sex segregation before the 2006 ED Title IX regulations became effective in November 2006. The OCR 2006 survey results showed that 2,885 schools reported having specific types and numbers of single-sex academic classes in the 2006 school year. Klein and Sesma (2010) called some of the schools to verify the survey response that they had single-sex classes during 2006 and also found that many continued sex-segregated classes in subsequent years. Research by others, such as ACLU public information requests and the Brown and Pickard (2010) study of public charter schools in Michigan


also found more sex segregation in public schools than they were able to locate using publicly shared information. Future trends in sex-segregated public education depend in part on the leadership of the Obama administration and gender-equity advocates who support rescission of the 2006 ED Title IX regulation. Even if researchers documented 1,000 public schools with sex-segregated classes, this would be a small proportion of the 98,000 U.S. public schools in 14,000 school districts serving nearly 50 million public school students (President’s Council of Advisors on Science and Technology, 2010). Many Schools Have Used the 2006 ED Title IX Regulation as Permission to Sex Segregate—Often Inappropriately The forthcoming FMF study on the “State of Public School Sex Segregation in the States” (Klein, 2010) and legal cases challenging sexdiscriminatory sex segregation led by the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) have shown that the minimal protections for voluntary sex segregation, coeducational options, adequate justification of need for segregation, and evaluations that are required in the 2006 ED Title IX regulation have generally been ignored. Schools rarely articulate their sex-segregation policy and procedures and do not provide a specific justification for sex segregation as an affirmative action to decrease sex discrimination. Except for the sexual attraction argument, which obviously fails for gay and transgender youth, it is hard to find a rationale for excluding one sex to accomplish a specific governmental objective. For example, the FMF researchers did not find anything on a school website justifying a girls’ physics class because they were not performing as well as boys or because there is evidence that they will learn physics better in an all-girl class than in a coed class.11 If the school does provide some justification language, it often repeats generalized misconceptions about the purported advantages of single-sex education, which are used by single-sex education advocates such as Leonard Sax and his National Association of Single Sex Public Education. Sax and others assert that girls and boys learn differently and thus need to be 11

This is a hypothetical example. We know of no studies that show girls learn physics best in a sex-segregated class.


taught differently in sex-segregated classes (Kaufmann, 2007a, 2007b; NASSPE website).12 Schools may indicate that they are using the sex-segregated classes to reduce sex stereotypes, but their actions show the reverse. It was also rare to find a school or subject area where there are sex-segregated classes for only boys or only girls. Most schools had the same number of all-boy and all-girl classes in each subject area. This also points to a generalized justification based on sex stereotyping rather than a specific justification that some type of sex segregation will help improve gender-equitable outcomes for either girls or boys who need affirmative “catch-up” support. Few, if any, schools have publicized the required evaluations of their single-sex programs to let parents and researchers know if their objectives have been met. In the rare cases where they may conduct an evaluation, they rarely ask the question, “Did the sex segregation improve gender equity in outcomes?” Ideally, each school should conduct a study to determine if sex segregation is better than coeducation for its students. FMF found few evaluation results based on systematic studies, although it was common for media reporters to describe some anecdotal information about teacher, student, or parent reactions to single-sex classes. Occasionally journalists also reported how some outcome, such as test scores for the single-sex classes, went up compared to previous years or compared to a coed class. But these articles rarely referenced evaluations or studies that could be examined for the adequacy of their methodology and credibility of their conclusions. Few state Title IX coordinators have been able to identify and monitor the public schools with single-sex classes in their states, although many helped FMF researchers learn about sex segregation in their states. A key exception is the South Carolina Department of Education, which encourages sex-segregated classes in its public schools and maintains a website with information on South Carolina public schools that use “single-gender” education. Iowa and Washington have accountability requirements related to reporting on or evaluating single-sex schools and classes. 12

Leonard Sax created the National Association of Single Sex Public Education. In recent years he has acknowledged that sex differences are not universal and that single-sex education may not be best for all girls and boys.


However, there are currently no state or federal requirements for the public sharing or the submission of justifications for, or evaluations of, single-sex schools or classes related to the Title IX requirements.13 Thus, despite the consistent Bush administration and Congressional education legislation focus on accountability and attaining scientific evidence of effectiveness, it is difficult to find detailed justifications for, or evaluation results on, the effects of sex-segregated public education. In their efforts to verify schools with sex segregation, FMF found many websites that post comments on schools and sometimes even describe student demographics, but there was no information on these third party websites or on the official school websites about their sex segregation practices, and FMF did not find any evaluations of the school’s sex-segregation practices. Although the 2006 ED Title IX regulation stresses that the single-sex classes must be completely voluntary, it is rare to find compliance with this in coed schools with single-sex classes. Many children have been placed in single-sex classes without their permission or that of their parents. 14 Often schools with sex-segregated classes do not have a coed option, or if they do have some coeducational classes, there is no substantial equality. For example, in the ACLU Vermilion Parish case, the plaintiffs were assigned to single-sex classes. When their mother objected, one was assigned to the coed special education class even when that was not appropriate for her. Dual academy schools that separate all of their students by sex for all or most classes and other school activities also do not provide a coed option for students who do not choose sex segregation. FMF even found that some of these dual-academy schools in Philadelphia are the “default” neighborhood schools, so if the parents do not want their child to be in sex-segregated classes, they must find other schools that will admit their children. It is difficult to have substantial equity in three types of classes—boys, girls, and coeducational—and on all of the important indicators of equity. In the ACLU Breckinridge County Board of Education case (2009), a girl

13

Some states have requirements for other types of school reports and accountability, but it is unlikely that many Title IX coordinators or others have the chance to review these for information related to the legality or effectiveness of single-sex education practices in these schools. 14 This breach has been documented in the ACLU cases against illegal sex segregation in public education.


wanted to be in a coed class, but the most advanced mathematics class, where she belonged, was the all-girl class. When the school discovered the girls were doing better than the boys, the school tried to slow down the girls’ class so the boys’ class could catch up. In addition to the level of the class, some other indicators of equity may include assessments of curriculum, teacher quality, type and effectiveness of instruction, number of students in the class, equal resources and facilities, and, of course, absence of sex stereotyping. In many cases, these schools not only do not have substantial equity, but they increase sex stereotyping by teaching girls and boys differently. Sometimes they even teach the girls and boys different content. Sex stereotyping is compounded by teaching teachers to believe that there are important sex differences when, in fact, sex similarities related to learning are more prevalent (Hyde & Lindberg, 2007). Teaching teachers to treat boys and girls differently and according to sex stereotypes is illustrated by a Washington Post Education Review article on “Separate but Equal” (Houppert, 2010). Lack of Enforcement and Education to Discourage Illegal Sex Segregation In addition to weakening Title IX protections, the Bush administration did little to enforce Title IX in general. The Obama administration has reversed the Bush administration’s objectionable guidance related to equity in athletics, but to date, its only visible action related to sex-segregated public education has been the Department of Justice (DOJ) and ED brief filed to support the ACLU appeal in the Vermilion Parish case (2010). Many organizations supporting gender equity have requested that the Obama administration rescind the Bush ED 2006 Title IX regulation. ED and DOJ are hiring more staff especially in regional civil rights offices and may take a more active role working with Title IX Coordinators to help them learn about the oversight needed for schools engaging in unjustified and potentially illegal sex segregation. The FMF study (2011) found that few state Title IX coordinators had much knowledge of this aspect of Title IX and even fewer included this guidance on their websites. If recommendations for an updated Women’s Educational Equity Act (WEEA, 2010) are approved, the federal government should be able to provide more


funding and guidance to Title IX coordinators and their gender equity partners to decrease these gender inequities related to sex segregation. Reason 3. Separate is rarely equal, especially in public education. Sex segregation has a negative impact on both girls and boys because it often favors one sex over the other and encourages misguided sex-stereotyped education practices. Why Many Object to Sex Segregation and Race Segregation in Education “Separate is not equal” is a key principle articulated by the Supreme Court in the 1954 Brown v. Board of Education decision, which made racesegregated education illegal under the U.S. Constitution. Additionally, there are substantial research studies by Gary Orfield (2009) and many others that show advantages of racial integration. Similarly, there are powerful studies especially in some business environments that show the value of having males and females work together to increase productivity and democracy (Eisler, 2007). Whether talking about facilities, quality of instruction, levels of expectations, treatment of students, or preference for a particular teacher, it is very difficult to provide even “substantial” equality in sex-segregated schools, classes, or activities. As in race or ethnic discrimination, the less prestigious or less valued group often receives less favorable resources. Sex-Segregated Public Education Can Harm Girls Throughout U.S. history, sex-segregated girls have generally received inferior resources and more sex-stereotyped limitations than boys (Tyack & Hansot, 1990). This continues to apply to current public school sex segregation. For example: •

When the Albany, New York, Brighter Choices dual academies split into two school buildings, the boys got the new school and the girls remained in the old building (Klein et al., 2007).

•

The “best” teachers may be assigned to the boys’ classes because boys “need” the help more. Similarly, boys are often assigned to smaller classes than the girls because the girls are supposed to be easier to manage (Sadker, Sadker, & Zittleman, 2009).


•

Stereotypes about being passive, feminine, girly, or uncompetitive are often emphasized. For example, a Dayton, Ohio, second-grade public school for girls in a low-income African American neighborhood focused on instruction on etiquette such as how to eat in a fancy restaurant.

•

Sex segregation of women and girls is often “justified” by views that they need to be protected from men and boys, but this often limits girls’ options and fails to teach boys who may be causing problems to behave according to societal standards or to provide for safety for all students.

•

Sex-segregated girls miss out on the more extensive knowledge transfer available to segregated males. This inequity was used in the litigation that resulted in allowing girls to enter the all-boys academic public high school in Philadelphia as well as the 1996 Supreme Court decision that integrated the previously all-male Virginia Military Institute (Cohen, 2010).

Sex-Segregated Public Education Can Harm Boys Masculine stereotypes tend to be exaggerated and encouraged in sexsegregated classes. Here are some of the ways sex segregation harms boys: •

The teachers of boys are likely to emphasize machismo behaviors including competition, aggression, hiding emotions, and higher prestige for sports and fame than academic success (Barnett & Rivers, 2007; Cohen, 2010).

•

Boys who do not fit these stereotypes are made to feel like outsiders even though the proponents of sex-segregated education often mention how boys who are not “masculine enough” will benefit from these classes (Cohen, 2010).

•

Sexual harassment and bullying related to homophobia are often exaggerated in all-male groups.

•

Expectations that boys are not good at writing and some other verbal and self-control skills may be reinforced.

•

Boys will lose out on the often good academic modeling and positive encouragement of girls.


•

Sex-segregating black males does not ensure better achievement or even higher teacher expectations for their success. This was a clear finding in the California study of the dual academies (Datnow, Hubbard, & Woody, 2001). Some recent data also suggest that states with the lowest numbers of public schools with sex segregation may also have the highest black male graduation rates. When comparing graduation rate information for black males in neighboring New York (25%) and New Jersey (69%) in a Schott Foundation for Public Education study (Balfanz, 2010) with information on states with sexsegregated schools, we found that New Jersey had only one sexsegregated school and New york had twenty-two (Klein, 2010, 2011). Moreover, when black males do well in sex-segregated schools, we have not seen any evidence that this should be attributed to the sex-segregated program itself or, instead, to the extra attention, resources, and better instruction than in comparable coed schools.

Sex Segregation in Public Education Is Generally Bad for Everyone Sex segregation emphasizes sex-role stereotypes rather than individual needs and abilities. Sex-segregated classes focus on the differences between girls and boys and thus make the other sex strangers. They also contribute to potential employment discrimination, as it is common to assign male teachers to boys’ classes and female teachers to the girls’ classes. (Assigning teachers on the basis of their sex violates both Title IX and Civil Rights Act Title VII.) Due to the relative scarcity of men teachers, this may also lead to hiring a male teacher who is less qualified than a female teacher to instruct the boys’ classes. In some highly acclaimed sex-segregated public schools, extra public and private resources are used to help the targeted population, often minority boys or girls. It is logical that these richly resourced schools may be providing their students with more benefits than less endowed coed schools, but the results do not indicate that the sex-segregated grouping is what contributes to their success. They also draw resources away from the more universal improvements to help with systematic reform to help students in coed schools (Balfanz, 2010). As it is generally practiced, sex-segregated public education increases sex discrimination and sex stereotyping compared to sex-integrated public


education. It also creates extra problems for lesbian, gay, and transgender students and staff. Although there are still inequities other than single-sex programs in our public schools, the inequities in the sex-segregated schools and classes create unnecessary harm that can be avoided by retaining or returning to coeducation. In December 2009, CNN American Morning ran a story that supported sex-segregated classes, although it also contained a snippet from longtime teacher educator and gender equity expert Professor David Sadker discussing why sex-segregated classes were educationally unsound. The show spent most of its time with Leonard Sax, a well-known advocate of public school sex segregation and founder and head of the NASSPE, and it highlighted one of his well-publicized schools, Virginia’s Woodbridge Middle School. The video showed a boys’ class at this school playing an active competitive game throwing things at a board with a sexy lady among other targets. The girls’ class had dim lights to help girls cooperate in a restful atmosphere (Klein, 2009). South Carolina has a whole state education agency (SEA) office encouraging “single-gender” classes. Their teacher training focuses on sharing “good practices” on how to teach girls and boys differently according to “gender” roles or stereotypes. It is common to see news articles describing “single-gender” middle school classes that allow boys to move around a frosty cool class and toss a ball to determine whose turn it is to talk or to clap and stomp their answers while girls are told to raise their hands and to mostly talk in whispers in a toasty warm classroom that smells like flowers (Lauer, 2008; South Carolina Department of Education website). Reason 4. Most justifications for deliberate public school sex segregation are improper because the sex-segregation strategies they actually use violate legal standards and are based on scientifically unsound educational policies and practices such as false beliefs that males and females learn in different ways. Background on Legal Standards That Allow Limited Sex Segregation in Public Education The initial 1975 Title IX regulation clearly limits sex segregation to very unique circumstances such as using single-sex education in public schools for affirmative purposes to decrease sex discrimination in the outcomes.


The 2006 ED Title IX regulation expanded allowable sex segregation by recipients of ED funds and helped decrease attention to gender-fair coeducation. It permitted sex segregation for broad purposes that were not tied to remedial or affirmative actions to increase gender equality.15 As documented earlier in this chapter, when “given an inch” by this more permissive 2006 ED regulation, we found that schools went well beyond what was allowed in justifying and implementing sex segregation. As the saying goes, many single-sex education advocates have been “given an inch and taken a mile”—in this case they went in the wrong direction. Now, even when schools use the affirmative action justification allowed under the 1975 Title IX regulation, and even if they follow some of the procedural guidelines in the 2006 ED Title IX regulation, they rarely provide evidence that their risky sex segregation16 is more effective than less risky and less costly coeducation in increasing gender equality or other desirable student outcomes. The wide-scale abuse of increased “flexibility” in allowing sex segregation in public education can be understood by examining how existing standards are being used inappropriately to justify public school sex segregation. We believe the 1975 Title IX regulation (which allows very limited sex segregation for affirmative purposes) requires full compliance with very clear legal and research standards as discussed below. These standards can be met only if very specific sex-segregation strategies are supported by highquality evidence that they increase gender-equity outcomes more effectively than a comparable coed option and if they do not produce inequities while they are being used for either females or males. Recommendations for Establishing Federal Standards to End Illegal and Scientifically Unsound Sex Segregation Policies and Practices The 2006 ED Title IX regulation must be rescinded because its goal to allow sex segregation for vague governmental objectives undermines the sole purpose of Title IX—to decrease sex discrimination. The 2006 ED 15

During this time it was pointed out that schools used an affirmative action justification rather than the allowable remedial action because they didn’t want to admit that they had previously been legally responsible for allowing sex discrimination. Thus, we focus on the affirmative rather than remedial purposes in this chapter. 16 We are calling public school sex segregation “risky” because it is likely to contribute to substantial inequities and be illegal.


Title IX regulation inappropriately allows sex segregation to be justified for vague improvement purposes instead of ending sex discrimination. The vague “governmental objectives” allowing the justification of sex segregation in the 2006 ED Title IX regulation are not appropriate and they are often interpreted as allowing anything that someone might consider improvement. These “improvements” range from providing parents an option to choose sex segregation because they like it and think it will increase test scores—even if this broadens the gender gap and increases sex stereotyping and sex discrimination in the desired outcomes. There are also other problems with this 2006 regulation, such as additional exemptions from compliance with equity standards by specific types of schools and somewhat different standards for single-sex schools and coed schools with single-sex classes. If any sex segregation is allowed for affirmative purposes using the 1975 Title IX regulations, it must meet the following five equity standards: (1) If sex segregation is allowed to decrease sex discrimination in desired outcomes, it must not be totally exclusionary and it must have compelling evidence to justify its proposed actions. The school would need to provide compelling answers to questions such as: What is the specific gender-equity problem that will be ameliorated by the specific sex-segregation strategy? What is the evidence that it will be more effective than comparable coeducation? Will it be feasible and cost effective? This may mean that if there was a program for girls that had evidence that it helped them enter well-paying “nontraditional” careers better than a coeducational program with similar purposes and resources, it would be legitimate for a school to select this single-sex program primarily for girls. This sex-segregation strategy would only meet adequate criteria for continuation if the students in the single-sex class did better than similar students in the comparably well-resourced coed class and if there was ample evidence that the sex segregation was the cause of the decrease in sex-discriminatory outcomes. If legitimate indicators, in addition to increasing gender equality such as overall increases in test scores, are measured, they could be used as a supplemental justification to either support or discourage the use of the sex-segregation strategy based on the nature of the evidence. The current Women’s Educational Equity Act (WEEA) of 2001 prohibits the exclusion of boys from programs designed for girls, and the


August 2010 gender-equity advocates’ draft of a revised WEEA also prohibits the exclusion of girls in programs designed to advance gender equality for boys. This nonexclusion principle (such as allowing males in women-focused courses as feminist religion professor Mary Daly was required to do) should be applied to entities covered by Title IX. It is already being used in higher education institutions, which are almost all covered by Title IX protections. The use of policies prohibiting the total exclusion of individuals based on sex should also provide needed flexibility to accommodate transgendered students and staff. (2) There must be a well-articulated school-specific and class-specific need for using predesignated sex-segregation strategies for affirmative action. Until the brief by the U.S. Departments of Justice and Education (2010) supporting the ACLU appeal of the Vermilion Parish case, it was not clear that these agencies expected more prior evidence and a classroom-specific justification for why the sex segregation would meet “an important governmental or educational objective.” (p. 21). This brief says “ED’s regulations thus make clear that single-sex classes are the exception rather than the rule and place the burden on recipients wishing to establish such classes to show that they have met the criteria specified in the regulations.” (p. 16) and that “the recipient must meet the regulatory requirement for each single-sex class” (p. 17). These justifications “must be genuine”— and “must not rely on overbroad generalizations about the different talent, capacities, or preferences of males and females.” (p. 17). We assume that DOJ also would use this same principle of a required classroom-specific justification for the exceptions in the 1975 Title IX regulations allowing remedial or affirmative action that are used by all non ED agencies. Additionally, if guidance is provided on how to implement the 1975 Title IX regulation, it would help to include and strengthen three procedural requirements from the 2006 Title IX regulation: completely voluntary options, equal coeducational opportunities, and the disqualification of a justification based on overbroad stereotypes. (See previous discussions in this chapter.) In the Vermilion Parish case associated with the DOJ and ED brief described in this section, the Vermilion Parish School Board actually received some school-specific justification for the proposed sexsegregated classes in a dissertation by the middle school’s principal, David


Dupuis. However, the Federal District Court hearing revealed that the reported justification for needing a sex-segregated intervention was inadequate in two respects. One was that no data were presented to show that boys or girls needed sex segregation in any specific classes due to poor performance or other special considerations. The other problem was that Dupuis’ dissertation presented “extremely flawed” results (Doe v. Vermilion Parish School Board, 2010, p. 7). An analysis of the dissertation by the ACLU expert (Halpern, 2009b) found errors in his data and statistics. For example, while the data in the dissertation showed that grades had improved during the experimental period of sex segregation, the verified grades showed the reverse to be true. It is rare to find any detailed pilot study that is used to justify sex segregation in a specific school. In this case, the Vermilion Parish School Board members and the Parish school administrators failed to verify the dissertation research, the sole legal basis for the school board agreeing to the sex segregation. The District Court said that this failure was negligence on the part of the school board and administrators. (3) Overbroad stereotypical generalizations or related pseudoscience understandings of sex differences must not be used to justify, select, or evaluate actual sex segregation strategies. As discussed earlier, most of the justifications for sex-segregated public education are based on overgeneralized stereotypes, which are not allowed under the 2006 ED Title IX regulation. Additionally, these justifications rarely address needs in the school that could possibly be improved by using a sex-segregated strategy in any specific class. Often, these justifications say that one of their objectives is to decrease sex stereotypes. This could mean that they would be describing an affirmative strategy to end sex discrimination in line with the 1975 Title IX regulations. However, what they actually do in the sex-segregated classrooms is to teach boys and girls differently according to sex-stereotyped notions of what they need. (See discussion of Reason #3, separate is rarely equal.) In addition to being based on these impermissibly “overbroad generalizations about the different talent, capacities, or preferences of males and females” (p. 17), the conclusions used in these generalizations are rarely supported by systematic research evidence from multiple studies, although they underlie the work of single-sex public education advocates such as Leonard Sax and Michael Gurian (Arms, 2007).


Our understandings of what is good for us do change. As previously mentioned, there is increasing evidence of the positive effects of race integration and sex integration. Common inaccurate justifications for sex-segregated public education that support the illegal general sex stereotypes include: •

A belief in inherent differences in abilities between the sexes. Actually, differences between boys and girls are negligible compared to the differences among all girls or all boys. In other words, the differences within each sex are far greater than the differences between the two sexes. Think of height as an example: we would all agree that men are generally taller than women. Yet there are many men who are shorter than some women and women who are taller than some men (Halpern, 2009a; Hyde & Lindberg, 2007).

•

A belief that there are sex differences in learning. While there are some small physiological differences in male and female brains—just like body size—there is no evidence that these minor differences have any impact on learning. The so-called “conclusions” of brain research typically go far beyond the research and ignore how the role of culture and environment interplay with the physiological brain. There are no male and female “learning styles” (Eliot, 2009; Halpern, 2009a).

•

A belief that boys and girls are so different in the way they learn that they will learn better in sex-segregated classes. “There is no (quality) evidence based on multiple studies by independent reviewers that shows that girls learn better than boys do in cooperative groups or boys excel when they are placed in competitive situations” (Halpern, 2009a, pp. 24–25). There are also some related misperceptions such as: a belief that boys are so distracted by girls that they cannot learn in their presence and a belief that girls won’t get into “trouble” (read pregnant) if kept away from boys (Halpern, 2009a). The review by Campbell and Sanders (2002) shows how quality research fails to support related assumptions about the value of single-sex education. For example, they find no support for the assumption that “Sexual tension between girls and boys and the desire to impress each other is a distraction to learning that can be eliminated by single-sex schooling” (p. 40).


(4) Constitutional Equal Protection criteria must be used to assess the treatment of all groups. This should apply to comparisons between males and females and between the sex-segregated groups and the coed groups. In addition to using the 1975 Title IX regulation, a public school must meet the Equal Protection requirements described in the Supreme Court Virginia Military Institute (VMI) 1996 decision and also referenced in the 2006 Title IX regulation. These Equal Protection standards (such as equal access to knowledge, quality teachers, same size classes, etc.) must be met for boys and girls and for single-sex and coed classes. Using these legal standards, sex segregation might be justified if there were evidence of a need to decrease sex discrimination and evidence that a sex-segregated delivery strategy worked better (to a substantial degree) to decrease sexdiscriminatory outcomes than a comparable coed strategy. A related standard of completely voluntary selection of single-sex or coed grouping by parents and students is also critically important, but it may make it harder for the school to meet this Equal Protection standard if there is a differential demand for segregated or coed classes.17 (5) Comparative effectiveness is an essential part of any equity evaluation standard. Schools should be able to show evidence that the proposed sex segregation has had or will have a more positive impact on increasing gender equity than comparable coeducation and that it has no negative impact on the boys or the girls. This is a standard where both the legal equality standards and the research comparison and evidence of effectiveness standards mesh. Another comparison should determine if the initial “needs” or the initial specific objectives to justify the sex segregation are met by the recipients of sex segregation better than by the nonrecipients. If any sex segregation is allowed using the 1975 Title IX regulations, it must meet high quality research and evaluation standards. Quality research and evaluations are needed to provide initial justifications for acceptable and legal sex segregation as well as to justify the continuation of existing public school sex segregation.

17

As part of these related completely voluntary participation standards, we recommend that the parents and students must opt in to the more risky sex-segregated class or school. Segregation shouldn’t be the “default” assignment.


The 2006 Title IX regulation requires evaluations every two years, but no clear standards have been provided on the quality of these evaluations, the nature of the comparisons, the questions they should address, or who should receive them, and if they should be made publicly available. Also, since the initial need for sex segregation was rarely specified, if there was some evaluation, it was probably not focused on success in meeting the specific initial needs or goals whether these were to meet general governmental objectives or to use sex segregation as an affirmative action to decrease sex discrimination in outcomes. New federal standards are needed to address all of these concerns. In addition to making appropriate continuation decisions at the school level, reviews of multiple high-quality evaluations are needed to gain insights into the potential value of any type of sex-segregated public education. Rigorous standards such as those used by the ED “What Works Clearinghouse” must be specified for any sex segregation that might be allowed under Title IX or other civil rights laws. However, FMF found only a few formal evaluations of sex-segregated public school classes. They had mixed or negative results about the effectiveness of the sex-segregation strategy. In some cases, evaluation results were used to justify ending some sex-segregation practices (Klein, 2010, 2011). Most public reports of sex-segregated classes in coed schools are journalistic snapshots of sexstereotypic activities in single-sex classes, sometimes using video. Occasionally the schools will report student outcomes compared to previous years when different cohorts had coed classes. These evaluations and reports of comparisons of test scores by students in coed and single-sex classes often did not provide sufficient information to judge their credibility or validity. There are many problems with the relatively few studies that exist of sex segregation in public education. Although most studies of public school sex segregation are not as misleading as the previously discussed Dupuis dissertation in the Vermilion Parish case, few studies provide adequate information on the equity process measures discussed previously or on the comparative outcomes using comparable groups and careful methodology. Some of the common methodological flaws related to studies of single-sex public education include: 1. Drawing conclusions about the value of sex-segregated education for an individual study, not a review of multiple similar education interventions


Similarly, it is common for those examining sex-segregated public education to base their conclusions on anecdotal observations or a few “critical” incidents rather than on unbiased systematic collection of data on how the treatments compare and on the relationship of the treatments to the results. For example, one male science teacher in a television interview stated that he was so happy teaching an all-boys science class because the “research showed that boys liked more hands-on teaching.” There is no research on this at all, and indeed the research shows that girls, too, like hands-on activities. 2. The Hawthorn Effect Dating back to the 1930s, a large number of research studies in different fields show that when something new is done, it is likely to have an effect simply because it is new. Thus, sex-segregated programs often are successful at the beginning because they are new. The effects often diminish substantially after a while because they did not result from the program itself but from the excitement that it was something new. Thus, short-term evaluations of sex-segregated programs may be misleading, especially since the effect is often not evaluated over multiple years. 3. The John Henry and Pygmalion Effects The success of some or all of the sex-segregated programs is contaminated by the expectations that the children and the program will succeed. If you tell parents, staff, and students that the sex-segregated program will make it easier for the children to learn than their previous experience, that alone may be enough to make a program succeed initially. For example, research on a small group of children chosen randomly described how their teachers were told that the tests show that these children will really take off during the coming year, and indeed the children did better than other children. Expectations and motivations do matter. 4. Bias in the studies The proponents of single-sex public education are likely to identify measures and report on results in biased and inappropriate ways—often unintentionally (Halpern, 2009a, 2009b). This bias is illustrated in the Dupuis dissertation and in other studies where teachers rate student performance higher when they expect it to be higher when given a


certain treatment. (It is difficult to have a single-sex class where the evaluators do not know or are “blind” to the composition of the class.) 5. Selection bias Often more motivated students or their parents volunteer for the new innovative class such as the all-boy or all-girl class. Similarly, the best teachers may be selected for these “showcase” classes. It is difficult to overcome this bias by random assignment when the law requires that all participation in public school sex segregation must be completely voluntary. 6. Inequitable resources for comparison groups Teachers for the sex-segregated classes typically receive some training on how to teach the all-male and all-female classes, where the teachers of the coed classes receive no extra training such as for treating their male and female students equitably in classroom interactions. Regardless of the quality or the aim of the training, the teachers may be more enthusiastic because it is something new and they may, in turn, pay more attention to students than they had previously paid. These differences may make the students learn better. Many of the sexsegregated classes include other benefits not available to coeducational classes, such as a newly painted classroom, a small student-teacher ratio, an enriched curriculum, and so forth. It is difficult to separate the effect of single-sex classrooms from the effects of these other factors. In some instances, the single-sex classes for boys and girls may also not have the same facilities, resources, and the like, thus making them inherently unequal even if both have more resources than the coed classes.

Advice on Applying these Rigorous Standards to Justify Sex Segregation It is important to use these standards for the deliberate decisions to allow or discontinue sex segregation in public education. When addressing questions about the legality, quality, fairness, and effectiveness of sexsegregated public education, these standards should be used for both preand postimplementation decisions. The preimplementation decision should be used to review evidence justifying the risky sex segregation


before the sex-segregated public education policy and specific instructional strategies are approved. The second and continuing set of decisions should occur after the sex segregation is implemented to help determine if the specific sex-segregation practices that were used should be continued because they meet the equality requirements and decrease sex discrimination in desired outcomes. In making these decisions, both process and outcome indicators should be evaluated using proper comparisons. For example, these comparisons would examine how effective classes for girls were compared to classes for boys and how each single-sex class compared to the most comparable coed classes. Evaluators would also examine the effectiveness of the sexsegregated programs in addressing the initial gender-equality needs. Reason 5. There is no credible evidence that sex-segregated public education is more effective in increasing gender equality and other desirable outcomes than less risky equally well-resourced gender-equitable coeducation. Much of the deliberate sex segregation that has been occurring in U.S. public schools is “justified” based on inaccurate and misleading research suggesting that sex segregation will improve educational outcomes more than comparable quality coeducation will. These misleading research claims often indicate that single-sex public education will reduce sex stereotyping and improve other student outcomes (and thus might be justified using the 1975 Title IX regulations allowing limited sex segregation for purposes of decreasing sex discrimination in outcomes). But high-quality legitimate research provides no consistent evidence that sex-segregated education contributes to the achievement of better (or more genderequitable) outcomes for girls or boys than comparable coeducation (Arms, 2007; Salomone, 2007; U.S. Department of Education, 2005). Instead, this body of research generally indicates that sex segregation increases rather than reduces sex stereotyping (Barnett, 2007; Datnow, Hubbard, & Woody, 2001; Halpern, 2009a). Most research on single-sex education has been on private schools, not on single-sex classes in U.S. public schools. Therefore, it is inappropriate and inaccurate to state that single-sex classes (in public schools) have been proven to be better than coed classes. Additionally, the quality research in private schools rarely shows effectiveness of their single-sex education compared to comparably resourced private school coeducation.


A widely cited meta-analysis of fairly high-quality studies of single-sex schools was sponsored by the ED. The analysis did not find conclusive results favoring either single-sex or coed schools. The authors of this important review also noted that they were not able to include any studies that provided evidence of student outcomes related to measures of increased gender equity (Arms, 2007; U.S. Department of Education, 2005). There has been little evidence that any specific sex-segregation strategies are more effective than coed strategies with similar purposes (Halpern, 2009a; Klein & Homer, 2007). Thus, it is quite a challenge for a school to identify and justify a specific sex-segregation approach to decrease sexdiscriminatory outcomes in a specific class. The only effective single-sex strategy that the ED Gender Equity Expert Panel identified was a program developed for women in women’s prisons called Orientation to NonTraditional Careers for Women (ONOW), (U.S. Department of Education, 2001). However, it was not feasible to compare this ONOW program with a similar coed program. There are a few anecdotal and other studies designed to assess the advantages of single-sex classrooms over comparable public school coed classrooms. To date, it appears that evaluations that show the most favorable results for single-sex classes are those with the poorest methodology and the studies that show no consistent advantages are those with the best methodology. Also, it does not appear that single-sex education is more effective in increasing gender-equitable outcomes than coeducation. These findings suggest that it will be difficult to satisfy the ED 2006 Title IX regulations’ requirement that sex segregation be justified. Reason 6. Sex-segregated public education in the United States is more expensive than the less risky coeducation alternatives. Sex segregation in public schools is more expensive than coeducational classes and schools. The separate and often duplicate operations and facilities for public single-sex education are more costly than comparable coeducation. It takes more time and money to assure that all facilities and resources are equitable for both girls and boys in segregated rather than in coeducational facilities. These challenges are apparent even in simple things like ensuring equal numbers of students in the parallel boy and girl classes. A study of “single-sex Catholic schools found that per-pupil expenditures at boys’ schools were 25 percent higher than those at girls’


schools, and 30 percent higher than those at coed schools” (Campbell & Sanders, 2002, p. 39). Equalization of student–teacher ratios is also a challenge because the selection of sex-segregated education is required to be completely voluntary. After the rescission of the 2006 ED Title IX regulation, it is still important to use the previously discussed multiple standards. However, the additional costs in time and resources to meet these standards should be considered in any decision to use sex-segregated public education. For every single-sex class, the 2006 regulation requires a substantially equal coeducational class. In many cases, it also requires substantially equal single-sex classes for both girls and boys. It also requires voluntary selection and evaluations every two years. If implemented adequately, these procedural standards can be quite expensive. Additional resources are needed for staff training to address how to counteract, rather than reinforce, sex stereotypes, a particularly difficult challenge when the classes are sex segregated. Schools that sex segregate have already faced expensive lawsuits for violations of Title IX and other federal and state nondiscrimination laws. The higher costs of single-sex classes were even noted by David Chadwell, who coordinates single-gender initiatives in South Carolina. He explained that the number of public schools in South Carolina with single-sex classes was reduced in 2009 to 2010 due to state and local budget cuts (see SC Department of Education website).

