Blog on the Blog: It’s Worth the Risk

This morning a friend sent me a video message; she knew I had been struggling with this blog and with the issue of open dialogue and managing risk. She shared with me a tidbit from Dharma Punx: “Buddha says: people will criticize those who stay silent, those who speak too much and those who speak just the right amount.” If we meditate on those words for a moment, then we can ask ourselves in the context of our jobs: why not speak, why not be heard? What have we collectively got to lose? I would suggest that we stand to lose an awful lot if we do not risk anything. And that is what this blog is about.

That is right people, I am going to blog about the blog. I will make it brief.

Each blog so far has been happily greeted by a flow of email messages from colleagues across the university: adjunct professors, career administrators, instructors, clinical faculty, chairs, associate deans, and assistant, associate and full professors. Some of the emails begin with: “Even though I am not comfortable responding on the blog, I want to thank you for opening up a conversation” or “I could never write this on the blog, but….” I’ve responded by asking you to use the comments section to bring your great ideas to the wider community, but, with a few exceptions, each of you has declined.  You prefer to write to me directly and individually. Why is that? I have asked around and have heard at least two reasons why:

1. “Did you know it is such a pain to register on the website; you have to put in credentials and press some buttons and get permission” (okay, I am paraphrasing, but still). I get it; it is cumbersome and we are adding the instructions to the blog page. But, I managed and I am practically a luddite.

2. “I cannot respond honestly and provide critique. You know how people around here are. They do not forget.” This troubles me. Maybe I am comfy cozy in my PC office protected by my position for now; I am tenured and so “they can’t fire me” [or at least very easily]. I feel my privilege. I know. Yet I had a colleague – senior (as in a full professor), male, white, well respected and relatively well salaried – tell me he would not dare express his reactions to my words on the blog; it is simply too much to risk. And this is not an isolated incident. Many of you – from all categories – have responded similarly. What are we afraid of? I am not suggesting anyone tell the provost to take a hike or give the president what for. But we cannot have open conversations until we have open conversations. And if you are convinced that your voice will not be heard or will be misheard or will provoke and thus refuse to speak, you guarantee that your voice will not be heard, that others will misunderstand or misrepresent your position.

Allow me to explain why I think taking this risk pays off big.

If you – or better yet, if we all – are willing to write on the blog, to tell your chair you are dissatisfied, to speak out when colleagues treat one another unfairly, then, even if someone, somewhere is keeping score, there will be too many voices to drown out, too many to ostracize. The temptation to fall in line, to keep quiet, will only lead to, well, quiet. If there is a black list and we all speak out then, the black list will be the faculty directory.  And, if the problems are few and far between then let’s unmask whoever is causing difficulties (in a professional manner), call her or him or them out so that we can all benefit from a more mutual work environment, from a culture of mutual communication. I am not naïve enough to believe that power dynamics and social hierarchies, so complex and multifaceted, will melt away, but I am pragmatic enough to believe that we have to start somewhere.

Let’s risk having our voices heard.

In the end, there is risk either way: to act or not to act, to speak or not to speak. Why? Remaining on the sidelines, off the comments section and away from collective conversations that will help each of us enjoy our jobs more and do our jobs better is, I think, just too plain risky.

What do you think?
Rebecca