Summary and Recommendations This chapter describes how the Risks of Sex Segregated Public Education for Girls, Boys, and Everyone can be reduced if the ED 2006 Title IX regulation is rescinded and if appropriate standards are used to guide the use of any sex-segregated education that is still allowed under the 1975 Title IX regulation, the 14th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, and other applicable laws. Many aspects of the 2006 ED Title IX regulation have been challenged on both legal and scientific bases. To remedy the damage resulting from these 2006 regulations and to prevent future inequalities, it is critically important to provide clear and comprehensive guidance on the standards needed to justify any sex segregation that would continue to be allowed


under the 1975 Title IX regulation exceptions for affirmative actions to increase gender equality in desired outcomes. Additionally, federal background information accompanying this rescission should explain how the Bush administration’s weakening of Title IX regulations encouraged misguided and illegal education policies. These policies led to scientifically unsound and costly sex-segregation practices in about 1,000 public schools during the 2007 to 2008 and 2008 to 2009 school years. Sex segregation, allowed under the 2006 ED Title IX regulation, was absolute—meaning that only girls were allowed in the girls’ classes or schools and vice versa for boys. This absolutism is also detrimental to transgender students. In increasing schools’ flexibility in allowing sex segregation, this 2006 ED regulation did not even mention what many consider a legitimate justification for single-sex education. It omitted reiterating the affirmative purposes that were in the 1975 Title IX regulations allowing limited sex segregation to decrease sex discrimination. When ED rescinds the 2006 ED Title IX regulation and reverts to the 1975 Title IX regulations as recommended, it is important to encourage ED and DOJ to require that any proposed sex segregation meet the recommended legal equity standards as well as the standards for high-quality research comparisons. Both agencies can provide consistent guidance on preventing illegal and scientifically unsound sex-segregation policies and practices in accordance with all the 1975 Title IX regulations, the U.S. Constitution, and other relevant federal laws.18 Standards they address should: •

Allow sex segregation only for affirmative purposes to decrease sex discrimination in the desired outcomes as already allowed in the 1975 Title IX regulations.

•

Insist that there be an approved well-articulated specific school and class need for using a predesignated sex-segregation strategy for the above affirmative purposes.

18

DOJ’s Civil Rights Division has authority to coordinate regulations for all agencies responsible for Title IX implementation and issued a common rule that provides Title IX regulations for all the federal entities that do not have their own unique Title IX regulations.


•

Prohibit any justifications or comparative evaluations to be based on overbroad stereotypical generalizations related to understandings of sex differences.

•

Require voluntary selection of equal coed and single-sex options. This should apply to comparisons between females and males and between the sex-segregated groups and the coed groups. Exceptions should be made to allow appropriately qualified males, females, or transgendered students in female or male classes or schools if this is what they want.

•

Require adequate convincing evidence of comparative effectiveness of the single-sex school or class over comparable coeducation.

•

Provide guidance on how evaluation studies should use high research quality standards to learn if the single-sex treatment is better on important outcome measures of effectiveness than the coed treatment and if the sex-segregated boys do better than the sex-segregated girls.

•

Require that all public school sex-segregation plans and justifications be approved by appropriate governing authorities (with adequate expertise19) and that all approved plans, justifications, approval notices, and annual evaluation reports be easily available from free and easily accessible websites.

Additionally, to be effective in decreasing public school sex segregation, education policy makers and the public need to understand that much of the existing or planned single-sex public school education is risky, likely to be unjust or unfair, and a waste of valuable education resources. All decision makers need to understand their roles and the roles federal, state, and local education agencies and Title IX coordinators have in implementing the rigorous standards and ending inappropriate public school sex segregation. Researchers and evaluators also need to use the legal framework as they develop their studies. In using these standards, decisions about public school sex segregation should be informed by high-quality research on the evidence of effectiveness of these strategies. Comparative evaluation results that adequately justify any public school sex segregation for 19

It was evident that the Vermilion Parish School Board lacked expertise to judge a greatly flawed evaluation report.


affirmative purposes allowed under the 1975 Title IX regulations could be used as models. It is likely that the better the quality of the study, the less likelihood results will show that sex segregation is either equitable in its treatment of students in the compared groups or that it advances desired genderequality outcomes. Since high-quality research is very expensive, public school sex segregation strategies should not be initiated unless there are some preliminary indicators from other related situations that the strategy will be more effective in advancing gender equity than comparable coeducational strategies are. Additionally, if the government allows even limited sex segregation for affirmative purposes to increase gender-equitable outcomes, it should make descriptions of the strategies and the justifications and evaluations of these sex-segregation experiments publicly available on easily accessible websites. Also, the governmental “authorizers” of any publicly supported sex-segregated education should collect, review, and synthesize the quality studies to learn more about the positive and negative impact of sex-segregated public education. Finally, the 2006 weakening of Title IX by allowing increased sexstereotyped sex segregation demonstrates the importance of maintaining and enforcing a strong and well-implemented Title IX. Title IX implementation can be increased by including a reinvigorated version of the Women’s Educational Equity Act (WEEA, 2010) in the forthcoming Elementary and Secondary Education Act (ESEA). This new and improved WEEA will also be essential in helping decision makers avoid inappropriate and illegal sex segregation. An August 2010 draft of the new WEEA would establish Title IX Action Networks at the local, state, and national levels, National Gender Equity Collaboratives to conduct research, development, evaluation, and technical assistance, and an Office for Gender Equity to provide catalytic leadership to purposefully advance gender equality. Title IX coordinators and other gender-equity advocates must become active leaders in preventing illegal and misguided sex segregation. ED can help end illegal sex segregation by rescinding its 2006 Title IX regulation and issuing standards suggested in this chapter to guide educators to meet the affirmative provisions in the 1975 Title IX regulation. Congress can make this happen by including the proposed reinvigorated WEEA in the next ESEA. We look forward to success in efforts to stop this


sex-segregation backlash and continue our nation’s progress in creating a society where education contributes to equal opportunities for all.

References American Civil Liberties Union. (2009). A.N.A. v. Breckinridge County Board of Education, Civ. Action No. 03:08-CV-4-S (E.D. KY). American Civil Liberties Union. (2010). Brief for plaintiffs—Appellants v. Vermilion Parish School Board. Appeal from the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Louisiana. Case 10-30378, Document 00511133244 Date filed 5-28-2010. Retrieved September 20, 2010, from http://educationaltruths.yolasite.com. Arms, E. (2007). Gender equity in coeducational and single sex educational environments. In S. Klein (Ed.), Handbook for achieving gender equity through education (2nd ed., pp. 171–90). New York: Lawrence Erlbaum, Taylor and Francis Group. Balfanz, R. (2010). Yes we can: The Schott 50 state report on public education and black males 2010. Schott Foundation for Public Education. Retrieved September 20, 2010, from http://www.blackboysreport.org/. Barnett, R. C., & Rivers, C. (2004). Same difference: How gender myths are hurting our relationships, our children, and our jobs. New York: Basic Books. Barnett, R. C., & Rivers, C. (2007, Winter). Gender myths and the education of boys. Independent School, National Association of Independent Schools. Retrieved September 20, 2010, from http://www.nais.org/ publications/ismagazinearticle.cfm? Bell, N. (2010). Graduate enrollment and degrees: 1999 to 2009. Washington, DC: Council of Graduate Schools. Retrieved October 9, 2010, from http://www.cgsnet.org/portals/0/pdf/R_ED2009.pdf. Brown, N., & Pickard, D. (2010, October). Single-sex schooling: A preliminary exploration into Michigan PSA’s Hidden Agenda. Research on Women and Education 36th Annual Fall Conference, Philadelphia, PA. Campbell, P. B., & Sanders, J. (2002). Challenging the system: Assumptions and data behind the push for single-sex schooling. In A. Datnow


& L Hubbard (Eds.), Gender in policy and practice: Perspectives on single-sex and coeducational schooling (pp. 31–46). New York: Routledge Falmer. Retrieved September 10, 2010, from www.feminist.org/ education/sexsegregation.asp or http://www.josanders.com/pdf/ SingleSex.pdf. Cohen, D. S. (2010). Keeping men “men” and women down: Sex segregation, anti-essentialism, and masculinity. Harvard Journal of Law & Gender 33(2), 509–53. Retrieved November 1, 2010, from: http:// www.law.harvard.edu/students/orgs/jlg/vol332/509-554.pdf. Datnow, A., Hubbard, L., & Woody, E. (2001). Is single-gender schooling viable in the public sector? Lessons from California’s pilot program. Policy report, Ford and Spencer Foundations. Doe v Vermilion Parish School Board, 09-civ-1565 Ruling dated (April 19, 2010) W.D.La. Retrieved August 8, 2010, from http://educationaltruths .yolasite.com. Eisler, R. (2007). The real wealth of nations: Creating a caring economics. San Francisco: Berret-Koehler. Eliot, L. (2009). Pink brain, blue brain: How small differences grow into troublesome gaps—and what we can do about it. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Equal Educational Opportunities Act of 1974. 20 U.S.C. § 1701: Congressional declaration of policy. (1974) Retrieved September 15, 2010, from http://uscode.house.gov/download/pls/20C39.txt. Geadelmann, P., Bischoff, J., Hoferek, M., & McKnight, D. B. (1985). Sex equity in physical education and athletics. In S. Klein (Ed.), Handbook for achieving sex equity through education (pp. 319–37). Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Halpern, D. F. (2009a). Issue of single-sex education, Rene A. Rost Middle School. Report regarding civil action No. 6:09-cv 01565. Retrieved September 20, 2010, from http://educationaltruths.yolasite.com. Halpern, D. F. (2009b). Supplemental review of data prepared for the plaintiffs, Dec. 14, 2009. Report regarding civil action No. 6:09-cv 01565. Retrieved September 20, 2010, from http://educationaltruths .yolasite.com.


Houppert, K. (2010, August 8). Separate but equal: More and more schools are dividing classes by gender, but critics say it’s a troubling trend. Washington Post Magazine, The Education Review 10–21. Hyde, J., & Lindberg, S. M. (2007). Facts and assumptions about the nature of gender differences and the implications for gender equity. In S. Klein (Ed.), Handbook for achieving gender equity through education, (2nd ed., pp. 19–32). New York: Lawrence Erlbaum, Taylor and Francis Group. Kaufmann, C. (2007a, summer). A look at single-sex classrooms. Reader’s Digest Web Site. Retrieved August 20, 2010, from http://www. rd.com/family/a-look-at-single-sex-classrooms/. Kaufmann, C. (2007b, summer). How boys and girls learn differently. Reader’s Digest Web Site. Retrieved August 15, 2010, from http:// www.rd.com/make-it-matter-make-a-difference/how-boys-and-girls -learn-differently/article103575.html. Klein, S. (Ed.). (1985). Handbook for achieving sex equity through education. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Klein, S. (2005). Title IX and single sex education. Feminist Majority Foundation. Retrieved August 15, 2010, from http://www.feminist.org/ education/pdfs/SingleSex.pdf. Klein, S. (Ed.). (2007). Handbook for achieving gender equity through education (2nd ed.). New York: Lawrence Erlbaum, Taylor and Francis Group. Klein, S. (2009, December 11). Tell CNN to stop promoting sex segregation in public schools. Feminist Majority Foundation Blogs. Retrieved September 20, 2010, from http://majorityspeaks.wordpress.com/2009/ 12/11/tell-cnn-to-stop-promoting-sex-segregation-in-public-schools/. Klein, S. (2010, 2011). The state of public school sex-segregation in the states. Arlington, VA: Feminist Majority Foundation, Educational Equity Program. Klein, S., Homer, E. A., et al. (2007). Summary and recommendations for achieving gender equity in and through education. In S. Klein (Ed.), Handbook for achieving gender equity through education (2nd ed., pp. 655–81). New York: Lawrence Erlbaum, Taylor and Francis Group.


Klein, S., & Sesma, E. (2010). What are we learning from the 2006–7 Office for Civil Rights survey question about public schools with single-sex academic classes? Preliminary report. Arlington, VA: Feminist Majority Foundation. Lauer, C. (2008, September 19). Whittemore Park Middle/separated by sex: More learning, fewer cooties. Myrtle Beach Sun News, C 1. Lockheed, M. E. (1985). Sex equity in classroom organization and climate. In S. Klein (Ed.), Handbook for achieving sex equity through education (pp. 189–217). Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Nash, M. A., Klein, S., Bitters, B., et al. (2007). The role of government in advancing gender equity in education. In S. Klein (Ed.), Handbook for achieving gender equity through education (2nd ed., pp. 63–101). New York: Lawrence Erlbaum, Taylor and Francis Group. National Association of Single Sex Public Education (NASSPE). (2010). Retrieved September 20, 2010, from www.nasspe.org. National Women’s Law Center & Morrison & Foerster LLP. (2010). Brief of amici curiae National Women’s Law Center et al. in support of plaintiffs—appellants brief urging reversal. Appeal from the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Louisiana. Case 10-30378, Document 00511133313. Date filed June 4, 2010. Office for Civil Rights. (2006). Final regulations non discrimination on the basis of sex in education programs or activities receiving federal financial assistance. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Education. Retrieved August 22, 2009, from www.ed.gov/legislation/FedRegister/ finrule/2006-4/102506a.html. Orfield, G. (2009). Reviving the goal of an integrated society: A 21st century challenge. Los Angeles, CA: The Civil Rights Project/Proyecto Derechos Civiles at UCLA. Pickard, D. (2010, October). The role of research in ending illegal sex segregated public education. Research on Women and Education 36th Annual Fall Conference, Philadelphia, PA. President’s Council of Advisors on Science and Technology. (2010). Prepare and inspire: K–12 science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM) education for America’s future. Washington, DC. Retrieved


September 20, 2010, from http://www.whitehouse.gov/sites/default/ files/microsites/ostp/pcast-stemed-report.pdf. Sadker, D., Sadker, M., & Zittleman, K. R. (2009). Still failing at fairness: How gender bias cheats girls and boys in school and what we can do about it. New York: Scribner. Salomone, R. (2007). Public single-sex and coeducational schools. In B. Bank (Ed.), Gender and education: An encyclopedia (Vol.1, pp. 217–225). Westport, CT: Praeger. Sandler, B., & Stonehill, H. (2005). Student-to-student sexual harassment in K–12: Strategies and solutions for educators to use in the classroom, school, and community. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Education. South Carolina Department of Education website on single gender initiatives. (n. d.). Retrieved September 10, 2010, from http://www.ed.sc.gov/ agency/Innovation-and-Support/Public-School-Choice-and-Innovation/ SingleGender/Index.html. Stone, L. (2007). Turning back the clock: How the Department of Education’s 2006 amendments violate the Constitution and undermine the purpose of Title IX. Arlington, VA: Feminist Majority Foundation. Retrieved September 15, 2010, from http://www.feminist.org/education/pdfs/StonePaper.pdf. The triumphs of Title IX. (2007, fall). Ms Magazine, 27(4), 42–47. Retrieved March 2, 2011, from http://www.feminist.org/education/ TriumphsOfTitleIX.pdf. Title IX defined. (n.d.). Retrieved September 15, 2010, from http:// www.feminist.org/education/titleix.asp. Tobias, S. (1993). Overcoming math anxiety. New York: W. W. Norton. Tyack, D., & Hansot, E. (1990). Learning together: A history of coeducation in American public schools. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. U.S. Department of Education. (2001). Gender equity expert panel: Exemplary & promising gender equity programs 2000. Office of Educational Research and Improvement, Washington, DC ISBN 0-16050904-1. Retrieved September 15, 2010, from http://www2.ed.gov/ pubs/genderequity/index.html.


U.S. Department of Education, Office of Planning, Evaluation and Policy Development, Policy and Program Development Studies Service. (2005). Single-sex versus coeducational schooling: A systematic review. Washington, DC. Retrieved September 15, 2010, from http:// find.ed.gov/search?q=Single-sex+versus+coeducational&client =default_frontend&output=xml_no_dtd&proxystylesheet=default _frontend&sa.x=27&sa.y=7&sa=submit. U.S. Department of Justice & U.S. Department of Education. (2010). Brief to support ACLU Vermilion Parish appeal. Case 10-30378. Document 00511133244 Date filed June 4, 2010. Retrieved September 15, 2010, from http://educationaltruths.yolasite.com. Women’s Educational Equity Act (WEEA). (2010, August 23). Draft language prepared for inclusion in the Elementary and Secondary Education Act of 2011. Feminist Majority and National Organization for Women. Retrieved November 20, 2010, from www.feminist.org/education.

8 Understanding Gender-Based Leadership Learning Behaviors Shannon R. Flumerfelt, Lindson Feun, and C. Robert Maxfield

Understandings in the field of leadership development have changed in recent times in significant ways. The purpose of this chapter is to enhance this body of knowledge by extending it to consider gender-based leadership learning schema for emerging educational leaders. This chapter is intended to contribute on two fronts: to the business case for organizational investment in aspiring leaders and to the developing pedagogy of leadership learning so that the organizational investment in aspiring leaders is maximized. The chapter includes perspectives regarding some of the current conditions impacting leadership development, the need for improved leadership training programs, and gender differences in leadership learning behaviors. In addition, a study of emerging educational leaders is presented where differences in leadership learning behaviors by gender are described. The study uncovers that there are “two handfuls” of leadership learning behaviors that are significantly different for females. As schools desire to better develop corporate capacity through effective talent-management initiatives, these findings provide helpful insight on where learning differentiates for female and male leaders and how to incorporate those differences into leadership development programming.

195


Literature Review The Strategic Significance of Leadership Development Human Resource Strategy Leadership development is a respected element of human resource strategy and is often a core value in talent management, training and development, and human capital management initiatives (Frauenheim & Scally, 2008). In fact, organizations are prone to focus on specifically managing the talent of aspiring and established leaders versus all generic employee groups in an organization. This means that human resource efforts are increasingly concerned with first identifying and then assisting in the learning and performance of their emerging and practicing leaders. This human resource strategy is situated in an environment where human resource operations are becoming more engrossed in talent development, performance management, and leadership succession by creating capacity with current employees (McCauley & Wakefield, 2006). Hence, out of both internal corporate needs within the organization and external forces upon the organization, it is best practice for the core mission of human resource services to be strategically linked to leadership development initiatives. Increases to leadership development programming are evident in the education sector from national, state, and local initiatives. Arne Duncan (as cited by Johnson, 2009), Secretary of Education, states that education leadership development is linked to school improvement. The U.S. Department of Education (2009) supports many leadership development projects in states such as Massachusetts, Illinois, Ohio, Tennessee, California, and Kentucky. Local initiatives abound as well, such as the initiative presented by Joel I. Klein, Chancellor of New York City’s Department of Education, where $4,229 per building is allocated for participation in leadership development training (personal communication, March 31, 2009). Organizational Strategy Beyond the work of human resource professionals in organizations, leadership development is also encouraged as a core organizational strategy. For example, Day (2000) proposes leadership development as one venue for organizational capacity building, and Gronn (2003) describes the “discourse of leadership as a vehicle for representing organizational practice”

Understanding Gender-Based Leadership Learning Behaviors 197

(p. 267). Further, these views indicate that this approach is an essential one whereby the survival and sustainability of organizations depends on leadership development as a core overall strategy. Embracing leadership development as organizational strategy is based on the simple case of leadership as a resource in high demand yet in low supply. The scarcity of leadership in use is a severe problem, a welldocumented crisis that reinforces the need for leadership development strategies, and in public sectors, this problem is acute. There is a need for organizational strategy to develop leaders, as a lack of talent management and succession planning are creating the conditions for a major leadership crisis (Tierney, 2006). Fullan and Ballew (2001) believes that effective leadership development has been lax in spite of prolific opportunities to lead, resulting in a problematic gap in schools. While many organizations deal daily with the problems of scarcity of leadership, there are two barriers that impede the adoption of leadership development as strategy, a lack of understanding of what leadership is and a lack of female leadership development. The first barrier, a misunderstanding as to what leadership is, has been explored as a common organizational phenomenon. Gronn (2003) provides insight into this barrier as confusion presides between what leadership is and what leaders do (navigate change, transform) versus what management is and what managers do (maintain status quo, transact). He contends that these differences must be made clear to adequately address the leadership crisis and before leadership development can become organizational strategy. As Gronn does, Peterson (2006) traces the scarcity of leadership to the root cause of the proliferation of management ill conceived as leadership. He points out that it is difficult to find sustaining and authentic organizational leadership practices, while it is easy to find management in use, further igniting the leadership shortage crisis. As Porter-O’Grady and Malloch (2007) state, the differences in the way organizations are lead are due to their ability to respond to drastic changes in the essence and nature of work as defined in the information age. This barrier of confusion between leadership and management occurs because defining leadership on a pragmatic level proves difficult (Wilmore & Cornell, 2001) because school administrators often operate under a vision of what school leaders should be like, not under their actual on-site performances in real time. This causes more confusion when leadership conceptualizations are disconnected from


leadership practice. Bolman and Deal (2003) bluntly describe the results of this phenomenon, a scarcity of leadership in use, as the “curse of cluelessness” in organizations. This barrier to overcoming the leadership scarcity problem in organizations and the misunderstanding of what leadership is must be addressed to facilitate leadership development as an organizational strategy. The second barrier to overcoming the overall scarcity of leadership and the adoption of leadership development as a core organizational strategy is the lack of female talent management. Wilson (2007) describes this problem well as she points out that while women represent 46 percent of the workforce, leadership positions are dominated by males. This disparity is alarming as she describes further that women make up “only 9.4 percent of top executives and 15.6 percent of corporate officers” and, further, “a mere 14.6 percent of board seats in five hundred of the country’s largest companies” (p. xii). These percentages of female leadership positions are out of proportion to the total workforce numbers and the market presence of women. Furthermore, these percentages undermine the established case for the diversification of organizational leadership (Wolfman, 2007). There are many disparaging situations related to the lack of female leadership in public schools. As Noel-Batiste (2009) states, “less than five percent of public school superintendents are women and less than twentyseven percent of public secondary school principals are women (Digest of Educational Statistics, 2004). Despite the fact that teaching has remained a feminized profession, educational administration continues to be dominated by males (Glazer, 1991, making this disparity one of education’s most challenging issues” (online). There is mounting moral outrage and concern for the economic impact of such discrimination (McKenna, 2007). It is indeed a strange situation that there exists a shortage of leaders with a supply of female leaders available. This is an unfortunate barrier to leadership development with poor consequences, a missed opportunity to benefit organizations and society (Penney, Brown, & Oliviera, 2007). So, as organizations understand the importance of leadership development as a core organizational strategy, they must also understand that there is a barrier to overcome in regard to female leadership development. When leadership development is more strategically focused on current goals and benchmarks of the organization, there is also a need to increase


understandings of the philosophical and contextual underpinnings of personal leadership development and practice. Under these conditions, leadership is understood as effective performance and demonstrated potential for positively impacting the organization, particularly when it comes to female leadership development and the case for leadership diversification. Wolfman (2007) advocates for urgency in advancing the case for female leaders: “What remains to be seen is whether the proponents of leadership diversity are able to build strategic coalitions that can catalyze these forces and make sure that the transformation process will be measured in years rather than decades” (p. 62). McKenna (2007) also contributes to this issue, saying, “The nation needs to maximize all human capital, in order to meet our own challenges and stay competitive in this global economy” (p. 7). So the need to advance the pedagogical issues of leadership development programming so that the deliverable of a diverse workforce at all levels can be obtained is the crux of why female leadership development matters for organizations. Leadership Learning as Schema Many support the organizational case for the development of leaders with renewed insights into what leadership development entails, representing breakthrough conceptualizations about leadership as a system of learning (Bennis, 1999; Blanchard & O’Connor, 1997; Goleman, 1995; Kouzes & Posner, 1995). Such evolved approaches advance leadership development beyond traditionally conceived checklists of competencies, which solely focus on what the leader does. What is being discovered is that what a leader thinks and how a leader develops and learns is intricately connected to what he or she does. These ideas reinforce understandings of leadership as a system of interconnected interactions of what a leader understands, believes, and does (Barth, 2001). In current times, practitioners of leadership find that explicitly simple leadership principles (Blanchard & O’Connor, 1997; Kouzes & Posner, 1995) are operationalized in decidedly systemic ways (Barbuto & Burbach, 2006; Goleman, 1995) involving highly complex workplace interactions (Johnson, Manyika, & Yee, 2005). Jenlink (2006) describes this as a constructivist view of leaders accessing different pools of knowledge, contexts, and routines.


Furthermore, Avolio (1999) proposes that when leadership is understood as a system, it is possible to consider ranges of performance, including leadership optimization. For instance, a recent study conducted by Hirst, Mann, Bain, Pirola-Merola, and Richver (2004) identified a constructivist development of leadership learning schema over a time period required to transform schema to skills in use in a way that impacted team performance. This means that leadership learning extends beyond formal training programs and into personalized preferences and individualized timelines for developing leadership capacity. In turn, organizations have found that best practice for leadership development involves alignment of organizational values and goals with training initiatives and performance evaluations. Competency-based models of what organizations want leaders to know, value, and be able to do are presented with accompanying learning experiences designed to impact epistemology and practice (Flumerfelt, 2006). As aspiring leaders are identified in organizational settings, significant and increasing effort is allocated for a more targeted approach to leadership development. Leadership Programs Hence, while leadership development is better understood now than it was in the past, there is still much to learn about it (Bennis, 1999). In current times, while a topic of great popularity, there is not a shared understanding and enlightened application of leadership learning systems to development programming. And as it stands, in general, leadership programs struggle to keep up with the nature and pace of change in the field (Brown, 2003). In other words, as leadership becomes more complex in use, process-based theories must be developed so that leadership training programs can align accordingly. Instead of program design based on content, Murphy (2006) suggests principled program design. Peterson (1986) pointed this out as well and identified irrelevant coursework and leadership requirements as having little significance for school leadership practice, for example. In other words, there is a need for a better understanding of the processes and results of leadership learning in terms of formulating program design around the learner, not simply content outcomes. Hence, while leadership development is theoretically aligned with process-based approaches to


leadership learning, training and development programs typically do not employ teaching methodology or accompanying assessment tools to measure such leadership learning processes. While such programs may present leadership practice under an enlightened paradigm of content delivery, they often fail to understand or assess leadership development processes as a part of the participant’s learning in a similar manner. This becomes significant when leadership learning, organizational goals, and stakeholder needs are aligned as benchmarks for performance. McGough’s (2003) study of the learning processes of practicing school principals indicates that there are several complex elements in use during leadership improvement initiatives. Research provides evidence that process-based models are used in adult leadership learning (Argyis, 1991; Daley, 2000; Senge, 1990; Sergiovanni, 1992). These theorists understand adult learning as an interactive relationship between knowledge and practice (Kanungo, 2001; Kedro, 2004; Prabhakar, 2005). So then, process-based approaches in identifying and understanding various systems of learning behaviors have a solid tradition in research. Therefore, precedence for conceptualizing learning as phenomena and then analyzing patterns of learning behavior into a schema or a system has been clearly established as a viable method for understanding it better. The application of systems-based analyses to learning behaviors is helpful in delineating the relational components of learning. It allows for mapping out the scope and sequence of the elements of the learning processes studied. The application of process-based thinking in regard to leadership development is important because such conceptualizations allow for enriched understandings through the examination of multiple elements at a time; consideration of how different elements interact and interrelate; and understanding what the scope and sequence of process interactions are. As one contemplates both the simplicity and complexity of leadership and engages in “sense-making” as a leader, several types of learning behaviors are used. Hence, there is a need for research focused on the actual behaviors in use when learning about leadership. McCormick and Martinko (2004) advocate for such research in a study of leadership social cognitions as they posit that such research would amount to documentation of learning processes in use that would uncover patterns of behavior. Such a study has been attempted and is presented later in this chapter, focusing on emerging


female leaders’ learning schema. However, before presenting the study, some background on leadership learning related to gender is needed so that the results of the study can be better understood. Gender and Leadership Learning There are differences in leadership learning by gender. As these leadership differences between genders are examined, researchers have separated the complexities of gender-based social/power interactions from genderbased leadership differences. Rosenberg (2008) describes this phenomenon as gender-biased beliefs creating gender-biased interaction effects and non-gender-biased beliefs creating non-gender-biased interactions. Ridgeway (1999) also delineates leadership learning and performance from gender bias in a similar by recognizing that gender bias can be eliminated in interaction through equality in leadership development initiatives and that it is legitimate to simultaneously recognize differences in genders. In addition, Ridgeway (1999) provides evidence that bias-free workplaces are more successful. In considering gender-based differences in leadership learning and development, then, researchers have been clear about distinguishing this area of study from gender-based leadership effectiveness. As a result of a literature review on this, Thompson (2000) states that although leadership style and expression may differ, “men and women were equally effective” (p. 969); therefore, there is a need for accepting the inherent cognitive complexity in leadership learning regardless of gender. The separation of leadership effectiveness from leadership learning and leadership style is reinforced in the work of Rosener (1990), where differences in female leaders were noted as more personally than organizationally dependent for authority. Rosener overall describes females as more transformational and interactive than their male counterparts, more willing to share both power and information. Eagly, Karau, and Johnson’s (1992) meta-analysis of school principals similarly found that while there were no differences in effectiveness, females shared power more, provided interactive venues more, and completed more tasks than males. Scott and Brown (2006) found significant differences in male and female leadership behaviors and accessibility to agentic versus communal protocols, with females accessing agentic protocols less than males. Yoder


and Kahn’s (2003) review of the literature concludes that given identical settings, both broad and specific societal structures do impact males and females differently. Inherent in these findings are the implications that the interdependence between leadership development and resulting leadership learning behaviors are different based on gender, resulting in certain gender-based advantages and disadvantages (Armett-Kibell, 2007; Eagly & Carli, 2003). In fact, Fletcher (2004) acknowledges gender-based differences in leadership and proposes that only when male/female distinctions are overtly addressed in leadership development will the inadequate status quo of the underdevelopment of both social and human capital in organizations diminish.

Description of the Study Given the value of leadership development as a human resource and organizational strategy; the scarcity of leaders, especially female leaders; and the need to understand what leadership is and how leaders develop, the following study was undertaken. The study is an effort to better understand the schema of leaders in education and to further understand if gender differences in leadership learning exist. This study was preceded by a series of initial focus group research studies in 2004 with sixteen practicing and emerging educational leaders. This preliminary research identified initial descriptions of leadership learning activity and schema. In a subsequent study in 2007 with 182 practicing and emerging leaders (Flumerfelt, Maxfield, & Feun, 2007), the reliability of thirty leadership learning behaviors was tested in a schema of knowledge, values (dispositions), and application. Background of the Study The initial focus group research in 2004 revealed that emerging and practicing leaders sincerely engaged in increasing commitment and effectiveness by using certain learning behaviors that they described as schema. There were no tests of significant differences by gender in this early research. These behaviors were first classified and systemized into nine general leadership learning elements and then specifically described as thirty leadership learning behaviors. The sixteen focus group participants


self-reported understanding leadership learning behaviors in use and how they connected those behaviors as elements. Out of the initial focus study, the descriptors of leadership learning systems were identified and behavior descriptors of the learning schema elements were detailed. It was also learned through this study that selfmanagement and self-facilitation of leadership growth was helped by identifying leadership learning systems in use. See Figure 1, which describes the identified schema elements as a system of three levels and three phases, at http://tinyurl.com/Flumerfelt. In this leadership learning schema, each level is ranked and has distinct phases. The three levels and three phases are interdependent based on feedback from the preceding growth experiences. In other words, the learner may recycle through levels or phases, depending on the feedback received or goals set. Once a benefit has been obtained from a level or phase, that learning is carried forward to the next level or phase, or concurrent development may occur. The three levels of development are Knowledge, Dispositions, and Application. Each level has three similar phases named SelfAwareness, Group Awareness, and Others’ Awareness. In total, nine elements are represented by Levels (Knowledge, Dispositions, Application) and Phases (Self, Group, Others) as Knowledge-Self, Knowledge-Group, Knowledge-Others, Dispositions-Self, Dispositions-Group, DispositionsOthers, Application-Self, Application-Group, and Application-Others. What became evident through these initial studies was that all of the participants were able to think about their leadership understandings, values, and performances in an intelligent way and then articulate those processes as behaviors schema. In all, thirty leadership learning behaviors were identified through the focus group research listed in Table 8.1. The results of this 2004 study provided descriptions of leadership learning behaviors useful in understanding how leader participants describe their learning processes. This study revealed that leadership learning processes are not generic or random, but rather are systemic, deliberate, specific, and individualized based on learning preferences. For the second study in 2007 with 182 participants, the thirty leadership learning behaviors were examined demographically and tested for reliability based on desirability and frequency of use. The demographic analyses included comparisons by practicing and emerging leader groups and then by years of service, position, and gender within those groups.

TABLE 8.1 List of 30 Leadership Learning Behaviors by Level and Phase Learning Behaviors

Level

Phase

Take notes, journal, self-talk about leadership

Knowledge

Self

Compare personal leadership knowledge with scholarly work, test for validity, evidence, robustness

Knowledge

Self

Contemplate leadership expectations/ plan how to use concepts, strategies, decision-making strategies

Knowledge

Self

Examine leadership mistakes and how to improve

Knowledge

Self

Learn from a mentor

Knowledge

Group

Discuss potential results of new concepts with family, peers, allies, leaders

Knowledge

Group

Talk informally, “hallway talk,” about leadership

Knowledge

Group

Talk with others about leadership ideas and seek support, criticism

Knowledge

Others

Seek to understand what others know about leadership

Knowledge

Others

Use new language, strategies, ideas to solve, mediate, manage change, or connect theory to general settings

Knowledge

Others

Read, research, talk, observe if leadership theories have personal relevance and relate to my prior knowledge

Knowledge

Others

Lead in new ways based on theory, research, or documentation

Knowledge

Others

Understand leadership constructs to influence others, share information where some are unfamiliar

Knowledge

Others

Self-direct leadership development activities

Dispositions

Self

Consider depth of personal relevance, benefits/values, costs/risks of leadership

Dispositions

Self

Self-reflect on dispositions and aligning actions of leadership

Dispositions

Self

Construct personal meaning of values by expression and quoting others

Dispositions

Others

(continued)

206 Women as Leaders in Education Table 8.1 (continued) Learning Behaviors

Level

Phase

Develop original ideas and share those with stakeholders

Dispositions

Others

Establish new boundaries in professional, personal relationships by taking risks to advance leadership

Dispositions

Others

Inspire others to lead

Dispositions

Group

Talk with others on benefits of sharing about leadership problems

Dispositions

Group

Identify leadership disposition strengths/ weaknesses

Dispositions

Group

Have confidence in my ability to lead

Application

Self

Self-analyze, -develop, -evaluate how/ when to lead, grow/change

Application

Self

Discuss leadership with my family

Application

Group

Motivate self to pursue more leadership as others rely on me

Application

Others

Admit when wrong, share apologies

Application

Others

Lead from experience

Application

Others

Survey stakeholders assessing my leadership to set goals

Application

Others

Receive compliments, expressions of confidence by others

Application

Others

Table 8.2 below lists the reliability results of the thirty learning behaviors by the emerging leaders and practicing leaders. Table 8.2 illustrates that the results of the reliability tests showed that each of these thirty learning behaviors was both highly desirable and frequently used for both emerging and practicing leader participants. In turn, the behaviors were also ranked for frequency and desirability, which showed that for both practicing and emerging leaders, some Application Development behaviors were the most popular, followed by some Values Development behaviors, and then followed by some Knowledge Development behaviors. The significance of this finding is the general schema preference for applications-based learning experiences, followed by values-based experiences, then knowledge experiences.

Understanding Gender-Based Leadership Learning Behaviors 207 TABLE 8.2 Reliability Tests of Leadership Learning Behaviors by Emerging/Practicing Leaders Emerging Leaders Cases

Valid

N = 73

% = 91.3

Excluded

N=7

% = 8.8

Total

N = 80

% = 100.0

Cronbach’s Alpha

N of Items

0.922

30

Cronbach’s Alpha

N of Items

0.922

30

Practicing Leaders Cases

Valid

N = 58

% = 92.1

Excluded

N=5

% = 7.9

Total

N = 63

% = 100.0

In addition, the study presented here indicates that the demographic data were useful in terms of understanding differences in learning behaviors and differences in the type of learning element preferred and used based on stage of leadership (emerging or practicing) and gender. Hence, it was helpful to analyze the data from the study to determine where significant differences by demographics occurred. For the practicing leaders, there were no significant differences by gender, years of service, position, or job type. For the emerging leaders, there were no significant differences by years of service, position, or job type. However, the results presented below examine significant differences by gender in the leadership learning behaviors of the emerging leaders. So, while leadership learning systems for practicing leaders were not significantly different by gender, for emerging leaders there were differences by gender for the emerging female leaders in the study.

Methods of the Study A survey with thirty items and five demographic responses was designed by the researchers and mailed to 140 emerging leadership program participants in a three-county region. The leadership program was offered by a Midwestern university as a part of a multicounty consortium devoted to leadership talent development for K–12 schools. Confidentiality was maintained using double-blind procedures where consent forms were mailed


separately from surveys. It was assumed the emerging leader participants would participate out of loyalty to the leadership program they had participated in. Respondents were categorized into two samples of males (n = 21, 22%) and females (n = 76, 78%) to determine any differences in leadership learning behaviors of these emerging leaders by gender.

Findings The data from the survey of leadership learning behaviors were disaggregated to determine if there were any statistically significant differences on how various groups responded to the survey. Emerging leaders were asked to rate each learning behavior using a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 representing the lowest importance and 10 signifying the highest importance in terms of preference and frequency of use. The Chi Square Test of Significance was used to disaggregate the data with a level of significance set at 0.05. The 102 surveys returned (56%) were disaggregated by years of service, position, job placement, and gender. With the number of missing cases, the Ns for each analysis ranged from 95 to 97 leaders. Interestingly, the date analyses indicated gender was the only important factor in producing significant differences in the disaggregation of the thirty learning behaviors. The following 11 leadership learning behaviors that produced significant results by gender are described below. Learning about leadership from a mentor—Twenty-three females (30.3%) rated this learning behavior as highest importance, while only two males rated this behavior as highest importance (9.5%). Males were more likely to assign a value of 7 (33.3% or seven males) to this learning behavior. Contemplating what is expected of a leader by planning how leadership concepts, decision-making processes, and strategies can be used—A total of twenty-two females (28.9%) rated this behavior as highest importance, while no males rated this behavior as highest importance. Eight males assigned this learning behavior a value of 8 and eight assigned a value of 9 (33.1%). Using new language, new strategies, new ideas to solve problems, mediate conflict, manage change, or connect leadership theory to


generalized situations—Twenty-eight of the females (37.3%) rated this behavior as highest importance, while only two of the males (9.5%) rated this behavior as highest importance. Nine males selected 8 (42.9%) for this behavior. Performing self-directed leadership development activities— A total of twenty-five females (32.9%) rated this as highest importance, while only two males (9.5%) gave a similar rating. Male ratings were distributed across the scale with no dominant choice. Talking with confidants and noting the benefits of sharing about personal leadership dispositions, considerations, and common solutions to leadership dilemmas—Females (twenty-six or 35.1%) were more likely to rate this behavior as highest importance than males (two and 9.5%, respectively). Males were more likely to assign a rating of 7 (38.1% or eight males). Inspiring peers to get involved in leadership—A total of nineteen females or 25.0 percent marked this behavior as highest importance, whereas no males assigned this rating. Males were more likely to select 7 or 8, which represented 33.3 percent and 28.6 percent (seven and six males, respectively). Discussing leadership with my family—Fifteen females (20.0%) marked this behavior as highest importance, with no males assigning this rating. Male responses were fairly evenly distributed across the scale from lowest importance (19.0%) to 4 through 8 (14.3% to 19.0%). Having confidence in my ability to lead—Forty-two females (55.3%) gave this behavior a rating of highest importance, while eight males (38.1%) gave a similar rating. Males were more likely to assign a value of 8 (33.3% or seven males). The predominant second choice for females was 9 (26.3% or twenty females). Self-analyzing, developing self-awareness, self-evaluating how and when to lead, how to grow/change/improve as a leader, and impact a system—A total of forty-seven females (61.8%) gave this behavior a rating of highest importance and six males (28.6%) gave a similar rating. Six additional males assigned a value of 8 and five marked 9 (23.8%) for this behavior.


Receiving compliments and expressions of confidence in me as a leader by colleagues/administrators, staff, subordinates—Twentyfour females (31.6%) gave this behavior a rating of highest importance and only one male (4.8%) did likewise. Males were more likely to assign a rating of 8 (28.6% or six males) to this behavior. Motivating myself to pursue greater endeavors when I realize others rely on me—A total of forty-four females (57.9%) rated this behavior as highest importance, while six males (28.6%) gave a similar rating. Seven males (33.3%) gave a rating of 9. With all eleven analyses, females were more likely to rate each learning behavior higher than their counterparts. The predominant rating for females was highest importance. Males were more inclined to assign a value of 7 to 9 for each learning behavior. Placing these behaviors into a matrix as outlined in Table 8.3 below based on the nine general leadership learning elements described previously in Table 8.1 indicated that female leadership behavior differences include eight of the nine elements of the leadership learning schema, excluding Values-Others. In general, Table 8.3 illustrates a wide range of in-use gender-distinctive highly ranked leadership learning elements by emerging female leaders. More specifically, it highlights gender differences based on importance for eleven out of thirty possible behaviors. In other words, these eleven leadership learning behaviors were more significantly important to emerging female leaders than to emerging male leaders.

Discussion The gender differences in leadership approaches and learning provide some insight into these results. The work of authors reviewed above, specifically Rosener; Eagly, Karau, and Johnson; and Scott and Brown, provide some concepts for understanding these results of highly used and highly preferred female leadership learning behaviors. While all thirty of the leadership learning behaviors under study were ranked as highly desirable and frequently used by both genders, the eleven behaviors with significantly higher rankings for desirability and frequency of use can be aligned with gender-based leadership learning theories. Because the study highlights

TABLE 8.3 Significant Emerging Leader Female Differences in Leadership Learning Behaviors Level

Phase

Leadership Learning Behavior

Knowledge

Self

Contemplating what is expected of a leader by planning how leadership concepts, decisionmaking processes, and strategies can be used

Group

Learning about leadership from a mentor

Group

Talking with confidants and noting benefits of sharing about personal leadership dispositions, considerations, and common solutions to leadership dilemmas

Others

Using new language, new strategies, new ideas to solve problems, mediate conflict, change, or connect leadership theory to generalized situations

Self

Performing self-directed leadership development activities

Group

Inspiring peers to get involved in leadership

Self

Having confidence in my ability to lead

Self

Self-analyzing, developing selfawareness, self-evaluating how and when to lead, how to grow/ change/improve as a leader and impact a system

Group

Discussing leadership with my family

Others

Receiving compliments and expressions of confidence in me as a leader by colleagues, administrators, staff, subordinates

Others

Motivating myself to pursue greater endeavors when I realize others rely on me

Values

Application


the distinction between male and female leadership learning schema, these differences may prove helpful in the leadership program design, implementation, and assessment of the participants. First, Rosener’s (1990) work identifying personally developed (versus organizationally developed) sources of power for females provides an explanation for selection of three behaviors: (1) performing self-directed leadership development activities; (2) having confidence in my ability to lead; and (3) receiving compliments and expressions of confidence in me as a leader by colleagues/administrators, staff, subordinates. These behaviors reflect an effort in self-direction and direction from interactive processes. This is a different approach of the use and application of power than from deriving it from formally designated organizational structure and policy. Hence, female preferences for personally developed power are reflected in the responses of the female participants for these three leadership learning behaviors. Second, Rosener’s (1990) work identifying transformational tendencies for females provides an explanation of three more behaviors: (1) contemplating what is expected of a leader by planning how leadership concepts, decision-making processes, and strategies can be used; (2) using new language, new strategies, new ideas to solve problems, mediate conflict, manage change, or connect leadership theory to generalized situations; and (3) inspiring peers to get involved in leadership. These behaviors are indicative of female leadership tendencies to focus on organizational learning, leadership succession, change management, and strategic work. This is a different approach to organizational development than from transactional emphases, which focus on tactical and current demands of the day. Female preferences in the study for transformational leadership development are represented by these three leadership learning behaviors. Third, Eagly, Karau, and Johnson’s (1992) study of female leadership tendencies to share power and information more than males do provides an explanation of these two behaviors: (1) learning about leadership from a mentor and (2) discussing leadership with my family. These selections are indicative of a view of power and information as more effective via collaboration and partnering. This is a different approach than more competitive and protective views of power and information and the risks of collaborative approaches. Female preferences in the study to distribute


power and information organizationally are represented in these two leadership learning behaviors. Fourth, Scott and Brown’s (2006) analysis of communal approaches to leadership provides insight into these two behaviors: (1) talking with confidants and noting the benefits of sharing about personal leadership dispositions, considerations, and common solutions to leadership dilemmas and (2) motivating myself to pursue greater endeavors when I realize others rely on me. These two behaviors reinforce the finding that females are more communal than agentic in leadership, hence a preference for sharing problems and solutions within a community of nurturing and embracing the needs of the organization on a personal level. In contrast, an agentic approach is less focused on the personalized views of leadership improvement and the direct impact of the leader’s effectiveness on others. Female preferences in the study for communal methods are represented in these two leadership learning behaviors. In summary, past research studies on gender-based differences in leadership improvement and development are helpful in understanding why emerging female leaders studied selected these eleven leadership learning behaviors more than males did. This study points out the tendency of female leaders to prefer and rely more frequently on these eleven different behaviors than males do in terms of how to use power to benefit leadership practice, to share information to develop enriched problem identification and solution strategies, to nurture others for leadership, to strategically develop the organization itself, and to utilize communal means of interacting for professional enhancement.

Conclusion In conclusion, the study is important to the work of leadership development initiatives when they are associated with an organizational strategy for success. It provides useful data regarding the ability of emerging educational leaders surveyed to pursue leadership development based on the generalized patterns of leadership learning. Furthermore, it provides helpful information in terms of distinguishing developmentally appropriate program design these for emerging and practicing leaders and, furthermore, for gender-based learning preferences.


In general, this study provides information on the overall learning process of leadership development, regardless of gender, as an interchange between three areas of development—Knowledge, Dispositions, and Applications—and three levels of development—Self, Group, and Others. This study provides evidence that for the participants, leadership development is a complex process of interrelated elements and is clearly not pursued in a linear manner, but rather systemically. Hence, this leadership development initiative should consider program design that matches process-based learning in terms of selection of learning objectives and goals, design of learning tools and activities, and assessment options. More specifically, when considering the popularity of preferences for Applications Development opportunities selected by the participants, the importance of experiential learning for leadership development emerges. Experiential learning does challenge traditional leadership program design, which tends to lead with and emphasize content delivery. While an important and a highly reliable learning behavior for all participants, knowledge development was least highly ranked as preferred. Instead, participants indicated a most highly ranked preference for simulation, mentorship, internship, and field-based work regardless of gender. Hence, program owners should provide such learning experiences frequently, even as leading program activities. Most specifically, the study highlights the distinct differences by emerging female leaders for eleven leadership learning behaviors. These behaviors represent gender-based preferences and can be helpful in program redesign in terms of facilitating female leadership development. They also help program owners to understand that there are gender-based preferences in use for leadership development. So it is recommended that individualized program design, independent study options, or differentiated instruction based on gender preferences be examined to meet the needs of these emerging leaders. As organizations seek to meet the need for leaders and seek to understand what leaders do, the more informed the pursuit of leadership development is, the sooner this goal will be realized. Hence, developing an understanding of leadership learning behaviors and gender differences for emerging leaders adds to this body of knowledge. The distinctions between the male and female emerging leaders in this study on eleven


leadership learning behaviors were significant. Recommendations for future study include replication with participants from other leadership programs and, if possible, increasing the degree of randomization. It is hoped that this initial work will serve those interested in leadership development in schools and enable them to tap into the pool of talent represented by aspiring female leaders.

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9 Women in Administration: Differences in Equity Marjorie Ringler, Cheryl McFadden, and Valjeaner Ford

Introduction Discriminations based on gender, ethnicity, and sex-role stereotypes in education are common within bureaucratic school governance (Benjamin, 2004). In the early 1900s, women were kept out of administrative roles because the belief in male dominance made it easy to accept that men were leaders and women were natural followers. A look at the number of women in school administration since 1905 illustrates consistent male dominance in all positions except for in the elementary school (Shakeshaft, 1989). According to Shakeshaft, “by 1928, women held 55 percent of the elementary principalships, 25 percent of the county superintendencies, nearly 8 percent of the secondary school principalships, and 1.6 percent of the district superintendencies” (p. 34). Although at first glance, these statistics seem significant, the jobs were lower paying, lower status, and lower power positions than the ones held by men. Compounding gender inequities are the racial inequities among males and females and the larger population of adults in the job market. There are many issues that affect the educational attainment among ethnic minorities that will impact their attainment in school leadership. This chapter will discuss gender, ethnic, and salary differences in school administration. In addition, this chapter will discuss how principal preparation programs affect the inequities present among school administrators. To do so, this 221


chapter discusses a study of faculty in principal preparation programs that disaggregated data based on gender and ethnicity. The data analysis draws comparisons to national trends and the findings reveal compelling results that indicate that even though there has been progress in increasing the number of women in positions of academia, there is still much work to be done in equalizing salaries for women and in diversifying the faculty ethnicity.

Women in School Administration While studies of women and their leadership in schools continue to be limited in comparison to studies of men, information does exist about women who have broken through the “glass ceiling” of school administration, and these facts and figures reveal modest representation of women in leadership roles (Restine, 1993). Sustained increases seem promising due to progressively increasing percentages of women making up the ranks of future administrators seeking graduate degrees in leadership preparation programs (Hill & Ragland, 1995). According to Gupton and Slick (1996), “women received 11 percent of the doctoral degrees in educational administration in 1972, 20 percent in 1980, 39 percent in 1982, and 51 percent in 1990” (p. 136). As a result, the numbers and percentages of women in administrative positions have increased, beginning slowly in the 1970s and accelerating in the 1980s (McFadden & Smith, 2004). Myths about women’s leadership abilities continue to be significant aspects in the selection of school administrators (Restine, 1993). Women often are encumbered by distorted images and stereotypes such as “icy virgins, fiery temptresses, and silent martyrs” (Hill & Ragland, 1995, p. 7). In addition, negative connotations are associated with the prefix woman. Witmer (2006) describes “woman’s work” as housekeeping and “women’s intuition” as guessing rather than knowing. The need for competent educational leaders demands that these stereotypical images be discarded and leaders sought from all segments of society (Hill & Ragland). Another important barrier to women in administration is gender-role or cultural stereotyping (Harris, Ballenger, Hicks-Townes, Carr, & Alford, 2004; Hill & Ragland, 1995; Regan & Brooks, 1995; Restine, 1993; Shakeshaft, 1989). It tends to place women in nonleadership roles that limit their goal orientation and inhibit their ability to recognize their

Women in Administration 223

ability to lead (Harris et al., 2004). Another explanation is that women aspire to achieve in the career they choose initially—teaching, and do not want to become principals (Shakeshaft, 1989). They do not seek administrative positions because they do not view themselves in positions of leadership (Gupton & Slick, 1996). According to Gupton and Slick, “administration in public education is male dominated and generally accepted as such by both males and females” (p. 147). A study by Thompson (2000) directly contrasted the stereotypical assertions in earlier research by revealing no differences in the perceived effectiveness of leaders regarding gender. His accumulated findings demonstrate that “the broad differences in leadership styles in relation to gender and leadership effectiveness have clear implications for our understanding of how effective managers behave” (Thompson, p. 985). A new appreciation, new understanding, and greater empathy for this group will be gained by reexamining the experiences of women and acknowledging the importance of their leadership abilities (Schwartz, 1997). Another study by Papa-Lewis (1987) focused on respondents’ perceptions of selected intrinsic and extrinsic variables and access differences on these variables by gender. Intrinsic factors are psychological in nature and are aspects of the personality, values, and attitudes of the individual (aspiration level, sex-role stereotyping, lack of confidence and initiative, family or self-imposed constraints, low self-image, and negative perception of advancement opportunities). Extrinsic factors are those environmental factors that may mediate entrance into the administrative hierarchy (informal socialization and selection systems, sex-role stereotyping, sex/race/ age discrimination, lack of role models/sponsors, lack of networks, lack of support for opposition to sex-equity policies, and lack of enforcement of Title IX mandates). The study used a fifty-six-item questionnaire to obtain results of trends. The results indicated that there were no significant differences between women and men and black and white. The study found very little evidence proving that there are intrinsic factors that keep minorities and women from entering education administration. So it is believed that extrinsic factors are playing a role in the lack of women and minorities in those positions. In order to understand the differences in gender in school administration, it is important to understand the trends that exist in the demographics present in the United States and how they impact public schools.


Changing Diversity in the United States The U.S. population consisted of a Caucasian majority from the 1900s to 1960s with the significant minority population of African Americans at 12 percent and all other minorities amounting to 4 percent of the remaining minority population (Tienda & Mitchell, 2006). Since the 1960s, due to immigration and fertility patterns, the U.S. population has exhibited drastic changes in diversity, with the Caucasian majority decreasing, the African American minority remaining stable in numbers, and the Hispanic minority increasing in fast increments. Between the years 2000 and 2007, the percent change of Caucasians (2.1%) and African American (8.7%) has not been as drastic as 50.4 percent of Hispanics both born in the United States (31%) and immigrant to the United States (19.4%; Fry, 2007). According to the Pew Hispanic Center, the number of Hispanics is expected to continue its rapid growth. The projected number of immigrants’ children will increase from 12.3 million in 2005 to 17.9 million in 2020 (Fry, 2008). This projected growth is the overall expected enrollment growth in public schools. The education pipeline that develops minority children into school administrators has many breaks in its path. It is important to discuss the reasons why many minorities are not graduating from high school qualified to continue their education at universities. Reasons for educational attainment are many that can be traced to challenges present before entering public schools and that are present throughout K–12 education. The many reasons are described in the next section.

Ethnic Diversity in Public Schools The change in ethnic demographics in the United States is also reflected in the public schools. The average rate of growth of the Hispanic population enrolled in public schools between the years 1993 and 2006 has increased by more than 55 percent, comprising 19.8 percent of students, up 12.7 percent (Fry, 2007). The growing number of Hispanics in schools has increased the number of students who are likely to be English language learners (ELLs). In 1990, 32 million people in the United States over the age of five spoke a language other than English in their homes, comprising 14 percent of the total U.S. population. By 2000, that number had risen by 47 percent to nearly 47 million, comprising nearly 18 percent of the total U.S. population (U.S. Census Bureau, 2006). Nationally, the number of ELLs in public


schools increased from approximately 2 million students in 1993 to 1994 to 3 million students in 1999 to 2000 (Meyer, Madden, & McGrath, 2005). The fact that these students have limited English proficiency poses a learning challenge for students in that not only are they learning a second language but they also need to learn their academics in this second language (Short & Echevarria, 2005; Tienda, 2009). Gaps in Education The educational trends among ethnic groups indicate an increasing gap between educational attainment levels of Caucasians, African Americans, Asians, and Hispanics as determined by graduation rates. From 1970 to 2006, the high school and college graduation rates among the four ethnic groups have steadily increased (U.S. Census Bureau, 2006). However, the percentages are daunting among college graduates. By 2006, only 17 percent of African Americans age twenty-five and above completed college degrees, yet with the steady rate of population growth of this ethnic group, the number is not as impacting as is the fact that only 12 percent of similarly aged Hispanics graduated from college (U.S. Census Bureau, 2006). Asians of age twenty-five or above had the highest number of college graduates at 49 percent, but Asians represent a low percentage of the U.S. population, in contrast to Caucasians with 30 percent graduating from college. Socially, many of the Hispanic families who are moving into the United States come from low-socioeconomic backgrounds and work earnestly in the United States performing unskilled labor. This could be one reason for the educational gap; however, many of the Hispanic immigrants have children who are United States born and have attended school since kindergarten. Several reasons for the lack of educational attainment could be attributed to the parents’ literacy levels, parents’ educational attainment, and parental value of education, among many others. Many of these factors are beyond the scope and influence of public school systems. It is important, however, to discuss the ethnic diversity among school teachers and principals as they serve as role models to children in schools. Lack of Role Models Having a teaching force reflective of the diversity among the student population has the benefit of providing minority students opportunities to be


exposed to a diversity of successful role models. According to the National Center for Education Statistics (2007), the percentage of teachers who are Caucasian is 84.4 percent, while the percentage of students is 60.3 percent. The percentage of African American teachers is 8.3 percent in comparison to 16.8 percent of the student population. Hispanics represent only 5.7 percent of our teachers but make up 17.7 percent of students. Asians comprise 1.3 percent of teachers and 3.9 percent of students. American Indians represent only .4 percent of teachers and 1.3 percent of students. Teachers of diverse backgrounds also benefit students’ education attainment with their awareness of their students’ cultures and the ability to build on their students’ background experiences to bridge the gap between the school, the home, and the community and learning academics. Principals are role models as well. Similar to teachers, principals have a great influence in the schooling of the changing diverse student population. The diversity trend among principals in the U.S. reflects the lack of diversity and the need to increase minorities in positions of school leadership. In 2003 to 2004, 82 percent of all school principals were Caucasian, 11 percent were African American, 5 percent Hispanic, and 1 percent American Indian/Alaska Native. The overwhelming majority of principals are Caucasians serving in schools with diverse student populations. Salaries among principals may also be enticing for those adults that qualify for the principalship. The average annual salary for public school principals in 2003 to 2004 was $75,500, with high school principals making a higher salary ($79,400) than elementary school principals ($75,400; NCES, 2007). Adults who become principals typically come from the teaching ranks and thus to increase the number of women and the diversity of principals we need to increase the number of female teachers who chose to continue their education to become principals. To add to this, it is important to encourage diverse teaching staff to choose the school administration path. The next section discusses the role of academia in preparing female school administrators by analyzing the equity issues that permeate academia in terms of access and salary differences.

Women in Principal Preparation Programs Women comprise well over half of the teaching force in the United States, and administrators are drawn from the teaching force. Why, then, is there


such a discrepancy in the numbers of male and female administrators? Some reasons parallel those for minorities—the vicious cycle that depresses aspirations, the lack of access to “old boy networks,” and the denial of opportunity for support, mentoring, and coaching, but more importantly, a large and persistent gender wage gap. The gender wage gap is even larger in principal preparation programs for the female faculty who prepare teachers to enter the world of school administration (Benjamin, 2004). The subject of gender equity is a topic that has been discussed among numerous studies in the past that date back to the 1970s and 1980s. Administrators in public schools as well as the university level have had to establish guidelines to monitor affirmative action laws to ensure equal pay among minority faculty (women and nonwhites). Other areas of concern are women in lower senior ranks as well as tenure and non-tenure-track positions. Several studies have produced evidence of salary discrimination in favor of men faculty members. Numerous studies indicate that there has been and still exists today a gender salary difference among male and female faculty members across university campuses (Benjamin, 2004). Gender Salary Differences As time progressed (Ashraf, 1996), several studies indicated that evidence of salary discrimination against women in academia still exists and is very prevalent today across university campuses. Yes, progress has been made in some respects; however, in some cases, complaints and investigations led to corrective measures as an endeavor to remedy pay inequities in administration and the university level. Progress has been made, but at an unacceptable rate toward the equalization of male and female salaries. There have been numerous national studies conducted to bring light to the salary discrepancies of male and female faculty. A national survey conducted by the National Center for Education Statistics (NCES) indicated (Barbezat & Hughes, 2001) that male faculty had a disadvantage over female faculty, a salary gap of 27.7 percent attributed to discrimination. Estimated results from numerous studies (Ashraf, 1996; Barbezat, 2002; Ransom & Megdal, 1993) all indicate that in the late 1980s, female faculty received more of a disadvantage than their comparable male colleagues. These findings were very disappointing, debatable, and even alarming. All of the findings, however, were not totally bleak or distressing. There was a


small decline in percentage points that was characteristic of a small decline in the salary gap. These findings, however, were not true across the board; they varied according to the type of institution as well as other variables: experience, age, academic rank, marital status, and publications. The gender salary gap is quite complex and has no simple answer due to the many factors involved. Results of numerous studies propose that differences in salary among female and male faculty vary depending on the types of institutions such as comprehensive colleges and universities, liberal arts colleges and universities, doctoral universities and research universities (Maurer-Fazio & Hughes, 2002). Results have determined that women employed at research universities experience the gender gap in a larger capacity than women at the other three types of universities. This does not mean, however, that female or male faculty at other types of universities at comprehensive universities, doctoral universities, or liberal arts universities are advancing better in terms of faculty salary, race, and ethnicity. More than forty years of concentration have been given to the study of sex and ethnic differences in employment status. Analyses results of the Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System (Brown, 1997) results show that women represented only 28 percent of full-time tenured faculty but 44 percent of full-time faculty who were on a tenure track and as high as 45 percent of full-time faculty who were not on a tenure track. Startling statistics also indicate that only 20 percent of full-time professors were women, 34 percent were associate professors, 45 percent were assistant professors, and a high 51 percent were full-time instructors. The results for African Americans were also very low, representing a smaller proportion of full-time tenured than full-time tenure-track and non-tenure-track faculty. Even a smaller percentage of African American faculty was fulltime professors than full-time assistant professors. Furthermore, Hispanics and other minority faculty represented only 3 percent of full-time tenured faculty (Perna, 2001). Studies over the years have shown that women faculty and women faculty of various ethnicities hold lower ranks than male faculty when taking into account other variables such as educational achievement, experience, and institutional characteristics as well as one’s academic discipline (Toutkoushian, 1999). It has thus been determined that women full-time faculty were less likely than men to advance to tenured positions at the rank of full professor, but at the same time it has also been determined that


women were as likely as men to advance to associate professor. Research further suggests that different criteria are often applied in promotion and tenure decisions for women than for men and that African Americans were less likely than whites to hold tenured positions (Perna, 2001). A common thread that runs through most of the studies of gender and other ethnicities is evidence of wage discrimination against women in higher education at the college and university level.

Ethnicity among Higher Education Faculty Faculty at higher education institutions are not representative of the diversity present in the U.S. populations. According to the NCES (2009), in fall 2007, minority faculty composed 17 percent of the higher education faculty in the United States. Of these 17 percent, 7 percent were African American, 6 percent were Asian/Pacific Islander, 4 percent were Hispanic, and 1 percent was American Indian/Alaska Native. The remaining 83 percent of faculty were Caucasian. Thus, the majority of college campuses are predominately Caucasian, sending a message to students entering postsecondary education that jobs in higher education are more attainable for those who are Caucasian. Salaries in higher education may be an enticing factor to increase recruitment of minorities as instructional faculty at higher education institutions. Based on nine-month average salaries at Title IV degree-granting institutions, the NCES (2009) reports that assistant professors earn an average of $59,283, associate professors earn an average of $70,744, and professors earn an average of $98,020. These are enticing salaries for qualified adults. The issue is that many minorities are not graduating from high school qualified to continue their education at universities (Tienda, 2009). Reasons for educational attainment are many that can be traced to socioeconomic challenges present before entering public schools and were explained earlier in this chapter. The analysis of gender inequities in higher education and administration provides valuable insight to differences in salaries and roles of women. Salaries in academia and school administration are enticing to women and minorities; however, as described in this chapter, there are many socioeconomic factors that play a role in selecting administration and academia as careers. The next section presents a major study conducted in the


University of North Carolina (UNC) system that analyzed current faculty salaries in educational leadership programs to determine whether there are salary inequities by gender and ethnicity.

Study Design and Methodology The purpose of this study was to compare differences in equity among faculty in educational leadership programs in the University of North Carolina (UNC) system. This study examined several demographic variables among the faculty: gender, ethnicity, tenure, rank (assistant, associate, and professor) and salary. Our research hypotheses included: 1. There will be a greater percentage of male faculty than female faculty in educational leadership programs. 2. Female faculty will have lower salaries than male faculty in educational leadership programs. 3. Female faculty will have lower salaries than male faculty at all three levels of rank in educational leadership programs. 4. Minority faculty will have lower salaries than Caucasian faculty in educational leadership programs. Data Collection After obtaining Institutional Review Board approval, we contacted the University of North Carolina General Administration and requested a copy of all the 2008 to 2009 salaries in the UNC system. It should be noted that these salaries are for nine months of employment. We contacted the chairs of departments of educational leadership and/or office personnel at the eleven institutions and obtained the gender, ethnicity, rank, and tenure status. Participants Data for one hundred twenty-five faculty from eleven institutions within the University of North Carolina System were analyzed in this study. The institutions that participated included: East Carolina University (ECU), Fayetteville State University (FSU), North Carolina State University (NCSU), University of North Carolina–Chapel Hill (UNC–CH),


University of North Carolina–Charlotte (UNC–C), University of North Carolina–Wilmington (UNC–W), Western Carolina University (WCU), the University of North Carolina–Greensboro (UNC–G), North Carolina A&T (NC A&T), Appalachian State (App State), and University of North Carolina–Pembroke (UNC–P).

Results Demographics Overall out of 125 faculty, 38.4 percent of the faculty are females and 61.6 percent are males. The ethnicity of 122 faculty is as follows: 75.4 percent of the faculty are Caucasian, 19.7 percent African American, 4 percent Asian, and 0.8 percent Hispanic. Out of 122 faculty, 53.3 percent of the faculty are tenured and 46.7 percent are tenure track. Rank of 124 faculty is as follows: 41.1 percent are assistant professors, 24.2 percent are associate professors, and 34.7 percent are professors (see Table 9.1). Demographic information is presented for each institution in Table 9.2. Only the UNC–CH and the WCU have more women than men faculty. Only FSU (a historically African American university) has more minority than Caucasian faculty, although it has no female faculty in the education leadership department. The institution with the greatest disparity in salary between females and males is the NC A&T (153%), then UNC–C (31%), followed by the UNC–CH (29.9%), UNC–W (27.6%), NCSU (22.8%), App State (22%), ECU (14.5%), WCU (7.1%), and UNC–G (6.7%), where the average male salary is larger than the female salary. UNC–P is the only institution where as an average females make more than males by 13 percent, and this is due to one faculty member who is also an associate dean.

Data Analysis It was important to analyze the salary data according to gender, ethnicity, tenure status, and rank for all eleven institutions. The average salary for females is $74,586 and for males, $85,840, a difference of 15 percent. The average salary for minority faculty is $78,156 while for Caucasian faculty is $82,502. The average salary for female tenured faculty is $85,267 and for male tenured faculty, $98,902, a difference of 15.9 percent. The difference between female ($66,675) and male ($65,121)

TABLE 9.1 Demographics of Department of Educational Leadership Faculty for all Institutions Gender n = 125

Ethnicity n = 125

Tenure Status n = 125

Rank n = 125

232

Female

Male

Caucasian

AA

Hispanic

Asian

Tenured

Tenured Track

Asst

Assoc

Prof

38.4%

61.6%

76%

19.2%

0.008%

0.04%

52.8%

47.2%

41.6%

24%

34.4%

(48)

(77)

(24)

(1)

(5)

(52)

(30)

(43)

Note. AA = African American.

(95)

(66)

(59)

TABLE 9.2 Demographics of Department of Educational Leadership Faculty by Institution Rank Institution ECU

% Female 38

Average Salary

% Male 61

n = 18

FSU

0

100

n=6

233 NCSU

25

75

n=8

UNC–CH n=5

60

40

% 22

Asst

50

Assoc

27

Prof

50

Asst

16

Assoc

33

Prof

50

Asst

37

Assoc

12

Prof

0

Asst

20

Assoc

80

Prof

% Minority

% Tenured

% Tenured Track

F

M

27

66

33

$81,694

$93,574

66

33

66

—

$80,138

12

50

50

$76,861

$94,454

40

80

20

$110,059

$143,046

(continued)

Table 9.2 (continued) Rank Institution

UNC–C

% Female

42

% Male

%

55

47

Asst

10

Assoc

10

Prof

72

Asst

n = 19

UNC–W

27

72

234

n = 11

WCU

9

60

40

n = 10

UNC–G

40

60

n = 10

NC A&T n=3

Average Salary

67

33

% Minority

% Tenured

% Tenured Track

F

M

26

47

52

$66,387

$86,970

18

18

81

$60,369

$77,113

0

30

70

$70,360

$75,417

20

60

40

$82,443

$88,005

100

67

33

$63,809

$161,715

Assoc

18

Prof

40

Asst

30

Assoc

30

Prof

40

Asst

20

Assoc

40

Prof

33

Asst

33

Assoc

33

Prof

App St.

36

64

n = 28

UNC–P n=7

43

57

36

Asst

18

Assoc

46

Prof

57

Asst

28

Assoc

14

Prof

4

64

36

$68,722

$84,103

43

57

43

$78,209

$65,829

235


tenure-track faculty is 2.3 percent, with females having the higher average salary. The average salary for female minority tenured faculty is $71,838 and for male minority tenured faculty, $108,288, a difference of 50.7 percent. Female Caucasian tenured faculty have an average salary of $89,743, with male Caucasian faculty being paid $96,911, a difference of 7.9 percent. Interestingly, female minority tenure-track faculty have an average salary of $65,933, with male minority tenure-track salary being $61,486, a difference of 7.2 percent. There is a 1 percent difference between female and male Caucasian tenure-track faculty, with female faculty earning slightly more than male faculty. Female faculty have lower average salaries than male faculty at all three levels of rank, with the greatest difference being at the professor level (see Table 9.3). The difference at the assistant professor level between female ($63,588) and male ($65,425) is less than 3 percent. Female associate professors have a 2.7 percent lower average salary than males of similar rank. The difference between the female ($100,427) and male faculty ($102,778) at the professor level is 2.3 percent. However, there is a 6.6 percent difference between female minority assistant professors and male minority assistant professors, with females having the higher average salary. There is a significant difference (22%) in average salary between female minority professors ($98,531) and male minority professors ($120,339).

Findings The purpose of this study was to compare differences in equity among faculty in educational leadership programs in the UNC System. We have presented our findings for each hypothesis. There will be a Greater Percentage of Male Faculty than Female Faculty in Educational Leadership Programs There are 60.4 percent more male than female faculty in educational leadership programs in the eleven institutions within the UNC System. Although women receive 50 percent of the graduate degrees in the United States and specifically 51 percent are in educational administration, this trend is clearly not evident in the UNC system (Gupton & Slick, 1996; Mason, 2009). What is interesting to note is that although the number of females

TABLE 9.3 Salaries of Department of Educational Leadership Faculty for all Institutions

Gender

Overall

Tenured

Tenure Track

Female

$74,586

$85,267

$66,675

Minority Tenured

Minority Tenure Track

Caucasian Tenured

Caucasian Tenure Track

Overall Rank

$71,838

$65,933

$89,743

$67,046

Asst Assoc

Male

$85,840

$98,902

$65,121

$108,288

$61,486

$96,911

$66,069

Minority Rank $63,588

Asst

$78,643

Assoc

$65,855 —

Prof

$100,427

Prof

$98,531

Asst

$65,425

Asst

$61,486

$80,783

Assoc

Assoc Prof

$102,778

Prof

$72,408 $120,339


in K–12 administrative positions is on the rise, this trend is not crossing over to educational leadership programs at the college and university level. Is this due to the “glass ceiling” effect or are there other possible explanations? Female Faculty Will Have Lower Salaries Than Male Faculty in Educational Leadership Programs Female faculty earned 15 percent lower salaries than male faculty in educational leadership programs within the eleven institutions in the UNC System. In fact, female faculty in eight of the eleven institutions earned less than male faculty. One institution (FSU) does not have any female tenured or tenure-track faculty. The disparity between institutions ranges from the lowest, 6.7 percent (UNC–G), to the highest, 31 percent (UNC–C). This disparity clearly indicates the need for institutions to correct the inequity and create workplaces that attract, retain, develop, and encourage advancement of women in educational institutions (Harrington & Ladge, 2009). This disparity continues when one examines female tenured faculty, who have 15.9 percent lower salaries than male tenured faculty. What is interesting to note is that this disparity does not continue when one examines tenure-track faculty. Apparently the disparity occurs after a female faculty member is tenured. Male faculty salaries increase at a faster pace than salaries of female faculty. Female Faculty Will Have Lower Salaries Than Male Faculty at all Three Levels of Rank It is therefore not surprising that female faculty have lower salaries than male faculty at all three levels of rank. Again, the disparity does not occur at the assistant tenure-track level but at the associate tenured level. Amazingly, this disparity is relatively low (2.1%) at the professor level. What will be interesting to see is if this disparity will continue when these females at the associate level reach the professor level. Minority Faculty Will Have Lower Salaries Than Caucasian Faculty in Educational Leadership Programs When we analyzed the data on minority faculty, we were not surprised to discover that minority faculty earn less (5.5%) than Caucasian faculty. We


were however, surprised at several other findings. First, while female minority faculty earn 29 percent lower salaries than male minority faculty, overall this disparity discontinues at the tenure track level. Female minority faculty at the tenure-track level earn 7.2 percent greater salaries than male minority faculty at the same level. Second, female minority faculty have 7.1 percent higher salaries than male minority faculty at the assistant professor level. However, this difference is reversed at the professor level, where male minority faculty have 22.1 percent higher salaries than female minority professors. Why do female minority assistant professors earn more than male minority assistant professors and why is this disparity reversed at the professor level? One possible explanation could be that in order to recruit minority faculty, schools need to offer competitive salaries, and female minority faculty command higher salaries. Once in the system, female minority faculty do not progress through the ranks at the level of male minority faculty due to similar reasons (glass ceiling effect) their Caucasian counterparts do not.

Implications for Women in School Administration Need to Increase Women in School Administration Even though the number of female graduates from principal preparation programs is steadily increasing, the trend is not evident in the number of women who are faculty in principal preparation programs. It is important to have role models for school administrators that are similar to the student body. Therefore, university systems should develop strategic plans in collaboration with school districts to institute programs that promote teacher leadership, resulting in teachers entering school administration. A long-range plan for this partnership should include the increase of number of women that enter academia as professors of educational leadership. Need to Decrease Salary Differentials The salary gap between men and women in administration and academia persists. In addition, this gap widens when analyzing the gaps by gender and ethnicity. Even though school districts typically have a salary system based on years of experience, it is important to modify the salary system to allow for additional factors that impact women more than men such


as sex-role stereotyping, constraints imposed by self and family, lack of confidence, and lack of sponsors/mentors. A strategic and effective approach is to institute a mentoring plan upon entering the teaching profession that focuses on more than just becoming a better teacher. The mentoring should also focus on building leadership skills, enhancing confidence, and flexibility to accommodate family commitments. The salary system should allow for the factors of the mentoring process and treat both men and women equitably. Decrease Ethnic Differentials The ethnicity gap is perhaps larger than the gender gap in terms of representation and salary. It is important to institute a systemic approach that encourages minority children to not only graduate but also graduate with aspirations to return to the school system as teachers and school administrators. To do so, the profession of education needs a salary overhaul. By increasing the salaries earned as educators, the profession will be able to compete with other professions that make higher salaries and therefore recruit top-quality teachers and leaders that will make a significant impact in schools. The same argument applies to principal preparation programs. It is the responsibility of higher education programs to diversify their faculty from one that is predominantly male to add more females and ethnic minority females. Therefore, universities of higher education must consider changing salary structures to offer equal opportunities for women.

Conclusion With the changing diverse population in the United States, it is important to continue to recruit and retain teachers and principals reflective of the population changes. These two job roles are the basis for recruitment for educational leadership programs not only for program enrollment but also for faculty recruitment. Salaries commensurate with the field and the cost of living are enticing factors in recruiting faculty to teach in higher education institutions. This study reflects many inequities that still exist along gender and ethnic lines. It is therefore important to equitably recruit and pay qualified educators into the professoriate to model and educate the future of public school students in America.


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10 Women Leaders as Superintendents: Stories of Courage and Character Deb Clarke

Knowing the limitations present in educational leadership and having fully recognized the inherent challenges to be faced in making the decision to pursue administration in the early 80s, part of my positive self-talk was the mantra, “If I become a high school principal by age 50, I will buy a Mercedes.” The statement served as much-needed levity in my struggle to break through the glass ceiling to the secondary principalship because at that time, owning a Mercedes was as foreign to me as the notion of becoming a female secondary principal. Even though I pursued an education as a means to move out of an impoverished environment, the only acceptable career options for women in the early 70s were nursing, teaching, or becoming a secretary. Raised by a mother who quit high school at age sixteen and a father who was an auto factory worker and held an evening job as a meat cutter at Kroger, I was raised to believe that attaining an education was the only means possible to change one’s life. My mother’s dream was for her children to attend college; thus, she made sure our career paths and choices ensured access. This chapter tells the story of my career advances to positions of leadership that culminate in the superintendency. This story is supported by the research literature and highlights the barriers and themes that intersected my path, as well as the paths of other women leaders. Grogan (as cited in Brunner, 1999) indicated the need for women to tell their stories 245


as superintendents, knowing they often portray a candid representation of the difficulties and rewards in the rise to positions of leadership. Brunner (1998) noted the importance of women in the profession serving as role models to other women aspiring to leadership in education. I began my career as a teacher in the mid 70s, and over the next decade as a master’s student, I learned that the path to leadership positions and the superintendency was filled with challenges for women. Hackett’s research (1998), published in Van Tuyle and Watkins (2009), noted that barriers women faced included the following: (a) sexual stereotyping by board members and in the work force and (b) men threatened by competence. Shakeshaft’s early research (1980), noted in Van Tuyle and Watkins (2009), compiled a review of research from 1973 through 1978 and found sex favoritism, gender bias, marginalization, and discrimination as barriers for continued study. Additional barriers included by Van Tuyle and Watkins (2009) were gender discrimination in employment opportunities and the demands of family responsibilities. Van Tuyle and Watkins (2009) indicated the reality that women were often seen as less capable than men and, as a result, were relegated to less superior roles. Van Tuyle and Watkins (2009) recognized that a significant personal barrier that women faced was self-confidence. Noting that networking and mentoring opportunities were most often related to male athletic activities or coaching, women sometimes missed valuable connections. Gender bias, marginalization, and discrimination in the realm of education have been some of the most prominent and troubling barriers for women. Researcher Skrla (2003) page 248 . . . cited Bjork’s (1999) study by the U.S. Department of Labor, which indicated that the CEO position most populated by Caucasian males in the 90s was the superintendency. Skrla (2003) goes on to cite Banks, who indicates that men have a 1 in 40 chance of becoming a superintendent, whereas women have a 1 in 900 chance in assuming the position. Statistics have continued to verify the minimal representation of women leaders, a fact daunting in itself. In a later publication, Shakeshaft was cited by Van Tuyle and Watkins (2009) for research that highlighted a series of changes required for women to gain access to the role of superintendent, knowing that the rigidity of the current system was not favorable for women. However, despite these attempts, Skrla (2003) noted discouragement that the current data available have shown that little has changed.

Women Leaders as Superintendents 247

Research documents the reality that gender discrimination significantly minimizes access to higher positions. Brunner (1998) indicates that women served as 70 percent of the teaching population but represented only 7 percent of the superintendents. In the 100 years, statistics have shown that women have filled only 5 to 7 percent of all superintendent positions nationwide. Recent data published in a companion study by Van Tuyle and Watkins (2009) recognized Glass and Franceschini’s America Association of School Administrators (AASA) study (2007) showing that only 6.7 percent of women in 1950 served as superintendents compared with 21.7 percent in 2006. They also found the average age to be 54.6 years and that over half held doctorates. In fact, the women held a higher percentage of advanced degrees than did the men. The study also found that nearly 93.8 percent were white whereas only 6.2 percent represented other ethnicities. On average, fewer women were married than men; 93 percent of men were married compared to 75 percent women. This research demonstrates women had more experience, a greater percentage of advanced degrees, and knowledge of the barriers to advancement shared by female and male mentors. The reality was understood; women had to work harder as leaders to be recognized. After graduating from college, I entered my career in the mid-1970s as an elementary special education teacher. My first five years were filled with actualizing my role in the profession, working on requirements for continuing certification, and getting involved in curriculum work with both the school and district school improvement teams (SIT). Realizing early on that I eventually wanted to seek administration, I also knew that finding the mentorship of a female leader was as critical to my progress, as was district involvement. Knowing I would have to work harder as a woman to be noticed was an implicit reality that prepared me to go above and beyond in every initiative. The 1960s through the late 1970s represented decades of change. There was a belief that change would open up options in our society for minorities and women. Desegregation mandates were a reality, and though many cities were literally burning busses, others responded with positive, systematic change initiatives. Ron Edmonds, a Michigan State University professor, heralded the School Improvement Process in the 1970s in response to the Coleman Report that found schools could do little to


impact the education of impoverished children. Instead, Dr. Edmonds began a national initiative citing schools found to be effectively developing young minds. The initiative also urged school teams to come together and utilize their talents to find ways to ensure that “All means all” when pursuing student capabilities. In essence, this was an era in education that represented hope, when people saw possibilities, and options became available as previously closed doors opened up to new opportunities. This was the time when Congress passed the Elementary and Secondary Education Act in 1964 and the playing field began leveling for both the “haves” and the “have nots.” It was a time when the hand of friendship and brotherhood/sisterhood meant helping those less fortunate move forward. I worked with the SIT toward desegregation efforts at central and site locations in Ypsilanti, Michigan, with the support of the University of Michigan Program for Educational Opportunity (PEO). Those first years provided significant amounts of experience, knowledge, and leadership. After a year of training and implementation initiatives, the district desegregated well in advance of court-ordered busing, without incident; meanwhile, in my hometown of Pontiac, Michigan, people were burning buses and marching on Washington, D.C. Those years did a great deal toward establishing my leadership style as a collaborative, communicative, and consensus-building leader. They also provided me with a significant understanding of the importance of involving all stakeholders in an effective strategic plan and cemented the critical nature of interpersonal skills at play in any initiative. Continued practice helped to develop political acuity and learning occurred through watching mentors and talking with them about the strategies they utilized to advance their initiatives. Women leading school systems noted that women often use consensus building and collaboration to accomplish the goals of the organization. Women are known for the emphasis they place on empowerment as opposed to the hierarchical power more often related to men. The use of these behavior styles implicitly builds more robust accountability. In urban districts where I worked, circumstances required that schools significantly increase student achievement and simultaneously address budget shortfalls. There was a need to align revenue with expenses and eliminate deficits to ensure financial accountability. Using a collaborative


leadership style served to advance my career, and teamwork was a recurring theme evident in my background. Perhaps the strongest effect of teamwork was the ownership faculty and staff assumed when their involvement was known to be critical to the success of the organization. Early administrative training happened in Ypsilanti, where I worked from 1974 to 1990. At the time, elementary and secondary summer school principal positions were known training grounds for administrative applicants, but being limited in number, they were difficult to attain. It was fortunate for me to be granted an elementary principalship for 350 K–6 students, along with all of the incumbent responsibilities. I held this position for a number of years despite the fact that a tornado touched down in the first year, thus closing the building for two weeks and requiring us to move to a new location. That was only one of the early shows of flexibility in my career. After five years at the elementary level, I applied to teach reading and language programs at the middle school. I was hired by a principal who was aware of my reputation as being effective with all students. This principal later became the high school principal. His move became a critical factor in my transition. I also coordinated community education post-day programs and the high school WALTEC summer youth work program. As a master’s degree student who wanted to create change, I remember considering the possibility of a secondary principalship. As a high school student, I once witnessed my black classmates herded onto police buses for conducting a sit-down protest to force their high school principal to meet with the human relations committee, while white students were simply sent back to class. Raised during decades focused on civil rights, I was deeply affected by the inequities present in both society and the education profession. Witnessing experiences such as this and others spoke volumes to the intrinsic values of equity and fairness. This event was the most graphic but, combined with lessons I learned as an educator, made it more obvious that the potential to become a role model for young women, as well as to influence organizational, long-term change, clearly existed in the role of secondary principal. I also remember that administrators and teachers with whom I worked sometimes questioned my career goal. An assistant superintendent once commented, “We will let you be an elementary principal, but you’ll never become a high school principal.” Another superintendent remarked at


“happy hour” (staff socialization being a large part of those early years) that the only way I’d move beyond the elementary level was if I would sleep with him. This type of sexual harassment happened more than once; it was the norm for many males in the profession. Years later when I returned for a retirement dinner of a colleague, it gave me great satisfaction to point out my success as a secondary principal in a large urban district to these same individuals, a position acquired only by demonstrating competence in my role. Skrla (2003) referred to the silence of women who fail to question such societal and cultural norms. She noted that if we are to challenge the small proportion of females who rise to this position, that silence has to end. Right or wrong, we kept quiet during those years, knowing that speaking out would place our careers and possible advancement at risk. If anything, being victimized by sexual harassment increased my belief in the need for female role models in the profession Armed with numerous experiences as a leader, I began the search process for an assistant principal or principal position outside of my district. Leaving my district was a reality of advancement because there was only one high school, and I knew that the principal planned to stay another twenty years. Although I was willing to relocate, the search process lasted for four years. I was passed over continuously despite the fact that gatekeepers often told me that I was the best prepared and most articulate candidate and that I had ample experience with leadership, professional development, and curriculum development. The bitter taste of failing to be interviewed, let alone be a finalist, grew. The failure of gatekeeping practices and search firms to yield more female leaders has been known to be a cultural problem when the profession is largely staffed by retired male superintendents. In the late 80s, Pavan (1988) studied the job search strategies of 622 aspiring leaders seeking principal, assistant superintendent, and superintendent positions. She found that women submitted more applications and had more interviews and searched longer than most men. She also found that women used nearly twice as many job search strategies as men, thirteen versus seven, and demonstrated greater efforts to overcome barriers. Thus, she found that a lack of equal representation was not due to a lack of effort. In addition, Brunner’s (1989) research cited that it usually takes women five years longer than men to acquire new positions.


How to access to these higher positions was a challenging notion. According to Van Tuyle and Watkins (2009), another barrier women faced was in being seen as equally competent as men. Women have often felt that carrying a larger workload was part of establishing credibility. As a result, women have often felt the need to increase their individual capabilities. Other barriers they cited in relation to gender bias were in the areas of networking and acceptance by their peers in established pathways and communication systems. Despite the challenges, a number of factors converged to provide me with my first secondary leadership role that included the following: (a) mentorship of the superintendent, who did not listen to naysayer comments regarding my proficiency in discipline and curriculum, (b) support of the principal who had hired me at the middle school, and (c) mentoring by a female with strong curriculum experience. Each of these individuals knew I would be an effective student advocate. In 1985, I became an assistant (class) principal at Ypsilanti High School in Ypsilanti, Michigan. At the time, the mindset was that one had to have some type of coaching experience to be successful in a secondary administrative position. This was to increase the probability one could “handle the kids” should they become unruly or confrontational. Kim and Brunner (2009) highlighted those who had had coaching positions as having greater access to secondary openings, which lead to more rapid advancement to leadership positions. The fact that I did not have that experience caused some to question if I could handle the kids. As a new assistant principal, I had to deal with several challenges. First, the district placed me in the position a month after school had started. Second, I was given the most challenging areas to supervise, including being the ninth-grade principal. Becoming an administrator during the decade that crack cocaine entered schools, I saw many youth literally become different people under the influence of this drug, and violence became their manner of handling conflict. Once again, feeling I had been given additional challenges, I was determined to hit the ground running and exceed expectations. Resolving my first fight was no small matter in a high school with 1,850 kids. I remember seeing the male teachers on lunch duty lined up against the wall with their arms crossed, leaving me to handle the fray with security. Once they knew that I would not shy away from my duty, they got involved.


As advocates for children and as administrative leaders, our role was to ensure, faculty created support systems and interventions in curriculum standards that made it possible for all children to achieve. Young and Skrla (2003) cited work by Blount (1998), Chase (1995), Grogan (1996), Shakeshaft (1997), and Skrla (1998) that advanced the importance of women in administration staying focused on the essential role of the profession: teaching and learning. Young and Skrla (2003) found that women known to administrate effective schools and had greater concerns about teaching and learning. After nearly five years of successful experience, mentors were again critical in helping me gain an interview for the position of principal in a large high school in Farmington, Michigan. The male superintendent in that district sought a candidate who was successful in dealing with diversity, accomplished in curriculum, and able to think outside the box. Sadly enough, though it was 1990, I could count the number of female principals in the state on one hand. The odds were not in my favor. Having been one of fifty-one applicants for the position, many being accomplished principals in their own right, I did not even expect to get an interview. This superintendent took a chance, however, and offered me the position despite the fact that the “good ol’ boys” were so sure the other finalist was going to get the job that they had started moving him into the office. My rise to the role of superintendent began by becoming a high school principal, but it was the mentorship of key individuals that most helped my ascent. That a woman should be hired for the position left many aghast despite my strong background in curriculum and instruction and a demonstrated track record of effectiveness with diverse cultures. To give some context, the district was moving toward a heterogeneous culture, and this was causing unnecessary upheaval and no small amount of community violence. In a large community having three high schools primarily attended by a Caucasian population, the city became home to more than sixty-nine ethnic and religious groups within a few short years. That shift caused problems, and youth became very territorial, forgetting their similarities and instead identifying their differences. Some of the major changes put into place included the following: (a) offering diversity training for staff and students, (b) establishing a police liaison program, (c) putting in place equitable procedures for discipline, and


(d) updating curriculum to require that teachers help all children. It even became necessary to take steps to ensure that faculty did not check records and throw struggling kids out of new classes, telling them they were too dumb to handle classroom demands and that they should go to counseling to find another class. Some faculty members believed ethnicity impacted intelligence, and the practice was challenged by administration. Not only did principals stop card playing during conference hours, but we also empowered a robust leadership team to engage the staff to hold higher expectations. By aligning the curriculum and eliminating class leveling, we increased academic standards. Each year faculty raised the number of students who attended advanced placement classes, took more elective academics, and raised their grades to allow for being accepted at Ivy League colleges. As a result of our students’ continuous gains in achievement, the school program was we were recognized in magazines like Newsweek as one of the top ten high schools in the state and top 100 high schools in the United States. In my first formal evaluation, I received high marks for performance but faced verbal criticism for wearing red fingernail polish and something other than black or blue suits. Van Tuyle and Watkins (2009) indicate that gender sometimes enters into the area of evaluation for women leaders. Years later, a new superintendent required that my evaluation include nine rather than three goals. Though he had created a number of new “hoops” for me to jump through in an effort to intimidate me, once again, all were completed flawlessly. At district and county meetings and athletic events, I was usually the only female administrator present. I was often kept out of the good ol’ boys network but seldom missed information, as I had devised alternate ways of gaining access to information. At one juncture when I was involved in hiring someone for a critical coaching position, I clearly remember hearing that the athletic director informed his peers that “should the bitch fail to get in line” with his recommendations, he and his group would “take the bitch down.” He frequently positioned himself as a leader of the good ol’ boys, but it was not necessary because I stayed involved with programs and always chose to champion coaches who promoted kids’ growth. I acquired a reputation for building programs known to develop students’ qualities and for increasing athletic participation. Our school produced


multiple district and state championships and tripled the participation of females in my term as a principal and superintendent. During my nearly ten-year tenure in that school, both parents and students expressed their appreciation for my presence in the role of principal. Sometimes a parent would say something like, “My daughter never used to believe anything was possible. Seeing you in a leadership role has opened her eyes to many new possibilities.” At graduation, a senior wrote me a note thanking me for my support, using the example of her being summoned to the office as a freshman for the first time. Sensing her fear at the time, I placed a comforting hand on her knee and told her she most likely had been called down because of an unexcused absence. I told her not to be afraid but to serve her punishment and move on. The student involved wrote me a thank-you note as a senior stating, “As a ninth grader, knowing you took the time to help me that day always made me feel like I had an advocate in the school, and I was never afraid again.” Though this was one of the toughest positions I have ever held, it was a great school because the staff worked collaboratively, had high expectations for success, and made it student focused as they continued to grow professionally in their weekly delayed-start staff development block. To this day, the superintendent declares that hiring me was the smartest thing he ever did, though it was a risk on his part because I was a woman. After I had been on the job for about three years, a cochair on the SIT asked me, “Why are you still here? We thought you’d turn tail and run after the way you were treated the first couple of years. You just don’t scare like the other administrators we’ve managed to run out of here.” This comment, made in jest, was candid in its representation of how difficult secondary leadership can be for females. Regarding race and ethnic relations, faculty was successful in guiding students as they transitioned to a school that visibly appreciated diversity. Faculty brought about this change by working with individual students and bringing groups together to recognize their similarities and learn to appreciate their differences. For example, initially, our school was a place where students remained in cliques defined by ethnicity, race, or religion, and those cliques often broke out into violence. We frequently had to postpone games because of fights. We previously never had pep assemblies because staff declared students to be unmanageable in large groups. I discovered students were not initially used to seeing a principal as a visible,


daily presence in the school. They thought I was spying on them because many of them had never seen my predecessor before graduation. Once they learned my presence was an indicator of my interest, things changed as they grew to trust me. For example, when a Middle East conflict broke out, the Jewish, Chaldean, and Arabic students were respectful to each other and recognized the conflict was in another nation and not one that automatically involved their peers. Faculty knew many of them had relatives overseas whom they were worried about and as a total school community everyone involved in the school tried to help others throughout the struggle. We were the only high school in the greater tricounty area willing to participate in a racial study by an alumnus who attended the University of Michigan. Knowing that their interests were protected first at the front office, students sent a loud message that this was a school where parents and community could “Expect the Best,” which was their school motto and was worn on faculty t-shirts. Students learned that they all mattered to us, be they Arab, African American, Jewish, Chaldean, or Caucasian. Students were united in knowing that it was their school, a message we sent out continuously as we worked to increase our understanding of our similarities and differences. One time five of our students sat with five students from another area high school in an attempt to resolve a conflict that continued to threaten violence in the community if unresolved. One of our Chaldean students declared, “You may have trouble at your school, but here we all hang together, Jews, jocks, African Americans, and Arabs, and we’ll kick your butts if you cause us trouble!” Minus the threat of violence, I knew when I heard that statement that our school community had succeeded in creating a place where everyone felt valued. We also did a number of other things to increase student participation in school programs and to boost our academic achievement. Teachers increased our advanced placement (AP) classes from six to seventeen, increased participation in music from sixty to 400 kids, having two instrumental music staff. We integrated votech classes into all schedules and built a technology-based presentation mini-theater in addition to the CAD auto design and fashion design studio. During my tenure we tripled athletic participation, built two new weight and cardiovascular fitness areas, and significantly doubled required course enrollment. Students were required to declare their postgrad plans so that they left us having a destination.


Students became more involved when staff significantly increased organization memberships and meetings were held monthly with organizational leaders to stimulate awareness. We also implemented a policy of supporting each other; for example, since the band showed up for football, we had the football players go to the band concerts. We increased musicals, holding one a year for community members to audition. The first year we performed Oklahoma, and the grandma was played by a grandma from the community. The last year I was there, we had 200 kids try out for twelve roles in the musical Oliver. To help ensure that we had adequate space to have classes and activities for all, we later passed a bond and engaged a design team to completely rebuild the high school to meet the needs of staff, students, and community that was heralded by the superintendent and others as a showplace for instructional excellence. We actually tore the building down to the studs and rebuilt it according to designs that the teachers found most appropriate for their departments. For example, the band room had concert areas, practice rooms, instrument lockers of various sizes, and uniform storage areas. And classrooms had learning and presentation areas. Though a principal deals with all sorts of challenges ranging from racism to rebuilding, the road from principal to superintendent has its own share of challenges. In a recent study, Kim and Brunner (2009) examined career paths taken to the superintendency to better understand the variance in the numbers of women and minorities in the position. The three paths that emerged were as follows: (a) a path with rapid mobility through vertical staff line movement, (b) a path with horizontal movement with positions held most often as a directors or assistant superintendents, and (c) a path having both vertical and horizontal movement. As a rule, women have had fewer opportunities to fill staff line positions, especially, secondary principalship positions, because fewer women have held secondary jobs. Kim and Brunner (2009) found that having had a secondary principalship plays a critical role in creating access to the superintendency. Kim and Brunner (2009) found that 80 percent of male superintendents held secondary positions and nearly 63 percent of those individuals were coaches. Their research further indicated nearly 65 percent of secondary principalships were held by men, a role that increased opportunity for more rapid advancement toward the superintendency. Conversely, Kim and Brunner (2009) found that only 35 percent of female superintendents held secondary principalships.


Overall, women have consistently maintained a more horizontal pattern with regard to advancement in this field. Kim and Brunner’s (2009) findings showed that significantly fewer women held an administrative role; only 35.2 percent were principals at either level, and far more often they took a horizontal path. For example, according to Kim and Brunner (2009), 54.7 percent of aspiring women first held directorcoordinator positions. Kim and Brunner (2009) identified that the career paths taken by the highest percentage of female superintendents were as follows: 1. Teacher, principal, central office, and superintendent 2. Teacher, central office, and superintendent 3. Teacher, principal, and superintendent

50% 17% 16.3%

Kim and Brunner’s relatively recent study indicates that women have less access to staff line positions and are typically placed in central office director or coordinator positions, thereby following a horizontal path. One has to wonder whether current placement processes even address issues of equity. Are placement services even bringing forward all candidates capable of having a robust experience in the superintendent role? My experience as a high school principal was followed by two different positions as assistant superintendent of curriculum and instruction. One district had five high schools, twenty-nine elementary schools, and four middle schools. I worked with nine directors and I had responsibility for an $88 million budget, and the overall deficit in the district was $6.5 million. Working in partnership with the county intermediate school district (ISD), Teachers aligned the curriculum to ensure all students mastered required standards and updated special education services, vocational education, and guidance and counseling programs the first year. The tremendous amount of work accomplished was a credit to teachers for getting involved, and administrators ensured the importance of their voices when presentations were made to the board of education. Regardless of the fact that I was responsible for the coordination a budget of $88 million, I have still had to contend with the commonly held stereotype that female leaders tend to be poor money managers. My experience has simply not supported this stereotype. In every one of my positions, all deficits were eliminated within the first year, most often


without hurting the program. Typically, we placed the greatest possible amount of resources behind student achievement. This was not always the strongest political action, but it became hard to argue against because not doing so would most likely stir up calls of complaint from community members. The fact that this never occurred was a testimony to strong communication and planning. Effectively managing a mega-budget was one reason I gained the trust and cooperation of my staff, but being an alumna from Pontiac did not hurt, either. The staff used to tell me that they “had my back,” as they phrased it, every step of the way. This speaks to the culture because the district is known to favor and appreciate its own. Together we developed a monitored strategic plan that had implementation guidelines and put us on the path to increasing achievement. We also eliminated a $6.5 million deficit without harming the program. One of the happiest memories I have from my time there was when I got to watch the staff open boxes of new language arts materials. The district had not made such an investment in more than ten years. It required the sale of a vacant elementary school to raise the $1,000,000 to purchase the textbooks, but we did it. In the second district, as an assistant superintendent for instruction at a program only a quarter of the size, faculty achieved the status of Adequate Yearly Progress from the Michigan Department of Education (MDE) and were removed from the “watch” list. The focus was on creating school/ community systems focused on using collaborative skills. It was common knowledge that classroom instruction had to be improved, and consequently twenty-five teachers engaged in brain-focused instructional training and used grant money to build the staff a $50,000 library of instructional materials. Faculty worked with their instructional coaches and created pacing guides and benchmark tests and adopted a new assessment program using technology. The collaborative approach was critical to the success of updating the program. One of the big differences between those two positions was my experience with the superintendent. In the first district, staff laughed about the fact that he acted like Napoleon, often micromanaging his subordinates. In the second district, the superintendent was a valuable mentor. He presented the strongest example of outstanding people skills I have ever encountered. In an effort to “pay it forward,” I made it a point to help other leaders. As an assistant superintendent, I mentored four teacher leaders or


assistant principals who became either assistant principals or principals, three of whom were female. There was a common theme in every district I entered. Each one was in crisis, having experienced significant problems with racial or ethnic tensions and low academic achievement. They needed to change quickly to experience success through celebrating diversity and raising achievement. To assume a new direction required the implementation of systemic plans. Effective mentorships and robust networking practices were also pivotal to my success in handling the increased responsibility. The first superintendency I held was in a very challenged district. We had to do the following: (a) “right size” the district, (b) close a school, (c) balance a budget to remove a looming deficit, and (d) significantly raise achievement—all of which had to occur within the first year. Since I had developed a reputation for fixing problems, others were not surprised to find me here. As one mentor said, “They need you, and I know you can do what it takes.” They knew that if it could be fixed, I was the person to do it. By gathering the leadership and school improvement teams, the following was achieved: (a) faculty developed the educational rationale and recommendations for those schools that remained open, (b) found ways to cut the budget without hurting programs, (c) increased grants, (d) reopened early childhood programs, and (e) achieved the status of Adequate Yearly Progress (AYP) from MDE by the second year. The latter was done in concert with the teachers and three coaches hired to increase their instructional proficiency and develop benchmark tests via computer that aligned with the state standards. A team also wrote and implemented a “Gear Up” grant with Saginaw Valley and Delta College so that students were able to earn college scholarships. By the third year, every student enrolled in college with one exception. During the final week at school, a basketball player toting a gun in the neighborhood was shot in the hand, thus eliminating his college scholarship. I use this example to highlight that while in school, these same students were state champions, but they lived very tumultuous lives in the neighborhood. Watching staff in this district make AYP two years in a row for the first time in more than a decade was an experience not soon to be forgotten. The second time it happened, an elementary principal who was known not to show emotion broke down and cried for joy. The children’s excitement was exceeded only by their pride in doing well. Watching staff


present at state and national conferences and receive standing ovations about what they had learned as a result of their work with the instructional and assessment coaches assigned to the buildings. End sentence here made them very proud. Faculty and community held the knowledge that what they did made all the difference to kids. A pillar of the community once commented on our actions: “You know, we’re beginning to think we might have hope once again for the future.” Those words spoke volumes. A constant theme in my administrative work was my willingness to collaborate with others to move the district forward. Grogan (as cited in Brunner, 1999) identified three themes characteristic of female leaders: (a) concepts of power, (b) beliefs about decision making, and (c) notions of leadership. All three were connected by collaboration, most of which never occurred without the involvement of others. Women leaders are known for the emphasis they place on empowerment as opposed to hierarchical power, a mindset more often related to males. In order to elicit other common experiences of women leaders in education, I interviewed seven women leaders. These women served in leadership positions ranging from high school assistant principal to superintendent and included individuals from both minority and majority cultures. They each had at least ten years of experience in leadership positions and came from large, small, urban, and rural environments. Each participant was asked to highlight the path of her career and provide me with her successes and areas of focus in her position. Following our conversations about that, I asked for clarification as needed. They were asked to highlight their challenges and share the emotional reactions to them as they were comfortable. Following their stories, I asked them to speak to challenges they faced with barriers to advancement and discriminatory practices that are highlighted in the chapter. A common theme evident in the research and from the administrators that I interviewed was how women in leadership positions view their primary responsibilities. Brunner and Grogan (2007) noted that female leaders focus their work on the primary purpose of the organization, teaching and learning, and raising student achievement, whereas male leaders tend to focus their work on gaining power and achieving political agendas. Frequently found in large, diverse settings, female leaders also display an unspoken appreciation for diversity and seeing things from perspectives


other than their own. A third critical factor cited among successful female leaders is self-reflection regarding their role and performance; this has been found to be the strongest method of improvement. Themes evident in my background in leadership are reinforced by the background of other female leaders, who each told a story of the difference her position made in the growth of her school district. Knowing that other women leaders had diverse experiences provides inspiration for aspiring leaders. However, in the stories of their careers, the women interviewed as part of this chapter were assured that their identities would be kept secret to minimize any possibility of recognition. It is interesting that in one case, the superintendent broke down and cried because retelling the experiences proved too painful, causing her to initially back out, and another swore me to secrecy even though her former superintendent is now deceased. The threat of discovery continues to stifle women, keeping them quiet, which threatens the candor their stories can provide to instruct younger generations. A woman whom I will call Jennifer found her path to a central-level curriculum director’s position from serving as a union chairperson. Jennifer was hired primarily because of her role as union president but also as for her knowledge in the instructional core. Knowing that women did not serve in CO positions at the time, she strongly believed this to be a viable path. Her first cabinet meeting was interesting. She spoke comfortably, feeling a part of the discussion, but was gestured to enter the superintendent’s office at the end of the meeting. The superintendent made her aware that she had been placed in a CO position merely as a means to remove her from the union level and as a token of equity. Further, if her opinion were needed, the superintendent would inform her as to what to say in the future. Needless to say, Jennifer served quietly at the central level and performed numerous roles for staff. Knowing her future depended on finding another district, she quietly began looking for other opportunities. Jennifer wanted to improve services but soon learned that her current district did not value her role as a change agent, nor did her efforts endear her to the decision makers in many districts. Eventually, Jennifer moved on to become a successful assistant superintendent for instruction in a large, urban district that was seeking an instructional leader able to transform the program for the twenty-first century. A few key factors in Jennifer’s advancement were


her success in working with male mentors, a robust knowledge base, and the fact that she never deviated from her goal. Other factors contributed to Jennifer’s success as well, including her strong work ethic. Jennifer knew that more would be required of her as a female, and that proved to be true. Having faced discrimination both from her superintendent in the initial conference and later in many situations, she was also left out of his communication network. Only by building an even greater base of support in the field did she succeed. Others became dependent on her office for additional resources, and Jennifer was generous in building others’ capacity as leaders. Throughout the next twenty years, she continued to build a collaborative knowledge base while working for a new superintendent who supported and respected her knowledge. Intent on building a legacy of opportunity for others, she created one of the strongest districts in the state in her role as assistant superintendent. Common to themes mentioned earlier, Jennifer focused on the primary work of instruction and was a collaborative leader. Even when women like Jennifer have a dedicated work ethic and do everything right, stepping up into higher-level positions can challenge them at the deepest levels. Seeking a chance to prove themselves, some women travel a treacherous path to district leadership roles and the superintendency. In another interview, the journey of a black female to superintendency was an incredible undertaking. Monica’s first administrative position was as an assistant principal. When considering Monica’s candidacy, the principal at the high school commented that hiring her would mean that three out of four of the assistant principals would be minorities. Knowing the ideal was to have the assistant principal team parallel their student population, hiring Monica would entail having an unequal balance in terms of ethnicity. Challenged by wanting Monica and respecting the need to have a diverse team of leaders, he commented, “When you talk to Monica, you don’t know she’s black!” Without intent, the principal provided a common example of how Monica was marginalized and discriminated against by others who denied her race and culture. She dismissed his poor behavior lest she offend her superior, but everyone else ignored it or made light of it, too. Indeed, it was just seen as part of the struggle that comes with an administrative position. Having been a special education teacher, Monica was seen as effective at helping at-risk kids; therefore, the superintendent called upon her to


assume an elementary principalship for a very challenged school. Monica became known for her emphasis on student performance and teacher engagement. Her primary challenge, however, was the board president’s wife, who served as her temporary secretary. Monica gave her three poor evaluations and finally refused to recommend the woman for permanent employment. In response to this, Monica was called before two union presidents and two board members to face three grueling hours of inquiry, none of which was focused on the employee. Monica also received threatening phone calls to her house, but she stood fast in her conviction not to hire the person in question. Later, Monica took a leave of absence due to illness. When she returned, she was told that she had been moved to a high school as an assistant principal. Monica saw this as being demoted, or “punished,” for having stood her ground. She accepted the transfer, only to find that the autocratic principal often kept her out of his network. When Monica asked to be involved, she was told no and reminded of her role. Not being informed of daily events kept Monica out of the communication loop, clearly impacting her ability to do her job effectively. When she requested a transfer to another school, Monica faced recriminations from the staff. When tasks loomed, the principal’s secretary often said, “She has the doctorate. Let her do it.” A parent commented that the principal was overheard to say he would “Shut down her office!” The principal’s threats didn’t hold much weight, however, because Monica was responsible for the master schedule and curriculum, had support from staff, and got rave reviews from kids who felt the significance of her advocacy on their behalf. Facing such obvious discrimination makes one wonder if being a woman of color contributed to her marginalization. Though she never aspired to the superintendency, she desired to work in positions in which the role(s) she undertook had an impact on the academic performance of the student body. She also wanted to be in positions that minimized further discrimination. Perseverance and determination were as essential to her success as was the ability to tune out naysayers. As Monica said: My naı¨vete´ held me in good stead during those first years. It required me to keep my integrity intact and do what’s right for the kids. In some ways, this put me at odds with district leaders and caused them


to push back in ways designed to get the best of an individual or destroy their credibility. In another interview, Linda was an administrator who broke into secondary administration on her path to the superintendent role. Having a background in instruction, Linda was known as a change agent and forwardthinking individual and was mentored by male administrators who saw her ability and helped to move her forward. Indeed, she felt that their networking opened doors for her. Hired in 1990 by an affluent district, she became involved in bonds and the planning work required for building a new high school. A proponent of professional learning communities (PLCs) and a collaborative leader, she was also a pioneer in establishing alternative block schedules, thereby giving students a chance to take more classes and expose themselves to a greater range of subjects. Able to work effectively with staff, she never allowed staff reticence to delay positive changes for kids. As a result, she made some enemies during those years from the teacher’s union and the athletic staff, both powerful oppositions to her advancement. After serving for another decade as an assistant superintendent for instruction, she moved into the superintendent selection process. Becoming a finalist, she quickly learned, on more than one occasion, that the teacher’s union had been successful in blocking her from attaining the desired position. Linda was known as a “lighthouse educator,” an individual known to take divergent paths to improving achievement. She was both revered and respected for her work. However, she also recognized that, fairly or not, she would finish her career as an assistant superintendent. She eventually retired from education and established a business outside the field of education. Greta had another story to tell. She became principal at the request of mentor leaders. Known to be effective as a classroom teacher, she was often called upon to provide professional development sessions for staff because of her knowledge. Greta sought to continuously grow as an educator in her craft and widen her sphere of influence. Successful at creating a sense of community and shared purpose in any role, she was able to grow with a district as it transitioned to an urban city from a farming community. She was equally as masterful at building personal relationships and empowering leadership in others.


With respected skill in her profession, Greta was asked to be a principal of a new elementary school. Able to work effectively in this role, within a few years she was again recruited by the assistant superintendent to apply as the then current assistant superintendent was retiring. Able to expand her influence, Greta continues to build upon her strengths and extend her learning in this role. She reports no problems dealing with her rise other than some occasional challenges to her credibility raised by secondary administrators. Greta reports having learned a great deal about sports, scheduling, and high school instructional issues. Greta believes having gained the respect of her peers has made it easier to orchestrate change. She is known for her persistence, and others recognize her desire to help kids and respect her work. Sandy became a superintendent following a fifteen-year career in human resources as executive director and five years as a secondary teacher. In her early years, Sandy negotiated contracts for districts. Sandy believes having an HR background has been invaluable because it has allowed her to understand people and learn how to lead a building of common purpose. However, Sandy admits had she known she wanted to assume the superintendency, she would have chosen a career path that allowed her to serve as a principal. One career challenge she faced was being seen as less effective because of her gender. Being addressed as, “Hey girlie, aren’t you a cutie” was a problem for her. However, she felt that this necessitated her working harder to attain credibility. One female who looked her in the eye at an interview and asked, “Just how tough are you?” later became one of her strongest advocates. She also faced pay inequity in her roles and was brought in at a lower salary than her male predecessor. Sandy believes in helping youth build their leadership and end discrimination. She advocates for giving students a voice in the world and help to model democratic practices. Although she never had children of her own, education fulfilled her need to serve children. That satisfaction is a great part of her satisfaction with her role as superintendent. Despite their differences in experience, in relation to their continued professional learning, all superintendents felt the importance of handling diminishing finances, assessing educational outcomes, understanding strong community and board relations, and finding new ways to help close the achievement gap. And what skills are needed to get this job done? Who better to ask than the superintendents themselves?


Brunner & Grogan (2007) presented a self-assessment of skills that superintendents said they needed to perform their job. It is interesting to note the emphasis that superintendents placed on specific qualities that correlate with their career. The findings were as follows: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

Interpersonal skills Responsiveness to parents and community Ability to maintain organizational relationships Emphasis placed on instruction Knowledge of instructional processes Knowledge of curriculum

87% 83% 82% 61% 59% 57%

Knowing the primary work of schools to be instruction, the findings are telling in a male-dominated profession. Women leaders in this chapter seem to have a diametrically opposed rank of importance in their selfassessment from those who participated in Grogan and Brunner’s (2007) survey. Knowing the importance of every area, these women each shared the emphasis they placed on instruction—sometimes to their detriment. Female leaders more often stay focused on the work of the organization: teaching and learning. Their emphasis on instruction also influenced their participatory leadership style, and women more often worked in partnership with staff as opposed to using a top-down management style. That being the case, they more closely mirrored and included responses from fifty-one female superintendents. Female leaders liked feeling that they made a difference and provided focus and direction to people in the community. As superintendents, they appreciated available improvement opportunities and actively worked to create meaningful change in their schools and communities. The importance of women sharing their stories was noted by Brunner (1998). Research demonstrates the lack of material in this area, for we know women are reluctant to tell their stories; the primary reason for this is the possible threat to their future career advancement. But the gap does exist, and this chapter was written in hopes of serving the purpose of documenting some of the challenges women face. These stories are important for a number of reasons and can serve as tools for reflection for aspiring women leaders as they anticipate their direction and the challenges that lie in their paths. Women leaders


highlighted a number of obstacles to advancement shown in the research; yet what emerged in the research for this chapter was when recognizing these challenges, each woman adapted and pursued advancement. Recognizing this reality did not change the participants’ direction; it merely required a change of focus. For example, one woman stated that if she knew her leadership path would lead to the superintendency, she would have changed her career path and served as a principal. Another stated she never pursued advancement; she only sought to widen her sphere of influence, yet she became a critical leader through her hard work and relationship-building skills (albeit under the mentorship of another female leader). In every case, these leaders had strong mentors in place who often were men in the field. The participants also learned how to create networks that secured them access to information they might not have otherwise been privy to. These women pursued advancement through sheer determination and refused to be deterred. The drive to make a difference was so compelling, each felt achieving her individual purpose was nonnegotiable. The stories of students who served under these leaders were heartwarming. Female leaders opened vistas/worlds to young women who saw new possibilities in their futures as a result of having female principals and superintendents. Examples such as networking, mentorships, and equal access to search consultants were highlighted, and each served as important tools that were critical for career advancement. The tragedy lies in women having to “go the extra yard” and work harder to achieve the same results as their male counterparts. However, in participating in leadership, each woman gained unique opportunities, not the least of which was the chance for women to share their legacy. That was perhaps the greatest benefit to every participant.

References Brunner, C. (1994). Superintendent selection: Lessons from political science. Paper presented at the American Educational Research Association annual meeting, New Orleans, LA, April 4–8, 1994. Brunner, C. (1998, April). Benefit or bane? Critique of the usefulness of research about women superintendents. ERIC Document: ED424647. Brunner, C. (1999). Sacred dreams: Women and the superintendency. Albany: State University of New York.


Brunner, C., & Grogan, M., (2007). Women leading school systems: Uncommon roads to fulfillment. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Pavan, B. N. (1988). Job search strategies utilized by aspiring and incumbent female and male public school administrators. ERIC: Report ED302879. Apr.1988. Skrla, L., & Young, M. D. (2003). Reconsidering feminist research in educational leadership. Albany: State University of New York Press . Skrla, L. (2003). Normalized femininity: Reconsidering research on women in the superintendency. IN M. D., Young & L. Skrla (Eds.), Reconsidering feminist research in educational leadership (pp. 247–63). Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Van Tuyle, V., & Watkins, S. G. (2009). Women superintendents in Illinois: Gender barriers and challenges. Journal of Women in Educational Leadership, 7(3), 135–51. Young, M., & Skrla, L. (2003). Reconsidering feminist research in educational research. Albany: State University of New York Press.

11 This I Believe: Teaching in Color Carmen M. Johnson

The world is defined by Color. As a visual arts teacher, it has been my life’s work to teach kids how to use Color. I have spent countless hours explaining what Color is and how it is used to enhance artwork. I illustrate the art of Coloring, how to stay in the lines and Color all the same direction. As life has shaped my artistic experiences, I have developed a better understanding of Color. Color should not be forced in any direction but should be allowed to go where it wants, do what it wants, and become who it wants to become. This I believe: Color is not blind, nor should it be nearsighted or farsighted. Color is clear. It is alive and conscious. Color moves, breathes, and has many names. Color is emotional, experiencing both joy and sorrow. Color laughs, cries, believes, hopes, dreams, wins, and loses. I believe that Color is a phenomenon of light and a visual perception. I also believe that Color is the defining badge that stands for bravery, courage, honor, defeat, and disgrace. Color characterizes freedom as personal liberty and bondage as slavery. Color has forced nations to conquer nations whose Color made them weaker. Color is the first thing that we see and the last thing that we see, the reason we are and the reason we are not. The reason we can and the reason we cannot. Color is powerful. Because of Color I am beautiful; I am ugly; I am loved and I am hated. Because of Color I am chosen and because of Color I am passed over. Color has inspired me to be brilliant and Color has perceived me as dumb.

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Color has provided me with opportunities and Color has left me with nothing. Color has made me who I am, and Color has made me who I am not. Color is permanent. Personally, I believe that Color should be uncomplicated like a box of crayons full of options, possibilities, and dreams. The only limitation to each Color in this box is the inspiration and creativity connected to the hand that is using the Color. As the Colors swirl around on the paper, they radiate vision and expectation while at the same time reflecting the innocence of childhood. I recognize that Color is important, but I never realized it would be the reason that I am important. Color has made me afraid, left me lonely, forced me to conform, and demanded me to concede. I have accepted that the world is defined by Color and that it always will be. Color is prescribed. I believe we are like a child’s artwork, all of us fighting to be chosen for the perfect masterpiece. Some of us are always selected because our Color is universal, matching with everything. There are those of us, however, who tried everything to get noticed like changing our name, lightening our tone, even mixing with other Colors. In the end, the unchosen Colors remain alone, dreaming of possibilities not yet attained, hoping for a moment of untainted artistic liberty to come along so that we can express our true Color with pride and celebration. Color possesses me. It possesses all of us: our thoughts, our actions, and our intentions. We don’t have to pursue Color because Color is. . . . This I believe. What is belief? Belief is an assumed truth that has been created in our minds based on our personal experiences and understanding of the world around us. The beliefs expressed in the following chapter were formed, shaped, and stretched by the experiences of a person who views the world through the eyes of a woman of Color. This belief has transformed into truth. This truth has motivated me to investigate the current state of our nation’s public education system and the gaping chasm of failure inequality and institutional racism that so many unforgotten children have fallen into. The failure of public education, in my opinion, is a direct reflection of what we believe. As Freeman (2004) states: I favor integration on buses and in all areas of public accommodation and travel. . . . I am for equality. However, I think integration in our

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public schools is different. In that setting, you are dealing with one of the most important assets of an individual—the mind. White people view black people as inferior. A large percentage of them have a very low opinion of our race. People with such a low view of the black race cannot be given free rein and put in charge of the intellectual care and development of our boys and girls. (n.p.) A very large part of me agrees with Samuel Freedman, while another large part of me wants to scream, “No way. It is not true!” My conflict comes from deep within me. I was raised to believe that I could choose whatever I wanted to do and be whoever I wanted to be. Conversely, I was taught to believe that my reality was not based solely on the choices I make for myself but rather limited to the opinions and decisions someone else makes for me. For the child of Color, educational assumptions about them are made from the minute they step foot in their first school. Assumptions are made about their socioeconomic situation, their home life, their parental involvement, and their future. Teachers and administrators alike make a decision as to how much time they should spend pouring into a kid whose future doesn’t appear to be promising. One could argue that assumptions are made about every child, and I’m sure that is true to an extent; however, statistics tell us that black boys make up more than 60 percent of all students expelled from school and as a result are twenty times more likely to end up in prison (Cottman, 2010).

My Story Begins I am a teacher, like so many other eager young teachers, for all the cliche´ reasons: I wanted to make a difference; I wanted to change the world one student at a time. I love the art of teaching. While all that is true, it is not the reason I chose to teach. Teaching chose me. At a very young age, I realized that teachers had the ability to help some kids while at the same time hurt others. I began to understand that education was neither fair nor equal; I started to see myself through my teachers’ eyes and I realized their perception of me had far-reaching consequences. As a result, my personal expectations were very low. I came to realize that the piece that


was missing in my own education was a relationship with a teacher who knew what it felt like to be me. It was then that I embraced my purpose. My teaching career began twelve years ago in a middle-class school district in Michigan. I was interviewed and hired “on the spot.” I was so excited to begin my career at the middle level. I was one of four teachers of Color out of a staff of fifty. At that time in my life I was very naı¨ve and assumed that because students were treated equitably in my classes, they received the same kind of treatment in all classes. I learned very quickly that social class has very little to do with expectation when race is involved. Students of Color are viewed the same regardless of education or financial status. I intentionally began to advocate for students of Color, making myself available to listen and empower. This decision completely changed the way I viewed education. Students must be able to relate their learning to their own experiences in order for retention to begin. I recognized that my own perceptions of my students were being tainted by the opinions of negative teachers and administrators. The very system that qualified me to teach all children has promoted underachievement for many students of Color by ignoring the strengths of their cultures.

I Chose to Be a Culturally Responsive Teacher As Gay (2000) indicates, “Culturally responsive teaching can be defined as using the cultural knowledge, prior experiences, frames of reference, and performance styles of ethnically diverse students to make learning encounters more relevant to and effective for them” (p. 20). This decision revolutionized the way I view education. My very presence brought hope to hopeless, marginalized children, and their families. I also was able to engage a community of professionals in conversations that promoted positive change and successful outcomes. Teaching became the vehicle that I used to transform self-image and empower future leaders. I recognized myself in my students and I realized that I was not smarter or more talented or even privileged; the fundamental difference between myself and the students that I was teaching was that I believed that I could achieve. My career as an educator has led me to many different locations. I have taught in predominantly white schools as well as predominantly black schools, and I have noticed that there is a need for culturally responsive teachers everywhere. Students need to be taught to live in a world of

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differences, to appreciate the blending of cultures into a world of mosaic beauty. This is why I teach.

Courage I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do. —To Kill a Mockingbird, Lee, 1982, p. 116

I had been teaching for eight years when I transferred to the school at which I currently work. I was so excited about working at the middle school level once again, as I truly connect well with that age group. I knew going into the school year that I would be the only person of Color in that building. This wasn’t surprising, however, because at that time I was one of only eight employees of Color (five of those being teachers) in a district of 1,100 teachers. I had heard such wonderful things about this particular school and its warm, welcoming culture of acceptance. I was a little intimidated at first by the coldness of the veteran staff, the strange looks I received from them in the hallway, and the subtle hints they would give off letting me know that things were done a certain way in the building and they were happy with status quo. However, as always, teaching for me is like riding a bike, new, exciting, and natural. Once you learn to control the bike, the only thing you have to worry about is where you are riding it. I had been there approximately one month when I was checking the mail in the teacher mailroom on a Monday morning. I was surprised to find a sealed business envelope in my mailbox because it was too early for interschool mail to have been delivered. I immediately opened the envelope and was surprised to find a transfer letter with my name on it. I was shocked! A flood of emotions began to consume me as I was trying to process what I was reading. Was I being fired? Did my job get eliminated? Had I done something to offend someone? As I looked closer at the document I noticed that the ink was wet and had rubbed off a little on my hands. As I examined the form I realized that it was an old


document that was no longer being used in our district. My mind was racing. I had read about people being targeted for racial hatred but that had never been my story. Immediately, fear began to crawl up my spine as I realized that I was alone in this building. I understood with my head that I must report this incident to my administrators, but I knew in my heart that it wouldn’t make a difference. As one would expect, my principal appeared to be outraged and said that he would get to the bottom of this. He reassured me that this had not come from him or anyone in administration. He also agreed that the actions appeared to be racially motivated but he was comfortable handling the investigation himself at the building level. (I knew what that meant.) My principal did launch an investigation; however, when he realized that in order to uncover the truth, he would have to side against his veteran staff, he immediately stopped the inquiry. He assured me that he knew exactly who the staff member was but that he didn’t have enough evidence to confront him; one can imagine what it felt like to hear him say that. I looked across the desk at him and realized that I was truly a victim. I made a decision that day, as I could see my own reflection in the eyes of my principal. From now on, I would deliberately use education as a bridge that would connect his reality with mine. This was the first time in my professional career that I had experienced institutional racism on a personal level. The choice to belittle the feelings and experiences of one individual to avoid conflict and tension with others was the choice that propelled me to action. I knew at that moment exactly what it felt like to be a student of Color in this building and I realized that the only thing that separated me from my students in the eyes of my colleagues was my education. That day I became courage.

My Purpose The word purpose is defined as “that which a person sets before himself as an object to be reached or accomplished; the end or aim to which the view is directed in any plan, measure, or exertion” (http://www.thefreedictionary .com/purpose). The skin I’m in is my purpose, the reason I teach, the reason I learn, the reason I listen, and the reason I write. My skin is my honor, and it is my responsibility to defend my honor. I can confidently say without hesitation that education is not inclusive nor is it fair, and it often employs

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the ignorant. These words are difficult for me to write to describe this profession that I love. Extraordinary education emanates relevance and inclusivity. In my career, I have known and respected diverse educators who were bold, courageous, and conscientiously equipped to reach all kids. Unfortunately, the number of highly qualified culturally relevant educators is small, as evidenced by the racial achievement gap. My purpose is to share my life with everyone because I believe it is significant to truly know a person and value what they believe in, to understand how they make choices and how they feel about themselves. I recognized ignorance in my principal that day as I stood in his office, but I understood that it was well intentioned. When we truly understand a person, and we have a relationship with them, their affliction and hardship becomes authentic. My purpose is to educate the well intentioned through ongoing courageous dialogue.

Racial Consciousness Metapedia defines racial consciousness as “the understanding of the uniqueness of one’s race compared to other races”. In particular, a racially conscious person is aware of the physical characteristics, history, culture, traditions, and mores of his own race and how those things differ from other races. Race is a word that has to be taught and celebrated in education. I decided that in order for my colleagues and students to appreciate my thoughts and opinions, they needed to understand the rich tradition from where they came. I am multiracial; this is a term that I now share openly. My mother was white, of German descent, but my father came from the Dominican Republic; that makes him equally African and Spanish. As I child I was urged to choose a race (I think so that other people would feel better), but I quickly realized that in so doing I would have to deny part of who I am. So I identify with all three races. I believe that it is important to identify oneself with a racial group because it forces connection to history. History in its entirety needs to be taught, remembered, and valued in education today. I have always known that I was different; my racial consciousness started with my first memories. I was adopted as an infant and raised by white parents. I was constantly comparing myself to my parents. I wondered why my skin was darker, why my nose was wider, and why my eyes were so much bigger. I often asked my mother why my hair was straight


when it was wet and but curly when it dried. I wondered why people would stare at us when we were out together and why all of my baby dolls had white skin. As I grew I rarely saw kids who looked like me and when I did they made fun of how I spoke, saying “I sounded too white.” I didn’t understand what that meant. In school, the teachers tried to label me and put me in groups where they thought I would be more successful. They never seemed to expect very much from me. I was in high school when I was told I was pretty for a black girl. It was then that I realized that no matter who I chose to be friends with, what sports I played, who I dated, where I went to college, or what career I selected, I would always be a black girl. Beverly Daniel Tatum, in her book entitled Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria?, writes: All Black People, irrespective of their Color, shade, darkness, or lightness, are aware from a very early age that their blackness makes them different from mainstream white America. It sets them apart from White immigrant groups who were not brought here as slaves and who have thus had a different experience in becoming assimilated into mainstream American culture. The struggle for a strong positive racial identity for young Black Afro-American children is clearly made more difficult by the realities of Color prejudice. (p. 44) Blackness, I have discovered, is greater than skin Color. It is a perception of lifestyle and limits that lies on the outskirts of white privilege. Blackness, for the black child, is defined by what he or she doesn’t have and can’t achieve. It is a life of comparison and want, often mixed with poverty and welfare. The one thing that never changes regardless of one’s situation is blackness. As an educator I am constantly reminded of the borders that public education has created for black students. We refer to the borders as standardized tests, common assessments, and formative assessments. These borders have stained education with a permanent gap in achievement produced by a specific race of people and perpetuated by isolation and lack of cultural relevance. In order to break through the borders in public education, teachers must have the courage to question mainstream knowledge. Nieto (2005) writes, “Challenging mainstream knowledge and

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conventional ways of doing things in general, is not easy. We who do this work, are caught in a conundrum, working within the system to create change” (p. 210). We need to spend less time asking questions in education and more time teaching our teachers and our students to consider. Consider what is essential, consider what is true, and consider what is measurable. It is safe to assume that many educators have not had regular interactions with people from diverse backgrounds, nor have they been taught about people who are different from them. Therefore, we should not be surprised that negativity and racist attitudes will be projected onto their students. While this behavior should not be accepted, educators have to be willing to engage in open, honest dialogue and self-examination so that sustained change can happen.

Hope Hope is the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best. I wish I could conclude my story with a feel-good moment that causes one to believe that racism and inequality are rare and isolated misunderstandings. The reality is, however, that my story is very common. People of Color at some point in their lives will experience moments of racial tension and discrimination. They will be treated with hatred and viewed as statistics and stereotypes. The question is how will they respond? One year after I made the decision to transform the racial consciousness in my building, I had several complaints filed against me with the union by my colleagues for starting a step team, defending students of Color at staff meetings, publically advocating for students and parents of Color, and taking on too many leadership roles in the school. My actions created hope for my students and aroused fear in my colleagues. I learned to embrace the pressure because I recognize that pressure leads to change and change leads to hope. Hope is a forgotten student who learns to smile, a parent who hears an encouraging word, a colleague who listens to her students, and an administrator who diversifies his staff. Hope is a teacher that is determined to challenge mainstream knowledge and transform school culture by teaching people to consider. I am Color; I am hope. And this I believe.


References Cottman, M. H. (2010). Education: Black boys set up to fail. Retrieved September 26, 2010, from http://www.blackamericaweb.com/ ?q=articles/news/moving_america_news/21682. Freedman, S. G. (2004, May 16). Still separate, still unequal. New York Times. Retrieved October 7, 2010, from http://www.nytimes.com/ 2004/05/16/books/still-separate-still-unequal.html. Gay, G. (2000). Culturally responsive teaching: Theory, research, & practice. New York: Teachers College Press. Lee, H. (1982). To kill a mockingbird. New York: Warner Books. Nieto, Sonia (Ed.) (2005). Why We Teach. New York: Teachers College Press. Tatum, B. D. (1997). Why are all the black kids sitting together in the cafeteria? New York: Basic Books.

12 Both Sides of Mentoring: A Leader’s Story Lynn Kleiman Malinoff and James E. Barott

Sinetar (1998) described mentoring as a spiritual art: Mentoring is a timeless function. Its elements reside in our heart. . . . The word mentoring has mythic roots. It means “guide.” . . . Productive mentors are productive types—wholesome guides who, by their way of being ignite our vision, our hope, our self-respect. . . . Both mentors and the mentor’s spirit fire up vigor of thought and zeal to reach our true purposes: inner peace, liberty, the soaring heights of some specific goal. The mentor’s spirit fuels our determination to flourish as fully integrated individuals. (p. 21) The mythic archetype of the Good Mother is a fitting description of my experiences of being mentored and of my mentoring. Described as “one of the most powerful mythic figures of all” (Schechter & Semeiks, 1980), the Good Mother provides emotional support as well as spiritual and physical sustenance. Though mother is a female-specific term, in my experience this mythology represents an archetype universally embraced by my mentors, regardless of gender. I am deeply committed to the process of mentoring from both sides, the richly rewarding experience of being the prote´ge´ and the art of being a mentor. When I agreed to write this chapter, I accepted the challenge of writing about mentoring and its role for women in educational leadership. I had never identified mentoring as a gender-specific practice, and my own

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mentors are a combination of people in different settings from different backgrounds, male and female, sharing their experience, strength, hope, and wisdom with me. I asked one of my mentors how I might frame this work given the purpose of the book in which it would be published. He reminded me that I was a woman, a leader in education, and so my story was important and fit perfectly in a book on women in educational leadership. Mentoring is about the relationship between mentor and prote´ge´ . Sometimes it is parent to child, teacher to student, colleague to colleague. Mentoring has played a significant role throughout my life—in my youth, as a daughter and student, in my growing-up years in college, and throughout my adult and professional life. In addition to my parents, I have, since first grade, had mentors guiding me, teaching me, supporting me, and loving me. There were no strings attached, nothing owed to my mentors, simply my own commitment to pay it forward. And so I am committed to being a mentor, to continuing to have mentors, and to embracing mentorship as my primary leadership style in education. Stories are the womb of personhood. Stories make and break us. Stories sustain us in times of trouble and encourage us towards ends we would not otherwise envision. —Mair, 1989, p. 2

I believe there is great power and wisdom in each person’s story, in his or her perceptions of the experience of being mentored, and my in own perceptions of the effects mentoring has had on me in multiple contexts and forming me as a leader in the field of education. Narrative continues to play a major role in my leadership, engaging staff, parents, students, teachers, and community members in sharing their stories with each other in order to create meaning, develop compassion, explore outcomes, and improve practice whether it is in leadership, teaching, parenting, active citizenship, or any other context. As Crossley (2002) indicates, “Human life carries within it a narrative structure to the extent that the individual, at the level of tacit, phenomenological experience, is constantly projecting backwards and forwards in a manner that maintains a sense of coherence, unity, meaningfulness and identity” (p. 11). Mentoring is an act of leadership. Through this process, one helps unleash the potential of one’s prote´ge´s by empowering them to act, to find

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meaning, and to stand for what they believe in. When they do so, amazing things happen. This is the magic of mentoring. Mentoring, more than any other practice, contributes to my skill and success as an educational leader. And it comes with an awesome responsibility. Being a mentor demands that I practice what I preach and lead by example. Heider’s The Tao of Leadership (1985), adapted from Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching, addresses the spiritual nature of leadership, “The leader acts as a healer and is an open, receptive, and nourishing state. That is the feminine or Yin aspect of leadership” (p. 55). He asks, “Are you doing this work to facilitate growth or to become famous?” (p. 87). I contend that the practice of mentoring provides practice in humility, openness, caring, and love. Mentoring is a significant spiritual practice. Educational leadership has many facets—understanding and navigating systems, supporting staff, professional development in leadership and for those one leads, goal setting, visioning, practical knowledge about teaching and learning, curriculum and accountability, using data, developing community. What the university left out of my education courses was the importance of mentoring, building relationships, developing strong people skills, and passing it on—that this is integral to being a leader. These are the skills I use most often as an educational leader.

Methodology Volumes have been written about mentoring, coaching, guiding, teaching, and supporting others. In the United States, a grand movement of mentoring was and continues to be supported as a strategy for helping at-risk youth, improving teaching, and growing more effective educational leaders. But I was unable to find literature that provided a thematic analysis of the stories and experiences of mentors and prote´ge´s. People act based on the meaning things have for them; and these meanings are derived from social interaction and modified through interpretation. According to Blumer (1969), in symbolic interaction, the researcher becomes the instrument of the research, studying the problem in its natural world. Its great strength is empiricism. This tradition treats theory as something that needs to be brought in line with the empirical evidence of peoples’ experiences. Understanding a human event involves


the study of the interaction of people, assuming that each individual’s action fits into the action of others. Derived from the work of George Herbert Mead, Charles Cooley, Herbert Blumer, and, more recently, Howard Becker, and others, symbolic interactionists use qualitative research methods to study interactions, identifying symbols and meanings. In order to study the relationship between mentor and prote´ge´, I had many questions, including: What happens between a mentor and her prote´ge´s? How is this interpreted by the prote´ge´? What symbols and interactions define this relationship? What happens to the mentor as a result of these relationships? How does mentoring influence my leadership in education? Data consisted of two sets. In the first, I wrote vignettes about my experiences with ten mentors. I wrote each as I remember the relationship, focusing on my experience of the relationships, the pivotal experiences, and the impact on my personal and professional growth. I analyzed all ten, though I have included only six in this chapter. The second set of data consisted of writing I collected from my prote´ge´s. I invited twenty-one of my prote´ge´s to write about their experience of our relationship. This included colleagues, friends, students, and women who I sponsor in twelve-step recovery. The only instructions I offered came in the form of an e-mail in which I asked my prote´ge´s to write the answers to two questions: 1. What was your experience of our relationship? Tell your story. 2. What are you doing now? Describe. I received eighteen stories that spanned the past two decades of my life. These relationships were both professional and personal. I analyzed all eighteen stories to develop this writing and have included only some of them in order to tell the story. Once the data were collected, the analysis began. First, I wrote about the lessons learned from my mentors and the lessons I taught my prote´ge´s


based on their written accounts. The themes and process emerged. It was uncanny (as it often is with qualitative work) to see the themes emerge and the consistency from one experience to the next that was embedded in the diversity of these experiences. The mentoring process that emerged is the process that was so familiar to me, so much a part of my actions in these relationships, that I could not have explained it without the data. There is, in this mentoring experience, a combination of science, spirituality, and magic in the relationships that evolves. And it is, for me, the essence of my leadership work. In the sections that follow, I will discuss the relationship between mentor and prote´ge´. In the first section, I tell the story of my mentors and the lessons they taught me. Then I share the stories from my prote´ge´s, in their voices, and the lessons I taught them. The conclusion describes the process as it emerged from the voices of prote´ge´s who describe their experiences being mentored. This is our story of the magic and science of mentoring.

My Mentors In this section, I explore my relationships with some of the key mentors in my life, and describe the lessons they taught me. I have had mentors in multiple contexts—my parents as guides and mentors, teachers, principals, colleagues, and sponsors. I have had many mentors whose stories are not here but whose teachings are embedded in my practice and in this writing. Miss Roseman, My First Grade Teacher I held the necklace in my hand . . . not to my taste, but it did belong to Miss Roseman (there was no Ms. in 1957), my first grade teacher. My mother bought it at the estate sale that liquidated Miss Roseman’s belongings after she passed away some time in the 1980s. My mother knew Miss Roseman was an important figure in my life, and as I contemplated writing about women in education as mentors and leaders, my experience with Miss Roseman stands out as one of my earliest mentors who changed my life. I was afraid to leave home and attend first grade. My father had been ill, as had my brother, and as young as I was, I knew that it was risky to leave


home for the day. My father carried me kicking and screaming into the classroom and Miss Roseman politely invited him to leave me and continue with his day. An old friend, Sue Johnson, still chuckles when she reminds me of the spectacle of my tantrum as my father left and my classmates looked on, puzzled. In the privacy of a quiet hallway, Miss Roseman asked me if I liked dolls. I’m guessing I shrugged, but she quickly convinced me that a visit to her collection would be filled with wonder as the dolls were from places far away. Within days, in her lace-filled dining room, she served me tea and cookies, living only blocks from the neighborhood school and within walking distance of my house. She was a gracious hostess and very excited about the beautiful collection of international dolls. They were not like Barbie; each had characteristics of the faraway land from which it came. My fear of school and abandonment was replaced with confidence and excitement. Miss Roseman built trust, showed compassion, and opened up the world to me through her doll collection. I still have my own dolls from faraway lands, having begun the collection soon after that visit. This was the beginning of believing in mentoring and the power of relationships. She was the Good Mother, offering me sustenance and hope. My passion for school and learning ignited. I felt safe in that classroom. I felt like I was somebody. I moved to a new school in third grade. I remember stopping by Miss Roseman’s house to visit and her welcoming, caring hand was stretched out. Another peek at the dolls . . . another cup of tea. Lessons Learned Something very important happened when I tried to quit school in first grade. Miss Roseman understood the fear and welcomed me into her world of dolls, and, in that experience, the world beyond my hometown. This story is a powerful testament to the importance of relationships. She met me where I was, validated me, and empowered me to embrace school. I was no longer alone and grew much less fearful about school. I knew Miss Roseman would be there to greet me and teach me. And this doll collection became my passion. I hated baby dolls when I was young, but these international replicas of people in faraway lands provided fodder for dreams of travel and exploration that became, in my college years, a big part of my story. I am sure there is a connection. And I still have the dolls.


Carl, My Undergraduate Professor and Advisor Carl is the smartest man I have ever known. He was my professor in a freshman course, Logic and Language, that was, to this day, the most challenging class of my education. We had seven philosophy books, the likes of Kant and Hume, along with an entire mathematical logic text. It was trial by fire for the freshmen at the University of Michigan Residential College. I learned to ask for help and met with Carl on several occasions to get a private tutoring session and see if I could make sense of the material. I passed the class, and most importantly, developed a mentoring relationship with Carl. When it was time to declare a major, I was confused and undecided. I loved art, culture, people, psychology, and sociology. What could one do with this? I met with Carl and he sent me reading and researching possible majors. There was nothing on the UM list that allowed me to combine all these areas. And so, with Carl’s guidance, I designed an independent major in art therapy. He saw no reason why I could not use what I learned in art and dance classes to work with children and solve problems. Art therapy had been pioneered at the U of M hospital, so he was familiar with the emerging field. Carl opened doors for me. He taught me to navigate the vast and rich curricula of the university. He empowered me to take charge of my undergraduate education, and together, we mapped out a course of study that included studio art, dance, psychology, sociology, and practical experience using art and dance to engage children at Ypsilanti State Hospital. He always had time for me, and likewise, he posed critical questions to help me move along my path deliberately, courageously, always learning, always growing, and fueling it all with passion—passion for the subject, passion for the youth, passion for new ideas and learning. Passion became a significant factor in all that I do as a leader. Lessons Learned Carl demonstrated great passion for teaching and learning, putting emphasis on questions that were not only challenging but to which there was no one right answer. As my professor and later my advisor, Carl always made time for me. He demonstrated the power of developing individual


relationships with one’s students. He took me on. He became my advisor, my guide, my mentor. He handed me the responsibility for my studies and allowed me to design my own major. I developed a passion for self-driven learning. It was fueled by Carl’s ability to help me identify and clarify my interests and by being my guide as I navigated the University of Michigan. Carl’s deep questioning, careful listening, and strong belief in me and what I could do carried me through my undergraduate studies and on to the school of education to pursue my master’s degree in teaching. I had no idea that this was my passion until I experimented within my independent major. I was on my way to becoming an educational leader. Jane, My Boss’s Boss Some fifteen years into my teaching career, the new assistant superintendent for instruction, Dr. Jane Kuckel, summoned me to Central Office. By that time, I had wheedled my way into being the unofficial district grant writer, and she wanted to know more about the grants I wrote and managed, as well as my work at the alternative high school. At Tinkham Alternative High School, I was a teacher consultant with a caseload of thirty students and wore multiple district-level hats, including being the Safe and Drug Free Schools Coordinator and the district’s front person for the Youth Mentorship Program (YMP) located at The Henry Ford, a magnificent museum and history attraction in Dearborn, Michigan. Although I worked frequently with folks at Central Office in developing grants, Jane was different. She cared about me personally. I was awestruck by this caring and the time she took to find out about me—my work, interests, and abilities. It was as if she drilled into my core, and I left connected to her and her work with a mission to carry out for the students of the district. The mission was to continue to seek ways to connect the schools and community in the interest of those at-risk kids who usually fall through the cracks. I left that meeting with a desk at Central Office, a phone, and a secretary. Until then, I had done every aspect of the grant-writing process without support. That meeting launched a five-year mentoring relationship in which I learned some of my most important skills and lessons in educational leadership. Jane led with great energy and passion. She understood people, cared for them in important ways, acknowledging their strengths and


accomplishments, empowering them to lead, holding them accountable, and supporting them in times of personal challenge. Jane, at my invitation, came out to The Henry Ford for a family night. We had twelve students in the program, all turning a corner in the direction of school success after having been a sneeze away from dropping out of high school. As she introduced herself to the students, Tim invited her to take a walk to the horse stables in Greenfield Village, his placement, to meet his charges and witness the work he now did with the animals. It was a rainy, muddy hike to the barn, but Jane was not fazed by these conditions. In spite of her high heels and business suit, she and I followed Tim all the way to the barn, where she petted the horses, complimented Tim on the grooming, talked with him about his future, and praised his ability and accomplishments. By the time we returned to the family night event, wet, covered in mud, with our hair pasted to our faces, she had a deeper understanding of the program that she then used to support it throughout her time in the district. Most importantly, she reinforced with Tim and all the students there that she knew they were making a difference, doing important work in the village and museum, and that she looked forward to watching them grow in their education. To this day, Tim, now thirtyone, asks about Jane and reminds me of that day. She was never above the students and their families. Their education and futures fueled her work, as they did mine. She understood her role as steward, not just in her work with me but in all she did. At this time, the district had multiple community advisory groups. They were needed for federal, state, and foundation grants as well as to advise the board of education, curriculum committees, and superintendent relative to local issues. I asked Jane to consider collapsing them into one advisory group, the Health and Welfare Advisory. In this way, people could serve on one committee, meet monthly, and advise the district on any issues that would arise. She helped me develop the concept and insisted that no matter what, people had to leave the meeting with a common project, something to work on that they cared about and felt would make a difference in the community. We reflected on the group process and outcomes after every meeting. Within a few short months, the group took on literacy in NorWayne, the most transient and challenging neighborhood in the district. We created kindergarten backpacks and the Red Wagon, a program that resulted in distributing thousands of books each year to


children in NorWayne, fueled by the committee and local volunteers pulling Red Flyer wagons in the neighborhood each week. Each summer, Jane invited the department of instruction to her home on a local lake to celebrate the year. She cooked casseroles, barbecued, made desserts, and steered the boat for anyone wishing to have a ride. She laughed with us and made us feel like a family. We felt safe. We felt important. Lessons Learned That day I met Jane at her office, she saw something in me. She invited me into the world of educational leaders and handed me a membership card in the form of a desk, phone, and secretary. One of the great skills she taught me was to focus on actions. Whenever facilitating a group of advisors (which I did because it was a requirement of grants), help them identify something they really care about and want to contribute to . . . then help them develop a project. Help them find a reason to be together. There was power in this process. It is in the working together that the community is strengthened. Relationships can unfold. Conversations begin with the common cause but blossom into collaborations, shared vision, and shared resources. Action is key. Jane was never above those around her. She was comfortable chatting with students and lunching with the custodians and secretaries, and she provided frequent opportunities to laugh and celebrate together. Humor was important. Humility was an essential ingredient. She did not wield power and she empowered others. And this is how she led. I wanted to lead by serving. I followed Jane to an educational specialist program that she and two other female colleagues were facilitating for a local university. She taught one-third of the classes, and this gave me an opportunity to spend more time with her and to observe her in action as teacher/mentor to a group of about thirty educators from around the Detroit Metropolitan area. Her style was to give you something to read, watch, or observe and to ask questions and provide groups of people with whom you could discuss your experience. I loved this style of learning. I remembered what I learned when I had a chance to apply concepts to my work and to listen to others do the same. She was really great at getting her students to think and to apply learning to actions at work. Her teaching deeply affected the way


I taught from then on, using applied learning in every classroom in the hopes that student learning would be cemented. Beverley, My Doctoral Program Professor I called Beverley to ask permission to take her personnel class at EMU in the ed leadership department. Enrolled in an education specialist program at Wayne State University, I would be a guest student and therefore needed special permission. After a brief conversation, she agreed to allow me to join the class. She was, from day one, animated, sharp in her expressions, and very intelligent. I stayed late that first class to complete paperwork, and in our first conversation, it was clear that we had much in common both personally and professionally. We made connections immediately: both of us had been Safe and Drug Free Schools and Communities directors, both spoke French and had travelled extensively, both had dealt with alcoholism in our families and both of us were rather bold, assertive women. The course was not my area of expertise or interest, but I loved watching Bev teach, often taking on the role of personnel director, applicant, and principal in an interview, changing expressions, voice, and content as she switched from role to role. She had the attention of her students. She asked good questions, she questioned often. We pursued a relationship beyond the classroom. I knew she was someone I could learn from. The conversation I remember early in our time together over lunch was the time she asked me why I did not pursue my doctoral degree in educational leadership. I was stunned. At age forty-seven, this had not crossed my mind. I remember her saying, “but we need you in our program and the schools need you.” Within weeks, I was pursuing my application to the program. When I discovered the GRE was required, I scheduled a meeting with Bev. I had not taken a standardized exam since the SATs in high school. Mortified at the thought of taking the test, I tried to back out of the pursuit. Her comment, “After all you have experienced in your life, all the crazy junk you have dealt with, and you are afraid to take the test? You will do fine. Just take the test.” She reframed my fear and gave me courage. I took the test. I got into the program. She encouraged me every step of the way. Bev retired before I finished, but she continued to support me with encouragement, meals, coffee, and frequent check-ins to see how I was progressing. She continues to do this.


Lessons Learned Beverley opened an important door for me, that of the doctoral program. I was forty-seven years old when I took her class and applied for the doctoral program at Eastern Michigan University the following year, with her blessings and encouragement. That journey never crossed my mind until she invited me into her world. She retired soon after I entered the educational leadership program, but she remained a strong mentor and friend. She went on to become a superintendent and explore new vistas herself, and this she did in retirement. It is no surprise that in my “retirement” I am on to new experiences in education, directing out-of-school-time programs, forging community/university partnerships, and mentoring young educators. Jim, My Dissertation Committee Chairman Know whose shoulders you stand on. —Jim

Jim is big in stature, but this is nothing compared to his ability to think in large pixilated pictures, where he connects each dot so that the images make sense. Speaking in metaphors, asking probing and difficult questions, and drawing pictures and diagrams require me to think, ponder, question. Jim was my dissertation chair. I came to the doctoral program in educational leadership thinking that the experience would be like most graduate school experiences, plus the big research project that is the dissertation. I was wrong. Aside from classes I took with Jane, graduate courses were not particularly motivating. I was often bored. I was looking for a challenge and a guide through the doctoral process who would challenge me. I needed a mentor with special skills and found that mentor in Jim. In our early meetings, Jim repeatedly told me that my research, ultimately, would be a self-study. “You will do this research, not to change the nature of education as a result of your study, but to change you as a leader. You are really, in the end, the unit of study.” I didn’t believe that at first. I came to understand that everything I experience comes to me through my filter and is colored by every experience I have had. As a leader and a researcher, I had to learn how to tame this subjectivity, because it is always there.


Jim taught me that research must begin with the right questions. Developing questions became a challenge and required much practice. I often asked questions to which I knew the answers and questions that would have answers I could support through my work experiences. This was not wrong, but it was not going to lead to new understanding. As I worked on questions, Jim was (and still is) always available to help me work out the language and develop clarity and the courage to ask. A good question is often a difficult one. During the dissertation process, Jim provided support, making it safe to talk about my findings and their implications. During the research process, I often found myself in a fog, and with Jim’s support, I became comfortable with not knowing, with being lost in the data and my thoughts about them, not seeing clearly. My early response was that I just wasn’t smart enough to see what was in front of me. As the process progressed and being in the fog became a more regular experience, I learned that this is part of deep thinking learning. It turns out that life is filled with foggy times, both personally and professionally. I learned to be in the moment . . . without answers. I learned to wait for the answers to emerge. I learned that there were times when no answer was the answer. I have passed this along to so many of my prote´ge´s, the skill to find one’s self. This skill is foundational in leading in education. It is, like many important skills and actions, counterintuitive. Lessons Learned I learned the importance of asking the right questions. This is key to teaching and mentoring. I remember presenting a possible dissertation topic to Jim, a topic I knew better than anyone else. I wanted to write my dissertation about the Henry Ford Youth Mentorship Program (YMP). I had wanted to write about this successful intervention for years and to get the word out about mentoring. Jim suggested I study the system in which the YMP was born, the school district, the people, cultures, and history, how the politics play out. He explained that I would then be able to explain the YMP and all my programs. I would develop new skills and really, if one understands the system, one can explain the relationships, programs, and events within the system. This made sense. I embarked on a study of 177 years of history, culture, and school evolution in the Wayne Westland area. I studied the complexity of systems and interactions, the


power of history and culture. By the end, I deepened my understanding of the system and could see more clearly. I became a pebble in the sands of time and my humility grew. Jim repeatedly told me, “The answers to the problems of the community lie in the community.” That meant I did not have the answers. My role was to question, to support, to help find resources, not to solve the problem. I did not have any control over the problem or the solution. This was at once freeing and terrifying. It required practice. I had been given, by the school district’s administrators and by the parents and children, a great deal of power. It had been my practice to give it right back. I never knew that is what I was doing. Jim helped me to understand this process. Learning to identify assumptions—my own, those of my colleagues, and those that lie within systems, communities, and cultures—is an important skill Jim taught me. I came to this work with a full set of my own assumptions. Key to being good at leading was being good at recognizing my assumptions and those of others. This process is filled with conflict. Having been a conflict avoider—fearful of it my entire life—I was given the gift of understanding that conflict is a motivator, a driver, a big part of history, of life. Jim often took me from fear to understanding. He still provides that kind of support. It is powerful. It creates safety for me to take risks in challenging my own assumptions as well as those of others.

My Prote´ge´s The stories that follow were written by my prote´ge´s. I asked them to write about their experience of the relationship we have and what they are doing now. Each story is followed by a brief analysis of the lessons taught. Vera Lynn’s mentorship is based on attraction rather than promotion. She mentors younger and older women by example and through stories of her own life’s journey. Throughout the most difficult decisions in my life, she has guided me through my own previous experience and has allowed me the dignity to make my own decisions—whether they were right or wrong. The guidance has been always to think about the greater good—to act honorably and with integrity—to take the harder path. When mentoring


others, lift my mentees as I climb and never climb over them. Lynn taught me that boundaries with those we love can be flexible and those who we have difficult interactions with can be respectful but firm. These words of wisdom have allowed me to flourish in my career as the director of thoracic oncology in a tertiary medical center. Even when I have made mistakes, she has allowed me to see the humor in them, and never once criticized my own personal educational/learning pathway. Lynn’s mentorship has been in an arena of exercising her own wellmarked personal boundaries that in turn have taught me to do the same. Lessons Taught With Vera, I have shared my own experiences on so many occasions, especially in times when she was greatly challenged. Ours is a relationship built on a spiritual foundation of trusting that there is something bigger than us out there. This higher power allows us to take responsibility for our choices and actions and know that we are not in control of outcomes, especially for others (colleagues, children, spouses, friends, etc.). She makes commitments and checks in with me to be accountable. Setting clear boundaries has been a major part of our discussions throughout the years. Humor has been important as well as taking personal inventories. Suzie I met Lynn nine years ago. I was twenty-two and fresh out of college. I was hired as the program facilitator for a program called the Youth Mentorship Program that Lynn started eleven years earlier. I was excited and had no idea what was in store for me. What I would soon find out is that I was embarking on an amazing adventure, which wouldn’t have been possible if it wasn’t for Lynn. Not just because she hired me (which she did), but because she believed in me—even when I was a complete mess (which I often was). Lynn has the perfect balance of teaching by example and letting you figure it out through practice. I love this about her. She would coach me when it was appropriate and often apparent that I was lacking confidence and skills, but she would let me run with ideas that others laughed at. She always made a point to highlight my assets and strengths while giving me ideas to improve my deficits.


She let me test new ideas in a safe/low-risk environment and processed with me after. I have never learned so much. She taught me so many valuable lessons. I have “Lynnisms” running through my head daily. They often get me through tough situations. Having Lynn as a mentor has been so impactful. I understand education and mentoring from a local and state perspective. I have been exposed to professional opportunities (trainings, conference workshop presenter, and college guest lecturer, to name a few) because of Lynn’s gift of letting others shine and helping people see their potential. I love the days that I spent watching Lynn work. She works tirelessly to improve the lives of kids and families. She is a champion, an advocate, and has a gift of navigating systems and finding a way to meet people where they are. She knows that the key to everything is to start on a community level and build up. She has a deep respect for all people and fights for basic and inherent rights of children to have access to quality programming and experiences. She works tirelessly to provide resources that create environments where people thrive. She knows that if you provide people with the tools for success, they’ll be successful. Because of her guidance, I’ve seen incredible things grow in communities that had been written off. I am so fortunate to have worked with Lynn at such a critical time in my career. It is in large part due to her example and instruction that I feel confident building community and continuing in this field. She is an amazing boss, teacher, and friend. On a personal note, Lynn came into my life just a few years after my mother lost her battle with cancer. We joke that I was her telephone stalker and quasidaughter (because I was), but the truth is, I am so unbelievably lucky to have Lynn in my life. She never made me feel bad or uncomfortable for broaching subjects that were far from professional. She always listened, gave advice, and made me feel supported and loved. She helped to fill some of the big gaps that were left in the aftermath of my loss. She didn’t have to. It’s just who she is. Lessons Taught I believed in Suzie. I still believe in Suzie. When I met her I saw the light within. I knew she had great potential locked inside and that it is possible to unleash that power and set her on a path to her own greatness; however, she would define it. I let Suzie know she had the potential to learn and


grow and become the person she wanted to be. I worked with her to identify her strengths and provided safety so she could look at areas of weakness. I often asked what it was she wanted to learn, improve, change. I gave her space to do that. I encouraged her to take risks and use mistakes as great teachers. I did not solve Susie’s problems as they emerged (both personal and professional). I listened, asked questions, and encouraged her to seek solutions. Then I supported her efforts with opportunities to reflect and plan. I invited Susie to follow me around for a few months. I took her to meetings and then we talked (usually over a soda or meal) and worked to find meaning in these experiences. I am committed to walk the talk. I shared my passion for working with at-risk youth and my commitment to providing opportunities for them, opening doors wherever possible. I demonstrated acceptance, caring, and love for our students. I was not from the community in which we worked and had learned to meet folks in their territory and accept them where they were. I allowed my students to teach me about their culture, and Suzie would learn about it the same way. We are all students. With Suzie, my role became, at times, that of a nurturing mother. She had lost her mom and she was adopted. She was seeking parental support and was very direct with me about it. I told her she could be my adopted kid whenever she needed it. This opened the door for her to ask for help as needed. Over time this included meeting her fiance´, discussing living arrangements, how to manage debt, and all kinds of life skills and personal issues. So many mentors and my parents had taught me what I know. I was willing to pass it on. Stacy The thing of it is, I never knew I needed a mentor. I didn’t know I was supposed to have one . . . or want one. No one told me. Where do you pick up one of those? I had just finished a very expensive master’s degree and I was ready to take on the world. I had my diploma. I just needed a wall to hang it on. But there wasn’t one available. No one had taught me what to do with that diploma. No one had showed me how to use it. No one had translated theory and concept into practice. Now what?


Then one night in August of 1995, I found myself at one of Lynn Malinoff’s patchwork quilt dinners. They were quite a creative collection, you never knew who would be there, but there was always someone who was in some kind of “recovery.” I suppose that I felt oddly comforted by the fact that Lynn always seemed to be surrounded by people who were somewhat “flawed.” I grew to love those dinners over the years, but on this night, I had come along as a friend of a friend, not even a first-tier guest. Lynn greeted me from across the table, “So Stace, you got a job yet?” She wasn’t much for pleasantries and she was about as subtle as a sledgehammer. This is gonna be fun. I’m glad I came. “Um . . . nope.” “Huhm.” I later learned to be cautious of that sparkle in her eye, but on this night, I was without insight. “You should come work for me at the museum.” “Doing what? I could pretty much do anything except work with teenagers.” I was vaguely aware of what Lynn did for a living. “I can’t stand teenagers.” “Well, we can work something out.” The first of many “Lynn phrases.” I would never say Lynn taught in “bumper stickers” because she was certainly not a cliche´. But. She had learned to boil down her wisdom over the years to succinct phrases—phrases she almost left you to figure out on your own if the meaning wasn’t readily apparent. This first phrase, that was Lynn-speak for I’ve just made a decision and I’ll let you in on it later when it’s too late for you to back out. I realized years later that was my moment, a true pivot point: a dinner that would steer the rest of my life . . . a relationship that would end up molding my thinking, shaping my ideas about myself, influencing my politics, building my career. This relationship would bring about a maturity and sense of self in me that had somehow gotten lost on my journey through adulthood. I finally arrived in my late twenties, better tardy than never showing up at all. It is my relationship with Lynn that I credit for every good relationship that was to follow in my life. I was never really sure why she went out on that particular limb that night. Because I had zero experience in her field; it was as much a commitment for her as it was for me. Why did she pick me? Was she at the bottom of her barrel too? She didn’t really know me that well. I’d always assumed it was due to her fondness for my friend, but if I’ve learned one thing about Lynn, it’s this: Lynn doesn’t gamble. She must have seen


something worth the risk in me. To this day, I’m not really certain what it was, but somehow, I don’t care. This is the first true characteristic of a strong mentor—know where to invest your energies. You can’t really be a good mentor without knowing what one is, and we’ve idealized and socialized this word to death. It now buzzzzzzzes around with all the rest of the edu-speak in Washington like a fly caught in a pair of industrial mini blinds banging its body repeatedly against the glass. If you’ve experienced this relationship, however, you know. It is clear. A mentor is a bridge, a link between what you know and what you think you know but don’t. They’re a translator, a tour guide, a seeing eye dog. They watch the road ahead and send back better directions than the map you arrived with. They’re Sacajawea and you’re the know-it-all explorer. They speak the language, know the customs, and know how to barter. And what’s most important? They’re willing to show you how to do all that. But it’s not a gift. It’s a partnership. They expect something in return. They expect you to try, move outside your comfort zone, sometimes stay outside your comfort zone. They expect you to try, oh and they expect you to try. They see you as having value. Different is unique, and they are interested in anything that makes them smarter. Different makes you wise. This arrangement isn’t meaningful, however, unless you want it to be, or, in my case, need it to be. On day one of my insane job with Lynn I was treading water . . . on another planet. I was definitely working with teenagers, but not ordinary teenagers. These people were the pinnacle of pain in the ass. These were the young people who had already been thrown away. They’d been used up already, by everyone who should have taken care of them, and tossed out; Lynn Malinoff, for some reason that I didn’t readily understand, was there with a catcher’s mitt. You see, I grew up in June and Ward’s house. I had two married parents who didn’t do drugs, had stable jobs, and always put healthy food on the table. We weren’t wealthy, but we had enough for a comfortable middle class life and often some extras like vacations or singing lessons. I liked school and always respected my elders. “What choo say your name is?” “Stacy, and yours?”


“My what? Hah. You don’t need to know.” This oddly tough-looking girl with freckles was looking me up and down and rolling her eyes at my appearance to her friends. I was, I’ll be honest, afraid of her. “Daaaamn Stacy. Them shoes is ugly.” She cackled and walked off down the hall. Oh god, someone please help me. Lynn would be proud that I was attempting to access a higher power on day one. Every kid in that program pushed my buttons every day. Lynn once told me in her not-so-gentle but direct way, “You need to put them (your buttons) away, stop wearing them out there where they can get to them all.” It took me the better part of a year to learn this skill. I ran a mentoring program for “at-risk youth.” I connected my young people with older, more educated, more experienced, patient, and kind teachers in the hopes that they would see a better life ahead and have a personal bridge to it. And it worked. It worked a lot. It would be working so well, and I’d be floating with happiness, gloating in my Angelina Jolie fog over all the children I’d saved, and then they’d get arrested for breaking into trailers and stealing, paging me from Wayne County jail at two in the morning. “Yee-uh. Um . . . can you bail me out?” And I did. I made a lot of poor decisions in that first year. Once I’d accepted that this was my job, I loved them. The emotional momma took over, and so the first lesson I had to learn was to have boundaries. I didn’t learn this one right away. Lynn knew that on some level, I just couldn’t help myself. She made me go to twelve-step meetings. I remember being so angry. “Why? Why would they do this? Everything was going so well; they’re getting off probation, getting good grades in school, showing up every day, finally on the right track. This makes no sense to me.” It was called sabotaging your success. It is my second “Lynn phrase,” and it was explained to me this way. “Failure is familiar to someone who’s never experienced success. Success is scary. Success is uncertain. Success feels foreign. Success brings pressure and expectation, but failure, failure is familiar. And familiarity is comfort.” I thought that was the dumbest thing I’d ever heard. My righteous, white, middle-class indignation could not wrap its head around such a ridiculous concept. Why would anyone find failure comforting? Well, it’s hard to disappoint someone who expects nothing from you, or who


disappoints you. I saw student after student sabotage their success over the years: do something stupid that derailed them every time. That continuously occurring phenomenon taught me to re-evaluate my understanding of the term success, for them and for me. Lynn lesson number three. “You just never know the impact you might have. You do not know what it will be or when it will manifest, but it will.” She would always follow this particular sage wisdom with colorful stories of kids I didn’t know, she always thought I did, and where they were now and what they were doing. A good mentor should be a good storyteller because let’s face it, sometimes they have to convince you that what they have to offer is something worth having. She would follow up this particular nugget of wisdom with another of my favorites, Lynn lesson number four: “You gotta love ’em where they are.” This one required lots of research on my part. I had to “let go” of my reality a lot and allow myself to truly see the world they lived in; otherwise, I would always be an outsider, someone who just didn’t understand and I needed to. I needed to understand why Tim would buy a $200 leather jacket when his family had been without electricity for two weeks or why Sorinthea’s mother would dump all of her things out of a garbage bag into the lobby screaming, “Here. If you love her so much, you keep her.” I had to be able to move past the feelings of who would do that to their child? Because pity is not a useful emotion. I learned to see each young person separately. I learned to measure them against their own yardstick instead of some ambiguous national silhouette for success. With this lesson, I learned perseverance, and with that came great rewards. I hung in there even when they didn’t want me to. “Uh. Stacy. Why do you keep hugging me? I hate you.” “I know, but I love you Tonya.” “I seriously hate you. I tell you that every day. Why don’t you get it?” “I know, but I love you, and I’m gonna tell you that every day.” She cried the hardest the day I left. Our young people did succeed, and I did too. Like anything, there’s a range. Scott dropped out of school and disappeared for a while, but I visited the museum before I left Michigan. I’m walking through the village when I hear “Stacy,” and up pulls Scott driving a carriage. He drives my family and me back to the carriage house and he runs inside to come out with a framed document—his GED. He is still living in Westland, still


working at the museum. But he’s sober. He has a job where he feels appreciated and a part of something; his coworkers helped him study for that test. He is happy and I cried like a baby all the way home, that image of those twinkling eyes burned into my head. Last month our college hosted an all-faculty forum to discuss “student success,” which our state’s legislature is defining narrowly. “Success” is: the percentage of students who earn an A, B, or C in a class. Period. And our faculty were up in arms. I’ve become close to our vice president since I’ve been here, and she was in my office lamenting how to handle the bomb she felt was coming down the road. “Put a human face on it. Let the faculty know that although that definition of success is certainly out there, it’s not the only definition that we value. Let a student speak [I learned that from Lynn]. And I have one in mind.” So she took a gamble on my idea and one of my students, Jacob, spoke to the entire college’s faculty in a crowded auditorium. This young African American man told the story of the semester he spent in my class— the semester his only parent, his mother, was extremely ill with failing heart disease. He spoke of how he would take the bus to the hospital every day from school and do his homework by her bed until she fell asleep, then return to school the next day and do it all over again. He talked about losing their insurance, her death, being kicked out of their home, and his last straw: a tuition due notice that brought him to my office, a place he considered a refuge. This young man was an honors student, always articulate and composed. He handed me the bill and quietly asked if I had any ideas about where he might get some help. He sat quietly while I started with my phone calls. I was polite but firm not accepting “no” from anyone (another skill I learned from Lynn). Within fifteen minutes that same vice president had promised the tuition would be taken care of. Great. He lingered. I said, “Can I help with anything else?” He hesitated. “No, it’s just been a bad day.” The tears finally started to fall. “This is the kinda thing I woulda talked to my mom about.” And then I sat quietly for the next couple of hours and just listened and handed off tissues. He eventually told my colleagues about that afternoon, the next day when the English faculty member moved his things into storage in her garage, and the history teacher who connected him with a mentor at the hospital. I showed them pictures of all the people who, behind the scenes, had worked together to make sure this young man would get through this


and then he thanked each and every one of them with the most poignant sincerity I have ever heard. I told them where he was, a successful graduate of our CNA program, and entering our nursing program, a 4.0 student again, standing on his own two feet. “So I understand that the legislature wants you to value those numbers: 75 percent, and you should, but you should also value the number 4, which is my grade point average thanks to professors Omar and Florez, the number 750, which was the number that the college ‘gifted’ to me in the spring of 2009, and the number 2012, which is the year I will graduate thanks to. . . . ” And we got the whole list. There was not a dry eye in that room that day and no one was up in arms or even in the mood to argue about numbers anymore. “No one can say it better than the people you are trying to serve,” Lynn lesson number five. I will admit, I “see” those young people in my classrooms more clearly and quickly than most thanks to my years with Lynn. I know what to do with them. I know how to reach them and I believe they deserve my help. But I learn from them too. Lessons Taught Mentor, teacher, trail guide, Stacy uses many labels for this work. When I hired her, I saw great potential. She had amazing skills and no direction. Stacy was able to revise, rework, create herself. She was given an opportunity to construct meaning, a desire that is innate in people. With each phase of Stacy’s growth and development as the director of the Youth Mentorship Program, she gathered more information, reflected on her experiences, and constructed new meaning. This opened up new ways of thinking and acting. It was all built on her thirst to learn and to teach. Stacy was a performer, a forensics champion in college. She was not afraid to speak out, but she was searching for meaning, for a cause, for something to speak out about. And she found it in the youth at the YMP. They terrified her, endeared her, and ultimately loved her as she loved them. It was a strange and challenging dance at first that evolved into a well-developed community with a highway to new possibilities for Stacy and the youth she served. In relationships, developing boundaries provides great safety, clarity, and opportunity. By knowing where you begin and end, you can learn to stay in your own hula-hoop. It isn’t that you ignore the situation of your prote´ge´. You pay attention. But you give them the dignity of owning their


own problems and challenges. You provide safety so they can try things out, risk failure (and benefit from the lessons that follow). You help your prote´ge´ set goals and then provide a system of accountability. You do this without controlling for outcomes. You just ask them to check in periodically. Ask how it is going. Ask if they are pleased with the direction in which they are headed. Stacy picked up on the importance of voice. I gave her a voice by listening and allowing her to use her voice in her work. She gave the youth voice. She gave them back their power as I had done with her. She continues to do this as a community college professor. Betsy When I first met Lynn, I was in the bind I often found myself in—all the interesting work I did was unpaid, and all the paid work was uninteresting. The previous August, I had graduated from U of M with a master’s degree, a teaching certificate in English, and the sneaking suspicion that while I cared deeply about education and young people, I didn’t care much about teaching English. This seemed to be a problem. In the meantime, I had cobbled together a series of paying jobs—as a sub in Ann Arbor, as a writing tutor for U of M athletes, as a babysitter—and a series of unpaid jobs—creating online forums for high school and middle school students to write poetry, to follow an Arctic expedition, and helping my former professor to conceptualize an online dictionary of education. It was thrown together and it was getting more desperate—I had regular meals of brown rice and honey for breakfast and brown rice and spinach for dinner, and my fellow graduates were having similar struggles finding work. And then, my professor called to say that this woman named Lynn would be calling about a job and that although he did not know much about it, I should take it because she seemed like someone I would like working with. Within minutes Lynn called, we talked on the phone, and the next day she picked me up and on the drive to Westland offered me the job. I wondered how she could have possibly offered me something so suddenly. A few things were clear: Lynn was a woman of action, she expected big things, and she expected me to have questions. In time, I realized that I had lucked into the perfect teaching job for me— working with nontraditional students in an intensive and nontraditional way


where I got to focus on them and their learning rather than on me and what I was required to teach them. At that time, at that school, the motto was, do what’s best for the student. Here was my first lesson from Lynn—“It’s easier to beg forgiveness than to ask permission.” Time and again, we did what was right and hoped that it worked. But that’s not exactly the lesson that I was learning—the real lesson was “if you are doing work that matters, failure is expected.” I saw Lynn make mistakes, admit them, learn from them, and try again. For me, this was the most freeing thing I could learn as a new teacher—not only is it ok to make mistakes, but it is required. I couldn’t possibly be pushing the edge enough if I wasn’t messing up and in fact, if I wasn’t regularly messing up. I messed up often, regularly and with great gusto. I didn’t confront the student who showed me his white power tattoos, I talked to them about religion and abortion in a conservative community—like all new teachers, I was negotiating the balance between mentor, teacher, supervisor, and friend, but without the classroom structure, that line was even harder to define. Lynn told me what she would do, how I could clean up my mess, and sent me on my way. But more often, Lynn led by example. She took me along to meetings I didn’t need to be in, trainings that weren’t directly relevant, events at the school. Through all of that, I learned how she worked and how I should work. I learned how to resolve conflicts between students, how to lead support groups, how to talk about difficult topics, and how to work with administration and staff. I was lucky enough to live around the corner from Lynn, so from the start, there were dinners and lunches and walks in the park together. For me, it just accelerated how quickly I grew to trust and respect her. From the beginning she made it clear that I could talk to her about any and all mistakes and questions that I had. I did not have to cover anything up or make it sound better. I could bring my confusion and it did not change her belief in me. The biggest lesson I carry, though, is the one Lynn was clearest about—“it’s about the relationship.” Relationships grease the wheels of systems—but not in a corrupt, favor-swapping way—in an authentic, “I believe in you” way. Much like my first job with Lynn, I have only worked in nontraditional settings, teaching nontraditional classes with the aim of permanently changing the system. Right now, I supervise twenty teachers across twenty


middle and high schools and have the opportunity to play the same role that you played for me. When I left the classroom, I wondered if I would get the same level of satisfaction from adults. In Peer Resources, we tend to attract young teachers or teachers who are dissatisfied with traditional teaching, and I have the opportunity to help them figure everything out. At this point, I am supervising one of my former students who is a current teacher. It is incredibly moving to work with him as a colleague and a new teacher and to support him as he makes all his mistakes and to celebrate all his successes. In mentoring new teachers, I am consistently reminded of what I learned from you and I often think about how I can foster that in my relationship with teachers. Lessons Taught In Betsy’s telling, she identifies many of the consistent lessons I learned from my mentors and shared with my prote´ge´s. Take risks, ask for forgiveness, not permission, and embrace the journey, including the mistakes. Create the safety to take risks. Pushing my prote´ge´s is about pushing the edge, about finding freedom in thought and action because the work is founded in a higher order. The relationships, the people, who they are, their cultures and communities, in other words, the context, are to be respected. Always act with honor and integrity. Walk the talk. Find your passion and follow it. There is often an element of being a career counselor. I don’t give my prote´ge´s tests to identify a career path. I do ask them about their unique abilities and what they care about. I always tell them they might as well find something they love doing and get paid for it. We all spend a significant chunk of our lives in the workplace; why not be somewhere that taps your passion and your skill? Jason My relationship with Lynn is a kind, loving, and constantly growing relationship. It started in 1994 when I was placed in alternative education after being expelled from junior high school. At this time I was at risk, a confused teenager who thought the world was against him, who had no control over anything. I came from a low-income family that constantly fought alcoholism and drug abuse.


Lynn found me in the hallways of school and always had time to listen no matter what my frustrations were and how mixed up I was in the head. She always had another side of the situation to present to me. We had group meetings where I learned conflict resolution, anger management, and a lot about myself through discussion. By experiencing this, it has helped me learn about myself and has helped me keep control of situations when normally I would explode and get myself into trouble or potentially hurt others. As I spent the remainder of my junior and senior high school years working with Lynn, my outlook on life changed drastically. I wasn’t so hard on myself anymore or full of anger. I was finally in control of my life, and the decisions I made were mine and had consequences. I learned to think things through so when my choice was made I knew I analyzed all possibilities to rule out error on my part and make the best judgments. I went from being a failing student to actually applying myself and getting a 3.0 GPA for the remainder of my time at school. I was returned to the regular high school and was able to play sports and associate with the population of kids that someone my age should be with. I took pride in my work. I felt normal. I was a kid again, not someone with a chip on his shoulder and the whole world against him. After high school, I completed a two-year vocational school for aviation maintenance and joined the Air Force. I have been serving for almost nine years now. I am a licensed technician with an associate’s degree, and I am almost finished with my bachelor’s degree in project management. The skills that I have learned from the relationship with Lynn I use every day and they have been the key to my success. I love the fact that I can call Lynn from Iraq or Korea, and she is always there to dust me off and point me in the right direction. My parents have been dead for the last eight years, and to have someone recognize and praise me for my accomplishments makes everything that I have ever done worth it. The thing about being a great mentor is to never judge, to listen and also to be able to give constructive criticism and to be patient. These were the things that I was missing in my home life, and I have received through my relationship with Lynn. I am proud to say that I am one of Lynn’s hundreds of children and I have brothers and sisters out there that she has dedicated her time and compassion to as well.


Lessons Taught Jason, a student at my alternative high school, came to the program all puffed out, macho, and ready for a fight. He was, really, a gentle loving guy. I saw the light inside. His hard crust was not a deterrent, but it was a challenge to crack and I accepted the challenge with gusto. Listening was key to building trust. Reframing his thoughts and ideas was a major strategy. Helping Jason accept himself and giving him the power to take control of his life paved the way for his very amazing development professionally and personally. I know that for Jason, and for all the folks I’ve worked with, I left the door open for a continuing relationship. When his brother was dying of cancer during his senior year, he came back for support, the same when his mother died and his father reappeared. He has sought parenting, guidance, counseling, and feedback. He is a seeker. He has taught me about the culture of the Westland community, the military service, and the world of flight. He has made himself available to write letters of support for the Youth Mentorship Program, the alternative school, and projects like these. Jason has continued to pass it on to others in his work in the U.S. Air Force, teaching others, and in his neighborhood with boys whose dads are overseas. Fifteen years have passed since I met Jason, and our relationship has continued to grow. We experience mutual admiration. Sometimes teacher, sometimes parent, sometimes student; this is a relationship I cherish. Katie Sixteen years ago, and in my ninth grade of education, it seemed as if all hope and/or possibility of attaining any potential had been given up on; the teachers/school officials up to that point never seemed to believe as if there was any hope for me to begin with, and I finally started to agree with them. My hope and faith in my own potential and ability were restored when I met Lynn. Lynn is the first person in my life who demanded excellence from me. Lynn refused to accept the mediocrity that others praised me for, insisting that I perform at a higher standard than “good enough”; sixteen years later, she continues to motivate and encourage me. I am a fighter, I am a survivor, and I have always valued “doing the right thing.” I root for, and ferociously defend, the underdog, at times to


my own disadvantage. I believe in the nobility of the “righteous cause” and likewise, tend to hide behind it, in order to avoid my own selfevaluation; I learned to do this at a very young age. I will reach the heights of my potential, and a large part of the credit for my ability to even imagine the reality of this goal belongs to Lynn. She taught me to exceed expectations, especially my own. Lessons Taught In Katie’s case, I saw immediately that she was underachieving in every aspect of her life (except, maybe, taking care of her mother). She had been tossed by the system. She was smart and lazy. She had potential and someone or multiple people had convinced her that she was incapable of success in school. She is ADHD and has a learning disability (writing . . . she asked a friend to write this with her), and she was truant. The folks in the schools gave up on her. I remember calling her on mornings when she did not show up and with Stacy, we would sing show tunes and threaten to do it every time she did not show up. One day she showed up on time. We grabbed the Polaroid, snapped a photo (under the clock), put it on the front office door for all to see. We celebrated a small step in Katie’s taking charge of her life. We raised the bar, and raised it and raised it and raised it. Carolyn I met Lynn through an e-mail. Lynn came across a newspaper story about my journey through college and the various obstacles I faced along the way and my career goals. Growing up, my family experienced poverty and homelessness—while attending college, this was still the case. A writer from the Associated Press decided to write a story about me, a story that one of Lynn’s colleagues suggested she read. After reading a brief synopsis of the article, Lynn invited me out for coffee. We chatted about my background, how she became an educator, and her mission behind after school programs. In our meeting she said that I reminded her of former students who defied the odds of success given adverse circumstances. At the end of our conversation, Lynn asked me to speak to her class about the importance of mentorship in education. I agreed, and afterwards she offered me a part-time position with her program


Bright Futures. I initially worked as a student tutor, but over time, Lynn gave me more responsibility and allowed me to develop a parent engagement initiative for her after-school program. Regarding my professional development, I have appreciated Lynn’s willingness to allow me to take the reins on projects and initiatives. Over the past two years, she has vested a lot of discretion to me in working with her programs and taught me a lot about decision making. I’ve learned the importance of trial and error. Lynn has shown me that developing programs is an iterative process; perfection doesn’t happen overnight, nor is always feasible on the first try. It is important to understand that processes, experiences, mistakes, and failures create great formative opportunities. I’ve learned to lighten up and to apply some wisdom and practical knowhow to my ideas and ambitions. Lynn’s mentorship has also challenged me to mature in my professional relationships with others. Specifically, she’s taught me how to work with people to accomplish goals. I’ve learned how to practically gauge others’ needs and working styles and to develop working relationships accordingly. As a result, I’ve become a more effective leader and communicator. Personally, I have really valued the conversations I’ve had with Lynn. She’s been exceptionally transparent and honest about her own personal hurdles and offered advice on working through difficulties. She offers a refreshing bigger-picture perspective to even the most minute details of life. For instance, over Starbucks one evening, I expressed my frustrations with feeling strapped for cash. I confessed to her that I really wanted more financial wiggle room to do some special things for myself, like a manicure or new earrings. She suggested I play a little trick on myself by setting aside small amounts of money, one to five dollars from time to time, into a “splurge” account. Though seemingly unimportant, this small insight taught me the principal of delayed gratification. I haven’t had many mentors over the course of my life who have been willing to give such candid yet simple advice. I am currently a third-year doctoral student in a combined Ph.D. program in political science and public policy at the University of Michigan. I am currently developing prospective dissertation topics and intend to defend my prospectus by May 2011. I plan to have completed my degree by fall 2012.


Lessons Taught My friend Cindy sent me a ten-line news clipping with Carolyn’s story of growing up in poverty and overcoming odds to graduate from college with honors and attend U of M on a full ride in a Ph.D. program. Cindy had a sticky note attached that said, “She sounds like one of yours.” So, I looked her up since I was teaching at U of M at the time. She had a few teachers who helped her see the possibilities in life if she took her studies seriously. She knew a lot about mentors and the role they played, but she did not have any mentors here. I offered to meet with her until we could figure out what it all meant, but in the meantime, invited her to speak to my undergraduate students and tell her story of mentors and mentoring, since my undergrads were mentoring K–12 students in low-income schools. Ours is a newer relationship, but as Carolyn approaches her dissertation work, we have much to talk about. This is an area in which I have experience. And it is new territory for her. We also share an interest in families in poverty and seeking ways to provide hope and new experiences for them as well as seeking resources to help them take care of the basics. She is now working with me on developing the family component of our outof-school-time programs. I hired her. We are talking about money management and basic skills, as she missed some of that growing up. We are talking about families we serve and what they need. We discuss culture and the challenges that I, and some of my Caucasian staff, have in working in communities where the predominance is people of color. We talk about faith-based communities, spirituality, hopelessness, and hope. We talk about academia and Carolyn’s future. Ours is a relatively new relationship that is filled with energy and possibility. Amber I had Lynn as a professor for Education 360. Education 360 enabled student athletes to tutor and work as a mentor with elementary, middle school, and high school students in the Detroit metropolitan area. I enrolled in Education 360 because I thought it would be cool to work with young students. I usually worked with the less motivated/troubled students. Fortunately, my personal experiences enabled me to connect with the students and function as a role model. I do regret not staying in touch with the students, but I began to battle more with issues of my own.


After education 360, I would run into Lynn at the Athletic Academic Center every once in a while. And during these times we would speak cordially. However, we did not have our first real heart to heart until five months after the course. I was applying for a scholarship and I asked Lynn if she would write me a letter of recommendation. Since we had never had a conversation, and I did not feel that she knew me well enough, I thought she would refuse. Fortunately, she agreed. She requested that I submit to her a personal statement. After reading my personal statement, Lynn seemed to really open up. She may have always been open, so the truth may be that I began to open up to her. I am a very private person, and I am hesitant to share my life story because I do not want to be judged by it. My life has not been the worst, being that I have a father who is dedicated to my well-being and I have family and friends who have protected and provided for me. However, there are some things that I am confused about, and that make me feel less worthy when I am around those who seem, in my eyes, to be more privileged and more affluent. Therefore, when I shared a small smidge of my personal story, I felt like a wall had been lifted from between Lynn and me. The impression I got from Lynn in Education 360/362 was that she was brilliant, scholarly, and went straight by the books. I would never have thought that I would be able to share any of my background with her, because I thought that she was the very type of person who would judge, or try to classify me based on my life experiences. But I could not have been further from the truth. Lynn is now a very influential part of my life. She is a great mentor, and she helps me with understanding and working through my faulty thoughts and misconceptions about people and life in general. Lynn is very intelligent; however, I really admire her drive to continue learning. She is well versed and knowledgeable about many areas. But she does not portray that she knows more than what she really knows. I really appreciate this attribute of hers, because as a result, I feel that we have a mutual learning/growing relationship. I learn a lot more from her than she learns from me, but it feels good to know that I am able to educate when I share my problems, rather than just whining and complaining. I feel very fortunate to have Lynn as a mentor, and I appreciate all of her efforts and cherish our mentor/mentee relationship.


I will be starting my second year at the University of Michigan Law School this upcoming fall, 2010, and I am a tutor/mentor for undergrad students at the University of Michigan. I am interested in working with a mentoring program for young high school students, educating them on how to prepare, apply, and get funding for college.

Lessons Taught From our first encounter, I really admired Amber. When a door opened to a mentoring relationship, I opened it wide and invited her in. She was extremely motivated, in fact driven. She was going to go to law school. She was accepted at the University of Michigan to one of the most prestigious programs in the country. What an amazing woman. Amber is very self-conscious. Early in our meetings, she was guarded. Then something changed. We shared our stories. I told her I have more questions than answers in my life. I told her I would be her support, but only if she wanted that, and that she always had a choice about it. Transitioning from her urban schooling to the University of Michigan and then to U of M Law School, the cultural divide was enormous. After a semester in law school, we met for lunch. She confided in me that her most fearful experiences during the first semester of law school were speaking in class. She was concerned that she would botch the grammar, having grown up with Ebonics. When called on in class, she was afraid . . . and in law school, being called on is part of the experience of learning to speak as a lawyer. We meet on campus for lunch and talk about school, scholarships, work, her fears, her dreams, her path. Amber has a scholarship from a firm owned by some Jewish lawyers in Detroit. She worked there this summer and we have had many conversations about that experience. There were other law students, Jews (like myself), who the partners took to lunch. They did not take her. She did not ask. We talked about all the black kids sitting together in the cafeteria and why people sort themselves out. We talked about implications in the world of law and lawyers. Since this project began, Amber got a job with one of my teammates from my 1980s softball team, The Great Pretenders. All I did was introduce them. This is often an outcome. I provide resources and a network


and support to my prote´ge´ to reach out to the opportunities that are opened through relationships. In her writing about us, she writes about my willingness to be open and humble. She, too, is willing. She also talks about the mutuality of our relationship. We are both teachers to one another. It is growing. It is powerful. She picked me, really. She asked for help. In the helping, I decided to offer to be an ongoing support. And so it unfolds.

The Mentoring Process Explained The wise leader stays in the background and facilitates other people’s process. —Heider, 1985, p. 131

What is leadership? It is not followership. It involves identifying what one stands for (personally, as a team or school staff, as a department) and leading self and others to take action. These powerful relationships, mentoring and being mentored, provide practice in skills that are essential to leadership. These are skills in developing relationships, empowering others, guiding, supporting, and reflecting together. While the process is not altogether linear, there is a logical order to it. The steps that follow reflect the experiences of mentor and prote´ge´ alike. They are the result of the analysis of my narrative regarding lessons learned and the narrative provided by my prote´ge´s. The Instrument of Self I have been searching for the key: How do I explain this magical process of mentoring and the blossoming of both mentor and prote´ge´? I used scientific methods to identify the mentoring process. While the science allowed me to tease out the elements of mentoring, these steps in the absence of the key will not work. And because I have worked so hard on my humility, the key was hidden from me and not from those I mentored. What makes this work in my world of mentoring is my passion, caring, and love for people, all expressed with no strings attached. And it is a huge commitment of my time and energy. There is no doubt that the returns are much greater than the investment in spite of the enormous amount of time it takes, or maybe because it does take time and patience and trust.


Trust. It is not about trusting the process. It is about trusting each other. It is essential to the process to develop mutual trust, and this is done by first trusting my prote´ge´. I have faith in her, believe she will do what she says she will do, and then hold her accountable. I make promises and I keep them. I make coffee dates and appointments and I show up. And I expect her to do the same. I make mistakes and own them and allow my prote´ge´ to make mistakes and own them. We learn and grow together. When I made the list of my mentors and prote´ge´ s, I was going to write about context. However, in the analysis, the context was not that important to the relationship. I am attracted to people, all kinds of people from all walks of life and many cultures. What attracts me is their uniqueness, their light within, the wisdom and potential they possess, sometimes locked up and awaiting the key. I am clear on the amazing things that happen when very different people come together, so I make it a habit to mix things up as often as I can. I invite several prote´ge´s, family members, and friends to dinner at the same time. The conversations are highly charged, and the results are unpredictable. Sometimes someone gets a job, a connection for entrance into a college program, or simply shared stories that enrich us all. This is life. Not things, but people. Not trophies, but conversations and shared meaning. Not being in charge, but simply being. From this grows opportunity and discovery, and an opportunity to identify what it is we really care about, what we stand for. This prepares us all to lead. This is the magic. Seven Steps to Mentoring 1. Make a commitment 2. Connect 3. Validate 4. Take a personal inventory 5. Plan and act 6. Reflect and construct meaning 7. Readjust


1. Make a Commitment Commit your time and energy and share your passion. In this process, I take an interest in my prote´ge´. From this flows great energy. It fuels my passion for learning and my commitment to serve. I learn every bit as much as the people I mentor. 2. Connect Early in the process, we make contact and discuss interests. Coffee, tea, lunch, or on a park bench, this is an informal process. In many of the stories, food was a social lubricant. In some of the relationships, these meetings had rituals, like meeting on a given day at a given place each week or month. The rituals seem to provide comfort and safety. Throughout this process of connecting, it is important to: listen, be available—make time for this process to unfold. Accept without judgment where the prote´ge´ is in her/his life. Demonstrate compassion. Seek common interests or experiences. Share your story—give your prote´ge´ an opportunity to know you, warts and all. Use humor. Take turns asking questions. 3. Validate There is a process of validation, of meeting people right where they are, accepting them as they are without judgment. I acknowledge their existence and express my belief in them. They all stand for something, care about something. They all want to construct meaning. They all have passion for something. Early on, my role is to validate their interests and fuel their passion. I unlock the box and free them to pursue their interests. It is the beginning of building hope. I acknowledge how they feel and then move them toward action. I believe people act their way into feeling right, not feel their way into acting right. Action, however, requires courage. Fear can be paralyzing, so I provide them a safety net to take the plunge. There are simple strategies for validating and supporting one’s prote´ge´s: listen, nod your head, ask good questions, and be curious, let your prote´ge´ know you believe in her or him. Say it in direct terms—“I believe in you” and “I know you can do it.” Talk about choices. Connect dots for them using your experience and knowledge. Begin the process of helping your prote´ge´ develop or strengthen her or his personal control; the locus is within the individual.


4. Take a Personal Inventory A business that takes no inventory is likely to go broke. So I make this an integral part of the process. In this process, we identify interests, passions, and skills. Sometimes it is formal and I ask my prote´ge´ to make lists of assets and challenges, describe where they are currently. Sometimes I just use questions: What are you doing now? What do you want to be/do when you grow up? What do you care about? This process helps people find themselves on a life map of sorts. This is the beginning of identifying perceptions of self, others, situations. Often, my prote´ge´’s early perceptions are skewed. They are built on what people have told them and norms that surround them. My role becomes helping them gather empirical data that will challenge their perceptions and help them to construct new meaning. I help them take an inventory of themselves and the situation. For example, Katie was told she was not capable of being successful in school; this is a young woman with an admirable IQ and great creativity who believes she is worthless because others told her so, and these are people to whom she gives power. My role was to provide her with more information. Find something she is good at (inventory), where she wants to improve (inventory), and then support her in her academic work by teaching her to study, to write, to express herself. I support her in discovering herself as a learner, as an intelligent woman. 5. Plan and Act Action is extremely important in this relationship. The reason my prote´ge´ is willing to develop a plan of action is because I have modeled doing this. I share my own reflection and personal inventory and the kinds of actions that I plan as a result. The plan can be simple or complex. It often entails some study, some data gathering, and several meetings to develop the plan. The plan becomes a commitment to take action. Within this process, I create safety to take risks, as the plans are often filled with risks and hindered by fear. My mentor’s mentor, George Brown, always said, “There are no mistakes, only negative and positive results.” When fear arises, I often ask, “What is the worst thing that can happen if you try this?” Rarely is there an answer that keeps my prote´ge´ from making an attempt. A good plan is one that has some form of accountability. How long does she need to take the action and when will we get back together to discuss


the experience? This helps her push through the fear, take a deep breath, do it in spite of her reservations. At this juncture of the journey, I often find myself teaching skills. Most commonly: setting boundaries, navigating the system, networking, resource development/money management, how to ask for help, how and where to get the data needed in order to make the plan, career exploration strategies. We are guides to our prote´ge´s. We help structure their plans, encourage risk, and open doors. We empower them to act and then get out of the way. There is an art to this dance. We start out the leader and then release our prote´ge´ to the process, their choices, and the outcomes. We give them permission to take charge and be deliberate, to act based on acquired information and knowledge, dreams, and life goals. The actions my prote´ge´s take become the material and resources with which to construct meaning. Experiences count. They have power. They give energy to ideas, help one sort out what works and what needs to change. The action may even result in a life-changing experience, though it may not be identified as life changing in the moment. 6. Reflect and Construct Meaning “The wise leader does not try to protect people from themselves. The light of awareness shines equally on what is pleasant and on what is not pleasant” (Heider, 1985, p. 9). This is where the learning takes place. This is the juncture that defines the progress the prote´ ge´ is making. This process allows us to move between optimism and realism, back and forth, until we can figure out our next move. We examine ourselves in the context of experience, seeking to construct meaning that will move us forward. Reframing is an integral part of the process. The most negative experience can provide the richest lessons and inform our next move. What seems negative at the time may be a significant opportunity. Reframing involves looking at an experience through multiple lenses—one’s own values, the culture that surrounds the person, gender, theory, natural order, and so forth. 7. Adjust That is, use the data and newly constructed meaning to adjust beliefs, interests, and goals. Return to step four and review the inventory work


done so far. Search for new information. Ask questions and gather more data. If stuck, go back to step three and validate your prote´ge´’s thoughts and feelings. Help your prote´ge´ see new options and choices. Be sure the safety net is well established and support your prote´ge´ in taking action, even if it is baby steps. This process is cyclical. The journey is never really over, though it morphs and changes. This is true in the mentoring relationship and in our roles as leaders. The process is not complex, but the skills required make it as much an art as it is a science. This is not a linear map but a circular, never-ending process.

Mentoring as Leadership and Legacy The greatest use of a life is to spend it on something that will outlast it. —William James

The art of mentoring is very clearly described in my prote´ge´s’ stories. The common themes described behaviors and actions that brought meaning, safety, and sustainability to the mentoring relationship. How is this leadership? This is transformational leadership at the grass roots. Transformational leadership is defined as a leadership approach that creates valuable and positive change in the followers with the end goal of developing followers into leaders. As a leader, I am not a goddess or a queen but rather a steward of the people I lead. This process is not about creating followers. It is about passion, commitment, action, and reflection. It results in empowering others to lead—with passion and by example. And as my prote´ge´s become mentors, the energy, love, and hope are carried on to the next generation. I am looking in a mirror at a reflection of myself in the mirror behind me and the image keeps going and going and going. This is the mentoring experience, and in that mirror is everyone who has ever mentored me and everyone I mentor. It’s quite a crowd, a lineage that keeps on going long after I die. This is my legacy.

Conclusion This writing is a labor of love. The stories shared about my mentors describe the foundation of my passion, skills, and commitment. These


people moved me, energized me, taught me to take risks, take a stand, and move to action. My gratitude to them is expressed in my actions mentoring others in order to carry on this rich tradition. The stories my prote´ge´s wrote touched me deeply. I am only sad that I could not include them all. There is no way I could write this chapter without their voices. It is not about me, it is about them, their courage, their passion, and their commitment to this process. I am overwhelmed by the amazing accomplishments of my prote´ge´s, but not surprised. They know what they stand for, they are moved to action, and they are selflessly paying it forward.

References Blumer, H. (1969). Symbolic interactionism: Perspective and method. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Crossley, M. L. (2002). Introducing narrative psychology. In C. Horrocks, K. Milnes, B. Roberts & D. Robinson (Eds.), Narrative, memory and life transitions (pp. 1–13). Yorkshire, England: University of Huddersfield. James, W. (n.d.). The quotations page. Retreived 1 March 2011 from http://www.quotationspage.com/quote/23543.html. Heider, J. (1985). The tao of leadership. Atlanta, GA: Humanics New Age. Mair, M. (1989). Between psychology and psychotherapy. London, UK: Routledge. Schechter, H., & Semeiks, J. G. (1980). Patterns in popular culture: A sourcebook for writers. New York: Harper & Row. Sinetar, M. (1998). The mentor’s spirit. New York: St. Martin’s.

About the Editor and Contributors

Editor Jennifer L. Martin, Ph.D., has worked in public education for fifteen years, thirteen of those as the department head of English at an alternative high school for at-risk students in the Detroit metropolitan area. She is also a special lecturer at Oakland University, where she teaches in the Education Specialist Degree Program and in the Women and Gender Studies Program. As an educational leader, Dr. Martin has been an advocate for at-risk students and has received several district, state, and national awards and recognitions for her advocacy, mentorship, and research. She has served as a mentor to high school, undergraduate, and graduate students, as well as to new teachers in a variety of areas such as writing and publishing, career and leadership development, and advocacy. Dr. Martin has conducted research and published fourteen book chapters and numerous peer-reviewed articles on bullying and harassment, peer sexual harassment, educational equity, mentoring, issues of social justice, service learning, the at-risk student, and other educational topics. Dr. Martin has been an invited speaker at universities and nonprofit organizations on the aforementioned topics. As Action Vice President of Michigan NOW, she engages in volunteer Title IX education and legal advocacy work. Through this work, she has been asked to comment on proposed Michigan legislation on National Public Radio.

Contributors Elizabeth J. Allan, Ph.D., is an associate professor of higher education at the University of Maine, where she is also an affiliate faculty member with 319


the Women’s Studies Program. She received her Ph.D. in educational policy and leadership with a women’s studies emphasis from The Ohio State University in 1999. Her research focuses on campus cultures and climates and has included studies on classroom teaching practices, diversity, student group experiences, university women’s commissions, and the methodology of policy discourse analysis. Her professional experience includes a visiting professorship at Universidad de las Americas in Puebla, Mexico, and five years of teaching women’s studies at The Ohio State University. She is author of more than twenty articles and is the recipient of the Outstanding Publication Award by the American Educational Research Association’s Division J. Her book Policy Discourses, Gender, and Education was published by Routledge in 2008, and she is co-editor of the 2010 text Re-constructing Higher Education: Feminist Poststructural Perspectives, also published by Routledge. James E. Barott, Ph.D., has served as a Professor of Educational Leadership in the College of Education at Eastern Michigan University (EMU) for the past twelve years. Dr. Barott began his academic career at the University of California, Santa Barbara (UCSB) where he was mentored by Drs. Laurence Iannaccone and George Brown. His previous academic positions include serving as a Lecturer and Academic Program Leader in the Confluent Education Program at UCSB, Assistant Professor in Educational Leadership at the University of Utah, and Associate Professor in School Administration and Supervision at the University of Texas Pan American. Dr. Barott has focused his career on the development and mentoring of educational leaders. He specializes in teaching organizational theory, the politics of education, and field study research methods. During his tenure in higher education, Dr. Barott has had the privilege of mentoring and serving as dissertation chair of numerous students. He has also worked closely with a number of specialist and master’s students. He views his greatest achievement as the important contributions made to field of education by his students. Dr. Barott has published numerous articles and presented a number of papers with his former students and continues to serve as a mentor and advisor and friend to these students. He has received awards for his teaching and mentoring from the University, the College, and the Department at EMU.


Christa Boske, Ed.D., is an assistant professor in pre K–12 educational administration at Kent State University. Christa works to encourage school leaders to promote humanity in schools, especially for disenfranchised children and families within America’s public educational system. Her scholarship is informed by her work in residential treatment and inner-city schools as a school leader and social worker. She recently coedited the book entitled Bridge Leadership: Connecting Educational Leadership and Social Justice to Improve Schools, published by Information Age, with Autumn K. Tooms. Christa’s work can also be found in the Journal of School Leadership, Journal of Research, Leadership and Education, Multicultural Education and Technology, and the International Journal of Educational Administration. She serves as Kent State University’s Plenum Representative for the University Council of Educational Administration. Deb Clarke, Ed.D., has a passion for excellence in both developing and administering programs and believes that all children can achieve. Using a team-based approach in partnership with school leadership, parents, and community, Dr. Clarke credits the amazing efforts of staff in their commitment to continuously closing the gap and raising student achievement. By example, one creative, energetic, and hardworking staff developed a program implementing significantly higher standards and accompanying student supports and was recognized at the White House as a National Exemplary School and Michigan Blue Ribbon High School. This school was also recognized as one of the top one hundred high schools nationally and one of the top ten high schools in the state. Honored by the U.S. Department of Education, she received an Outstanding High School Principal Award. While an assistant superintendent for curriculum and instruction, the staff was recognized by 60 Minutes and at the White House for its work with robotics. While she was a superintendent working with an economically challenged, minority, underperforming district, 100 percent of the seniors in her third year went to college, most on scholarship. The district was also recognized as a Governor’s Network School recipient and earned two state championships. Her doctorate in early childhood education has shown promise in testing a new theory that built upon pre–K/3rd grade research for reducing and/or eliminating the Head Start Fade effect. Currently an educational consultant and


leadership coach, Dr. Clarke uses her extensive background in professional development to work with some of the finest educators in the nation. She has facilitated teacher team presentations on improving achievement and data-driven achievement practices in Boston, San Francisco, Charleston, and at state conferences. Lindson Feun, Ph.D., is the research and evaluation consultant at Oakland Schools (ISD). He has been evaluating educational programs, conducting research, assisting schools in AdvancEd (NCA) accreditation, and helping doctoral students with their dissertations for the past twentytwo years. He is also a lecturer in the Education Specialist department and Professional Development department at Oakland University. He has been teaching for the past nineteen years. His publications and interests are in leadership and organizational development, school improvement, and professional learning communities (PLCs). He is currently cowriting a book on the evaluation of Title 1 programs. Shannon R. Flumerfelt, Ph.D., is an associate professor of educational leadership in the School of Education and Human Services and the director of Lean Thinking for Schools, Pawley Lean Institute, Oakland University. Her publications focus on leadership and organizational development. Previously, Dr. Flumerfelt worked for twenty-six years in public school administration and teaching. Her research interests include leadership and organizational development, school improvement, and lean and e-learning. Valjeaner Ford, Ed.D., has been an educator for thirty-six years and holds a bachelor’s degree in U.S. history and political science from Fayetteville State University, Fayetteville, North Carolina, a master’s degree in human relations and management from Webster University, St. Louis, Missouri, and a doctoral degree in educational leadership from Fayetteville State University, Fayetteville, North Carolina. Valjeaner began her educational career as a social studies teacher in South Boston, Massachusetts, during the early 1970s busing era. She returned to North Carolina, where she taught at South View Jr. High School before traveling to Bamberg, Germany, with her husband and taught for the Department of Defense (DOD)/Community College: Big Ben Community College, University of Maryland and Temple University. She then traveled to Ft. Leonard Wood,


Missouri, where she taught at the Truman Army Education Center, teaching English as a second language to non-English-speaking military personnel. After a return to Fayetteville, North Carolina, in 1984, she began an eighteen-year tenure in Hoke County teaching U.S. history at Hoke County High School. She served as an assistant principal and curriculum specialist. She has published numerous articles, with a primary focus in gender equity. Valjeaner is currently an associate professor at the University of North Carolina at Pembroke, teaching graduate school in the School of Education, where she continues to make a difference in the lives of her students. She serves on numerous educational boards (state as well as national), where she imparts knowledge from her illustrious thirty-six years and counting in the field of education, her passion. Rachel Grimshaw, B.A., is currently a graduate student in the English department at California State University, Stanislaus, concentrating on both composition and literature as part of her degree. She is an active member and officer in the local chapter of Sigma Tau Delta, the International English Honor Society. She plans to pursue her Ph.D. degree in the field of literature, with a focus on contemporary or modern works. Her research interests include gender and sexuality in literary texts and social contexts, societal and cultural literacy, feminism and political activism in the classroom, identity constructs inside academia, and portfolios and ethnographies as a means of assessing and articulating student performance and concerns. She will be teaching her first college composition course during the fall 2010 semester and has designed the course around the theme of censorship. Lisa P. Hallen, M.Ed., is a doctoral candidate at the University of Maine. She has served as a contributor to the Mitchell Institute’s study on Barriers to Postsecondary Education in Maine (2007). She currently serves as a director of guidance/school counselor at a Maine public comprehensive high school. Her dissertation is entitled Socioeconomic Status, Curriculum Placement, and Constructed Realities Carried by High School Course Guides: A Policy Discourse Analysis. Carmen M. Johnson, Ed.Spec., is a visual arts educator who has worked in public education for fourteen years. Carmen currently serves as the


visual arts teacher at a middle school in the Detroit metropolitan area. Her research focuses on cultural relevance in education, pedagogy, and practice. As an educational leader, Carmen is an advocate for minority students, creating valuable opportunities for students of color to be successful in school. Such activities include a districtwide diversity council, mentorship opportunities and cross-curricular learning experiences, and communitywide partnerships. Carmen is committed to educational leadership and teacher development and has served the district as a contributing member of the Equity Team, Visual Arts Task Force, Inclusion Task Force, and the Breaking Ranks at the Middle Level team. Along with her colleagues, Carmen presented her award-winning photojournalism project entitled Behind the Lens at the MCTE and NCTE conferences; Carmen believes that teaching is challenging, controversial and collaborative work. This mindset has compelled her to share her story, ideas, and life with students, colleagues, and parents to create a sustained equitable and relevant educational experience for all children. Susan S. Klein, Ed.D., is the education equity director of the Feminist Majority Foundation, focusing on fully implementing Title IX. She is also VP for programs at the Clearinghouse on Women’s Issues and co-chair of the National Coalition for Women and Girls in Education (NCWGE) Single Sex Education Task Force. She joined the Feminist Majority Foundation in 2003 after thirty-four years in the research offices in the U.S. Department of Education, where she worked on gender-equity issues whenever she was allowed to do so. She created the Department of Education Gender Equity Expert Panel to identify promising and exemplary products and programs to advance gender equality. As the general editor of the 1985 Handbook for Achieving Sex Equity through Education and the 2007 Handbook for Achieving Gender Equity through Education, 2nd Edition, Sue coordinated the contributions of more than 200 gender-equity experts. Sue earned a doctoral degree in educational psychology from Temple University in 1970, a master’s degree from the University of Pennsylvania in 1967, and a B.S. in education from Temple in1966. She has received a variety of awards for her close to 200 publications and leadership. Sue has known Dr. Bernice Sandler since 1969, when Sue conducted a pilot test for her dissertation on Student Influence on Teacher Behavior in a class that Dr. Sandler was teaching at Mount Vernon College in Washington, DC.


C. Robert Maxfield, Ed.D., is an assistant professor of educational leadership in the School of Education and Human Services at Oakland University. He is also the director of the Galileo Institute for the Study of Teacher Leadership, Oakland’s representative on the Southeast Michigan Galileo Consortium Board, and a member of the Stakeholder Steering Committee of the Learning Achievement Coalition–Oakland (LACO). He and Linda Tyson are cohosts of a weekly podcast series entitled Podcasts for Leaderful Schools. Prior to joining the Oakland faculty, he was a teacher, principal, and superintendent in several Southeast Michigan school districts. His research interests include teacher leadership, reforming school organizational structures, new models of school finance, and systemic approaches to addressing achievement disparities in schools. Lynn Kleiman Malinoff, Ed.D. is the director of Eastern Michigan Universities 21st Century Community Learning Centers Bright Futures outof-school-time programs. A member of the project team at EMU’s Institute for the Study of Children, Families, and Communities, Lynn’s current work focuses on positive youth development in low-income schools along the Michigan Avenue corridor in the heart of the failing auto–industrial complex. Lynn’s career is dedicated to mentoring, academic-service learning, and the development of youth voice in the K–12 environment. Lynn has worked for more than thirty-five years in K–12 education as a general and special education teacher, grant writer, program developer, and change agent. She has taught at all levels and developed grants and programs for atrisk youth, with a focus on mentoring and service learning. She coaches administrators and consults on the implementation of the Youth Program Quality model for positive youth development. Lynn received her doctorate in educational leadership from EMU, where she studied the culture, history, and politics of local communities along the Michigan Avenue corridor in southeastern Michigan. She continues to use her entrepreneurial skills and systems knowledge to build bridges between higher education, the K–12 schools, and the community. She has two grown sons, a husband, and three Shetland sheepdogs, teaches graduate courses at Eastern Michigan University, and is passionate about photography. Cheryl McFadden, Ed.D., an associate professor in the Department of Educational Leadership at East Carolina University, has worked as an


educational consultant in both higher education and the public and private school sector. Her research interests include principal preparation, program evaluation, leadership styles and behaviors, online education, and civic engagement. She has presented her research at more than a hundred state, national, and international conferences and has published more than thirty articles and book chapters in these areas. Jennifer O’Connor, Ph.D., has taught graduate students in the field of education at Suffolk University, Northeastern University, and Kaplan University. She received her undergraduate degree from Amherst College and her master’s and doctoral degrees from Boston College in higher education administration. She teaches classes on student development theory, research methodology, ethics in education, and diversity in higher education. Her research and publications focus on gender and social class equity in higher education. She recently published her book, Working-class Students at Radcliffe College 1940–1970: The Intersection of Gender, Social Class, and Historical Context. Michele A. Paludi, Ph.D., is the author/editor of thirty-four college textbooks and more than 170 scholarly articles and conference presentations on sexual harassment, campus violence, psychology of women, gender, and discrimination. Her book, Ivory Power: Sexual Harassment on Campus, (1990, SUNY Press), received the 1992 Myers Center Award for Outstanding Book on Human Rights in the United States. Dr. Paludi served as chair of the U.S. Department of Education’s Subpanel on the Prevention of Violence, Sexual Harassment, and Alcohol and Other Drug Problems in Higher Education. She was one of six scholars in the United States to be selected for this subpanel. She also was a consultant to and a member of former New York State Governor Mario Cuomo’s Task Force on Sexual Harassment. Dr. Paludi serves as an expert witness for court proceedings and administrative hearings on sexual harassment. She has had extensive experience in conducting training programs and investigations of sexual harassment and other Equal Employment Opportunity (EEO) issues for businesses and educational institutions. In addition, Dr. Paludi has held faculty positions at Franklin & Marshall College, Kent State University, Hunter College, Union College, and Union Graduate College, where she directs the human resource management certificate program and


management and leadership certificate program. She is on the faculty in the School of Management. Marjorie Ringler, Ed.D., is an assistant professor in the Department of Educational Leadership at East Carolina University (ECU). She teaches in the master’s, specialist, and doctorate programs in school administration. Her areas of research include English language learners, professional development, and leadership at international schools. Dr. Ringler began her career as a high school math teacher and an administrator in Florida. She then coordinated a professional development grant funded by the Florida Department of Education to effectively deliver professional development in several K–12 instructional practices. Dr. Ringler obtained her Ed.D. at the University of Florida (UF), her master’s in educational administration from Stetson University, and her mathematics education degree from Florida International University (FIU). She grew up in Barranquilla, Colombia, where she completed her elementary and secondary education.


Index

Ability grouping, 135–37. See also Tracking Access: to elite schools, 43–44 historical context and, 39–42 to information, 253–54 socioeconomic status and, 37–55 Accountability, 103, 167–68, 248–49 Achievement gap, 104 administrators in reducing, 255–56 course guides and, 131–53 ethnicity and, 229–30 leadership and, 13 socioeconomic status and, 134–35 teacher expectations and, 79–80 Administrators and administration, 221–43 barriers to women as, 246 career paths for, 249–50, 256–57, 261–65 collaboration for, 260 demographics and, 224, 247 diversity among, 226, 231, 240

diversity promoted by, 254–55, 260–61 evaluations of, 253 focus on teaching and learning by, 252, 260 gender salary differences in, 227–29 gender stereotypes and, 222–23 guidelines for teacher support by, 125 income of, 226, 227–29, 231, 236, 237, 239–40 job searches for, 250 mentors for, 240, 251, 252, 258–59 minorities as, 262–64 numbers of women, 198, 222, 236, 238, 239, 246–47 perceptions of teachers by, 105–6 principal preparation programs, 226–29 qualifications of, 247, 266 role models for, 225–26 social justice and, 106 stereotypes and, 257–58 storytelling by, 245–68 329

330 Index

superintendents, 245–68 University of North Carolina study on, 230–39 Advanced placement programs, 132, 255–56 Advancement: barriers to women’s, 5–13 gender gap in, 228–29 glass ceiling and, 7, 57 pipelines in, 7, 224 workforce demographics and, 5 Advocacy: feminist leadership and, 30 leadership and, 22–25 questioning norms and, 250 risks in, 106, 108–19 for social justice, 84–86, 123–24 by teachers, 107–8 Affirmative action: sex discrimination reduction through, 160–61 sex-segregated education and, 166–69, 173–74 women and, 42 African Americans, 249 as administrators, 262–64 educational attainment of, 225 stereotypes of, 11–12 tenure and, 229. See also Minorities Agency, leadership and, 3, 8–9, 202–3 Allan, Elizabeth J., 131–53 Alliances, social justice and, 93–94 Allison, Dorothy, 71, 72

America Association of School Administrators, 247 American Association of University Women, 43 American Civil Liberties Union, 163, 166, 168–69 Asians, 225 Assertiveness, 3, 8–9 Assumptions: behind tracking, 135–36 cultural, 84 identifying, 292 Athletics, 131, 132, 161, 251 Aud, S., 133 Authority, 4 collaborative learning and, 61, 63–64, 68 feminist approaches and, 61, 63–64, 68 of men vs. women, 64 Autonomy, 143 Ball, S. J., 138 Ballou, M. B., 10–11, 23 Barott, James E., 279–318 Beachum, F., 101 Boards, 198 Bootstrap myth, 21 Boske, Christa, 75–99 Breckinridge County Board of Education case (2009), 168–69 Brighter Choices academies, 170 Brown, D. J., 202–3, 213 Brown v. Board of Education (1954), 155–56, 170 Brunner, C, 245–46, 256–57, 266

Index 331

Bullying, 24, 122, 131–32, 171 Burk, Martha, 1 Bush, George W., 156 Career paths: of administrators, 249–50, 256–57, 261–65 career orientation and, 46–50 feminist leadership and, 29 labyrinthine, 5–13 Centered strategies, 78–83 Chadwell, David, 185 Change, 75–76, 250 Children. See Family and childcare Chin, J. L., 24 Christianakis, C., 105, 124 Civil Rights Act (1964), 42, 155–56 Civil Rights Act (1972), 24 Civil Rights Restoration Act (1984), 161 Clarke, Deb, 245–68 CNN American Morning, 173 Coaching, 251 Coeducation, 157 in higher education, 40–41 single-sex-education compared with, 184 Collaboration: administrators and, 260 authority and, 61 composition and, 60–62 feminist leadership and, 19–20 teachers and, 104 transformational leadership and, 3–4

Collegiality, 104 Communalism, leadership and, 213 Communication: feminist approaches to, 61 social justice and, 93–94 valuing diversity and, 23 Community involvement, 21–22 Competence, 246, 251 Competency-based models, 200 Composition: debate in teaching, 69–72 demand for instructors in, 59–60 diversity and, 68–69 feminist, 57–73 identity visibility and, 69–72 shared authority in teaching, 61, 63–64 teacher expectations and, 59–60, 63–65 as women’s field, 58–59 Confidence, leadership and, 9–10, 209, 246 Consciousness raising, 88–90, 91, 94–95, 122–23 Consensus building: feminist leaders and, 16 as weakness, 12, 80, 88 women’s preference for, 248–49 Contact zones, 68–69 Context: higher education and, 39–42 leadership and, 198–99 mentoring and, 313 social justice and, 76–77 Contructivist views, 198–99 Cornell, 40

332 Index

Corning, Gail, 58–59 Counterhegemonic narratives, 90–92, 93 Courage, 273–74 Course guides, 131–53 discourse of professionalism and, 140–41 findings on, 139–45 gender discourses in, 143–45 recommendations on, 145–47 research design on, 137–38 student status and, 141–43 Crabtree, Robin D., 60, 63–64 Craig, E., 102 Credibility, 251 Crossley, M. L., 280 Cultural artifacts, 139 Cultural competence, 18–19, 20 social justice and, 79–80, 91 teachers promotion of, 272–73 Cultural differences, oversimplification of, 78–79 Cultural dominance, 75 Darling-Hammond, L., 13, 125 Decision making: consensus building and, 12, 80, 88, 248–49 leadership development and, 208 research based, 107 stakeholders in, 21–22 Delayed gratification, 308 Demet, Christy, 62 Demographics, 224 community responses to changing, 252–53

in higher education, 42–43 of higher education faculty, 229 workforce vs. leader, 5 Dentith, A. M., 101 Desegregation, 247–48 Deviancy, construction of, 144–45 Discourses: definition of, 138 gender, 143–45 of professionalism, 140–41 student status and, 141–43 as truth, 138 Discrimination: acknowledging presence of, 84–86 courage against, 273–74 reality of current, 131–32 in school governance, 221–22 stereotyping as, 159 Discursive practice, 23 Diversity: administrators in promoting, 254–55, 260–61 among administrators, 226, 231, 240 among women, 13 contact zones for, 68–69 cultural assumptions and, 84 leadership and, 20 listening to and valuing, 23 in public schools, 224–26 reflection and, 81–82 Doe v. Vermilion Parish School Board (2010), 162, 163, 168, 176–77 Dropout rates, 134

Index 333

Duncan, Arne, 196 Dupuis, David, 176–77, 180, 181–82 Eagly, A. H., 4, 8–9, 202, 212–13 Edmond, Ron, 247–48 Edwards, R., 138 Elementary and Secondary Education Act (1964), 247–48 Empiricism, 281 Empowerment: bootstrap myth and, 21 feminist leadership and, 18, 19, 21–22 mentors and, 285–86, 288 research and, 28 sexual harassment and, 112–19 of teachers, 102–3, 104, 272 transformational leadership and, 3–4 vision and, 20 women’s emphasis on, 248–49 English language learners, 224–25 Equal Educational Opportunities Act (1974), 163 Equal Protection Clause, 162–63, 179 Equal Rights Amendment, 163 Equity: centered strategies promoting, 78–83 conscious, deliberate, proactive strategies for, 83–90 consciousness raising and, 88–90, 91, 94–95 course guides and, 131–53

feminist leadership and, 30 in income, 133 lack of current, 131–32 leadership and, 20 legislation on, 42 organizational climate and, 81–83 sex-segregated education and, 155–94 social justice and, 75–99 socioeconomic status and, 133, 134–35 in sports, 131, 132 statistics on, 147 tracking and, 135–37 Ethic of care, 11, 26–27 authority and, 63–64 composition instruction and, 59–60 Ethnicity: administrators and, 221 diverse, in public schools, 224–26 educational attainment and, 225 employment status and, 228–29 higher education faculty and, 238–39 sex-segregated education and, 172 socioeconomic status and, 45 tracking and, 136–37 Evaluations: of administrators, 253 bias in leaders’, 8–9 leadership development and, 200 of programs, 27–28

334 Index

self-, 209 of sex-segregated education, 167–68, 179–80, 187–88 student-centered instruction and, 63–64 Expectations: encouraging higher, 253 gender roles and, 108 organizational culture and, 82–83 of others for women teachers, 59–60, 63–65, 108 student-centered teaching and, 63–64 teacher, 79–80 of teachers, 271–72 tracking and, 136–37, 145 Faculty development, 258 Failing at Fairness: How America’s Schools Cheat Girls, 163 Family and childcare: administrators and, 246 advocacy for, 24 career orientation and, 46–47 higher education and, 40 leadership and, 209, 212–13 Femininity, discourses of, 11–12, 143–45 Feminism: collaboration and, 60–62 composition and, 57–73 conceptual model of leadership, 1–33 on debate and power, 69–72

educating students about, 66–68 leadership theories and, 13–14 in male vs. female teachers, 64 negative perceptions of, 1, 2 poststructural perspectives in, 137 privilege analysis in, 10–11 Radcliffe and, 43 Feminist leadership, 1–5 advocacy and, 22–25 co-opting, 13–15 defining, 15–25 empowerment and, 18, 19, 21–22 obstacles to, 14 recommendations for, 29–30 reflection and, 21–22 resistance to, 28–30 social justice and, 13, 18–20 vision and, 20 Feminist Majority Foundation, 156, 164–65, 166, 180 Feminization of professions, 4–5 Feun, Lindson, 195–219 The Flat World and Education: How America’s Commitment to Equity Will Determine Our Future (Darling-Hammond), 13 Fletcher, J. K., 203 Flumerfelt, Shannon R., 195–219 Ford, Valjeaner, 221–43 Foucault, Michel, 137, 138 Fourteenth Amendment, 162–63 Freedman, S. G., 270–71 Friedan, Betty, 43 Frye, M., 11–12

Index 335

Gatekeeping, 141, 250 Gay, G., 272 Gender: discourses of femininity and, 11–12, 146 discourses on, 143–45 expectations of teachers and, 108 leadership and, 2, 4, 6–7 leadership learning behaviors and, 195–219 learning styles and, 166–67, 178 socialization in, 5 Gender Equity Expert Panel, 184 Ginn, L. W., 15 Giroux, H. A., 106 Glass ceiling, 7, 57. See also Advancement Gmelch, Sharon Bohn, 67 Gratification, delayed, 308 Gray-Rosendale, Laura, 69 Grimshaw, Rachel, 57–73 Gronn, P., 197 Grove City College v. Bell (1984), 161 Gupton, S. L., 6, 8, 222, 223 Gurian, Michael, 177 Hallen, Lisa P., 131–53 Handbook for Achieving Gender Equity through Education (Klein), 164 Harvard College, 39, 43 Hawthorn Effect, 181 Heck, R. H., 136 Heider, J., 281, 316

Henry A. Murray Research Archive, 44 Henry Ford Youth Mentorship Program, 291–92 Hesford, Wendy S., 68–69, 70, 71 Heyning, K. E., 140–41 Higher education: career orientation and, 46–47 coeducation in, 40–41 demographics of, 42–43, 222, 231, 232–35 discourse of professionalism and, 140–41 ethnicity in faculty of, 229–30, 231 faculty development in, 258 historical context of, 39–42 at Radcliffe, 38–55 readiness for, 136–37 socioeconomic status and, 134, 146 tenure in, 59, 228–29 women faculty in, 247 Hiring and recruitment, 65, 87–88 Hispanics, 224, 225 Hollingshead and Redlich Occupation Scale, 46, 47 Homophobic language, 79, 122 hooks, bell, 15, 68 Hope, 277 Horner, Matina, 37–38, 44, 47 Hudson, M., 27 Human resources, leadership development and, 196 Humor, 288, 293

336 Index

Identities: composition instruction and, 61–62, 68–69 identity politics and, 92 interconnected, 70–71 safe spaces for, 94 visibility of, 69–72 Immigrants, 224 Impostor syndrome, 1 Inclusivity, 24–25 Income: of administrators, 226, 227–29, 237 gender gap in, 227–29 in higher education faculty, 229 of higher education faculty, 230, 231, 236, 238–39 inequity in, 133. See also Socioeconomic status Individualism, 82–83 Information access, 253–54 Innovators, 107–8 Integrated Postsecondary Education Data System, 228 Invisibility, 10, 69–72 Isolation, 276–77 Jacobowitz, J., 9 Jarratt, Susan C., 60, 61, 69 Job searches, 250 John Henry Effect, 181 Johnson, B. T., 202, 212–13 Johnson, Carmen M., 269–78 Jones, L. C., 19–20, 103 Kahn, A. S., 202–3 Karau, S. J., 202, 212–13

Klein, Joel I., 196 Klein, Susan S., 155–94, 164–65, 166 Klonsky, B. G., 8–9 Kuckel, Jane, 286–89 Language, 71–72, 79, 122 Leaders and leadership: advocacy and, 22–25 authentic, 2, 5, 6–7, 91 authority and, 4 barriers to women in, 5–13 behavioral school on, 3 as change agents, 75–76 collegiality and, 104 communal approaches to, 213 constructivist view of, 198–99 definition of, 2 demographics of, 5, 204, 206–7 development of, levels of, 204, 205–7, 214 development of, strategic significance of, 196–99 development programs for, 200–202 discourses of femininity and, 11–12 effectiveness of, 223 empowerment and, 102–3 evaluation bias and, 8–9 experience and, 198–99, 214 extrinsic and intrinsic variables in, 223 as facilitators, 16 feminist conceptual model of, 1–33

Index 337

gender-based learning behaviors in, 195–219 gender in perceptions of, 2, 4, 6–7, 12 gender stereotypes and, 222 labyrinth path to, 5–13 learning schema for, 199–200 management vs., 18, 197–98 mentoring as, 280–81, 317 organizational strategy and, 196–99, 213 politics and, 12–13, 19 postgraduate opportunities for, 46 practicing, 25–28 preferences for men in, 6 reflection and, 21–22 relational-cultural theory on, 3–4 research approaches to, 3–4 research methodology on, 203–7 resistance to, 28–30 scarcity of, 197–99 shared, 124 social justice and, 13, 18–20, 83, 90–92 spiritual nature of, 281 succession planning and, 196, 197 teachers as, 101–29 trait approach to, 3, 5 transactional, 3–4 transformational, 3–4, 12–13 visibility and, 10 vision and, 20

voice and confidence of, 9–10. See also Administrators and administration Learning styles, gender differences in: in leadership learning, 195–219 single-sex education and, 166–67, 178 Legislation: on access, 40 on education reform, 247–48 on sex discrimination, 24, 42 on sex-segregated education, 155–94 sunshine laws, 22 Leigh, J. M., 21 Lorde, Audre, 70–71, 101 Lott, B., 21–22 Madden, M. E., 28 Mahoe, R., 136 Mair, M., 280 Makhijani, M. G., 8–9 Malinoff, Lynn Kleiman, 279–318 Malloch, K., 197 Malveaux, J., 15 Marginalization, 246 feminist instructors and, 62 identity politics and, 92 social justice advocacy and, 108–19 socioeconomic status and, 38–39 Marriage rates, 45 Martin, Jennifer L., 1–33 Masculinity, discourse of, 143–45 Maxfield, C. Robert, 195–219

338 Index

McFadden, Cheryl, 221–43 McKenna, M., 198 Media, criticism of schools/ teachers in, 101–2 Mentors and mentoring, 279–318 for administrators, 240, 251, 252, 258–59 empowerment by, 285–86, 288 encouragement by, 289–90 evaluation and adjustment in, 316–17 feminist leadership and, 18, 29 focus of, 297 instrument of self in, 312–13 as leadership, 280–81, 317 leadership development and, 208, 212–13 mentor-prote´ge´ relationships in, 280, 282–83 mothering by, 279, 284 networking and, 311–12, 314 as partnership, 297 personal inventories by, 315 planning and acting in, 315–16 process of, 312–17 reflection in, 316 social justice orientation and, 80 as spiritual art, 279, 281 steps in, 313–17 stories about mentors, 283–92 stories about prote´ge´s, 292–312 as storytellers, 299 time for, 312, 314 trust in, 312 validation by, 314 Meritocracy, 82–83, 136

Minorities: courage against discrimination and, 273–74 demographics of, 224 in higher education faculty, 229–30 isolation of, 276–77 racial consciousness for, 275–77 stereotypes of, 11–12 teaching in color and, 269–78 visibility of, 10. See also Social justice Mission statements, 141 Money management, 257–58 Morrill Acts (1862, 1890), 40 Motivation, of leaders, 209, 213, 271–72 Mount Holyoke, 40 Multicultural Task Force, 86 National Association of Single Sex Public Schools, 165, 166–67 National Center for Education Statistics, 134, 226, 227, 229 National Coalition for Women and Girls in Education, 156–57 National Council of Women’s Organizations, 156 National Gender Equity Collaboratives, 188 Networks and networking: administrators and, 259 feminist leadership and, 29–30 mentors and, 311–12, 314 old boy, 227, 253 social justice and, 93–94

Index 339

Neumann, M., 19–20, 103 Newton, R. M., 4–5 Nieto, Sonia, 276–77 No Child Left Behind (2002), 161 Noel-Batiste, L., 198 Nonexclusion principle, 175–76 Norms, questioning, 250 Oakes, J., 135–36, 145–46 Obama, Barack, 157, 166, 169 Oberlin College, 40 O’Connor, Jennifer, 37–55, 105, 107 Office for Civil Rights, 165 Office for Gender Equity, 188 Old boy networks, 227, 253 Oppression, 75, 85–86 Organizational culture: administrators and, 258 as barrier to leadership, 7–8 course guides and, 139 inclusive, 24–25 sexual harassment and, 111–19, 117 social justice and, 81–83 Orientation to Non-traditional Careers for Women, 184 Outsider position, 142 Papa-Lewis, R., 223 Pavan, B. N., 250 Performance management, 196 Perseverance, 29 Personal inventories, 315 Peterson, E., 197 Phelps, P. H., 104, 107 Pillow, W., 144–45

Policies: on LGBTQ people, 122–23 social justice and, 86, 122–23. See also Course guides Policy discourse analysis, 137–39 Politics: feminist leadership and, 12–13, 30 identity, 92 leadership as, 19 Porter-O’Grady, T., 197 Poststructural perspectives, 137 Power: debate as, 69–72 dialogue about, 84–85 enlightened, 3 personally developed, 212 professionalism and, 141 queen bee syndrome and, 15 sexual harassment and, 111–12 sharing, 212–13 Pratch, L., 9 Pratt, Mary Louise, 68 Praxis, 20n Principal preparation programs, 226–29 Principles program design, 200–201 Privilege, 10–11 dismantling, 22–23 Problem solving, leadership and, 208–9 Process-based models, 200–201 Professional development: for leaders, 26 leadership opportunities and, 46

340 Index

in pedagogy, 27 sexual harassment awareness in, 122–23 social justice and, 86 socioeconomic status and, 47–50 for teachers, 124–25 Professionalism, discourse of, 140–41, 142 Professional learning communities (PLCs), 124–25 Program design, 200–201 Purpose, 274–75 Pygmalion Effect, 181 Queen bee syndrome, 15 Race. See Ethnicity Racial consciousness, 275–77 The Radcliffe Centennial Survey, 37–38, 44, 47 Radcliffe College, 37–55 career orientation and, 47–50 data collection and analysis on, 44–47 financial assistance at, 41–42 research methodology on, 44 Reagan, Ronald, 161 Reflection: for administrators, 261 diversity and, 81–82 leadership and, 21–22 mentoring and, 316 social justice and, 76, 92 teacher, 124–25 Reframing, 316 Relational-cultural theory, 3–4

Relationships: boundaries in, 301–2 leader–member exchange, 3 leadership learning and, 201–2 mentor-prote´ge´, 280, 282–318 Research: decisions based on, 107 feminist leadership and, 27–28, 30 on leadership learning behaviors, 201–2 mentors and, 290–92 on sex-segregated education, 173, 177–78, 180–82, 183–84, 187–88 by teachers, 28, 105 Research universities, 228 Resistance: to feminist leadership, 28–30 identity and, 71 to social justice, 119–21 social justice and, 76–77 Rice, J. K., 12–13 Ridgeway, C. L., 202 Ringler, Marjorie, 221–43 Risks of Sex Segregated Public Education for Girls, Boys, and Everyone, 185 Risk taking, 304 Role models: administrators as, 254 ethnicity and, 225–26 superintendents as, 246 transformational leaders as, 3–4 Rosenberg, S. Z., 202 Rosener, J. B., 202, 212

Index 341

Sabotaging success, 298–99 Sadker, D., 131–32, 142, 173 Sadker, M., 131–32, 142 Sapp, David Alan, 60, 63, 64 Sax, Leonard, 165, 166–67, 173, 177 Schell, Eileen E., 59–60, 61, 66 School Improvement Process, 247–48 Scott, K. A., 202–3, 213 Seashore Louis, K., 2, 103 Seddon, T., 141 Selection bias, 182 Self, in mentoring, 312–13 Self-awareness, 209 Self-facilitation, 204, 209 Self-management, 204 Self-promotion, 9 Self-study, 77–78, 90–91 Sexism: silence surrounding, 23 Sex-segregated education, 155–94 applying standards to, 182–85 boys harmed by, 171–72 equity standards in, 175–79 evaluation of, 167–68, 179–80, 187–88 expense of, 184–85 girls harmed by, 170–71 governmental objectives in, 175 improper justifications of, 173–79 inappropriate use of, 166–69 increase in, 163–70 inequality of, 170–73

lack of enforcement and, 169–70 learning styles and, 166–67 procedural requirements for, 176–77 pros and cons of, 157 recommendations on, 185–89 research on, 173, 177–78, 180–82, 183–84, 187–88 risks of, 158 sex discrimination protections and, 158, 159–63 stereotyping in, 158, 170–71, 170–73, 177–78, 183–84 stereotyping in, 169, 267 studies of, 180–82 substantial equality and, 161–62, 168–69 voluntary, 179 Sexual harassment, 131–32, 250 advocacy and, 23, 24 boundary setting and, 116–17 culture of empowerment and, 112–19 dealing with, 111–12 defining behaviors in, 114–15 ignoring, 121 policies on, 115–16 prevalence of, 111 reporting of, 109–10, 113–14, 115–16, 117–18 in sex-segregated education, 171 sexual orientation and, 111, 121–23 silence surrounding, 23 teacher advocacy and, 109–19

342 Index

Sexual orientation: advocacy and, 24 sex-segregated education and, 173 sexual harassment and, 111, 121–23 social justice and, 77–99 suicide and, 121–22 Shakeshaft, C., 221 Shapiro, E. R., 21 Silencing, 75 Sinetar M., 279 Skrla, L., 246, 250 Slick, G. A., 6, 8, 222, 223 Smith College, 40 Snowball sampling, 16 Social justice, 75–99 advocacy and, 22–25 alliances in, 93–94 centered strategies promoting, 78–83 conscious, deliberate, proactive strategies for, 83–90 consciousness raising and, 88–90, 91, 94–95 counterhegemonic narratives and, 90–92, 93 cultural competence and, 79–80 definitions of, 76–77 diet and, 87–88 feminist leadership and, 13, 18–20 hiring and, 87–88 leading for, 90–92 organizational culture and, 81–83

research methodology on, 77–78 resistance to, 119–21 risks in advocating, 106, 108–19, 119–20 sexual harassment and, 109–19 teachers in, 101–29 Socioeconomic status, 133 career orientation and, 46–50 college enrollment and, 146 definitions of, 45–46 ethnicity and, 45, 225 professional attainment and, 47 of Radcliffe students, 37–55 student achievement and, 133, 134–35 workforce participation and, 47–50 South Carolina, sex-segregated education in, 162, 163, 168, 173, 176–77, 185 Stakeholders, involving, 248 Standpoint theory, 9 “State of Public School Sex Segregation in the States” (Klein), 164–65, 166 Status quo: challenging, 19 questioning, 76 reflecting on, 21 social justice work and, 119–21 Steel, C., 102 STEM (science, technology, engineering, mathematics): access to higher education in, 41 gender inequity in, 132 tracking and, 142

Index 343

Stereotypes, 11 as barriers to administrators, 246, 257–58 discourses of femininity and, 11–12 as discrimination, 159 of feminists, 67 gender, leadership and, 222–23, 246, 257–58 Good Mother, 279, 284 maternal, 61, 65–66, 68 mentoring and, 279, 284 sex-segregated education and, 158, 167, 169, 170–73, 177–78, 183–84 of women teachers, 60, 61 Stewards, 107–8 Storytelling: by administrators, 245–68 counterhegemonic narratives, 90–92, 93 by teachers, 269–78 Strodl, P., 2, 104, 105 Students: expectations of about teachers, 59–60, 63–65 explaining feminism to, 66–68 status of, shaping, 131–53, 141–43 Stygall, Gail, 62 Success, sabotaging, 298–99 Support systems, 30, 209. See also Networks and networking Suyemoto, K. L., 10–11, 23 Symbolic interactionism, 281–82 Systems-based analysis, 201

The Tao of Leadership (Heider), 281 Tatum, Beverly Daniel, 276 Teachers and teaching: administration perceptions of, 105–6 administrator focus on, 252–53, 260 as advocates, innovators, stewards, 107–8 as change agents, 75–76 collegiality among, 104 in color, 269–78 composition, 57–73 courage for, 273–74 debate forms in, 69–72 empowerment of, 102–3, 104 ethic of care in, 59–60 expectations of, 271–72 feminist leadership and, 26–27 feminization of, 4–5 gender roles and expectations of, 108 hope for, 277 maternal stereotypes of, 61, 65–66, 68 media criticism of, 101–2 motivation of, 271–72 as professionals, 102, 123–24 public opinions of, 101–3, 125–26 purpose of, 274–75 research by, 28, 105 self-study by, 77–78 sex-segregated education and, 170, 172 sexual harassment and, 109–19

344 Index

sexual orientation of, 77–99 social justice and, 101–29 storytelling by, 269–78 student-centered, 62–64 time of given to girls vs. boys, 131 Tenure, 59, 228–29 Thompson, M. D., 223 Time pressures, 285–86, 312, 314 Title IX, 24, 25–26, 42 Action Networks, 188 athletics and, 131 reasons to rescind 2006 changes to, 166–69 sex discrimination protections and, 158, 159–61 sex-segregated education and, 155–94 sexual harassment and, 123 on substantial equality, 161–62 Tokenism, 10 Tracking, 135–37 feminist leadership and, 27 gender discourses and, 143–45 socioeconomic status and, 134–35 student status and, 141–43 Training, for advocacy, 25–26 Trait school, 3, 5 Transactional leadership, 3–4 Transformational leadership, 3–4 feminist, 18 gender differences in, 212 negative aspects of, 12–13 teachers and, 105 Trust, 21–22, 293, 312–13

Underachievement, 306–7 Unions, 7 United States Department of Education Office for Civil Rights, 123 University of North Carolina, 230–39 U.S. Constitution, 162–63 U.S. Department of Education, 169, 176, 196 U.S. Department of Justice, 169, 176 Usher, R., 138 Validation, 314 Van Tuyle, V., 246 Vassar College, 40 Vermilion Parish case. See Doe v. Vermilion Parish School Board (2010) Violence, 252–53 Virginia Military Institute, 160n, 171, 179 Visibility/invisibility, 10, 69–72 Vision, 20 Voice, 9–10, 302 Voting rights, 40 Wahlstrom, K. L., 2, 103 Watkins, S. G., 246 Webb, P. T., 19–20, 103 Weed, David M., 68 Weis, L., 133 Wellesley College, 40 “What Works Clearinghouse,” 180

Index 345

Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? (Tatum), 276 Williamson, R., 27 Wilson, M. C., 8, 15, 198 Witmer, J. T., 222 Wolfman, T. G., 198 Women’s Educational Equity Act, 42, 169–70, 175–76, 188 Woodbridge Middle School, Virginia, 173

Workforce participation, 47–50 World War I, 41 World War II, 41, 50 Wyse, Lois, 1 Yoder, J. D., 202–3 Young Women’s Leadership School of East Harlem, 164 Zittleman, K., 131–32

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