New research from the authors of last year's controversial book Academically Adrift suggests that lack of academic rigor in college is linked to -- among other things -- lower employment and higher debt after students graduate.
I was in college and graduate school for nearly ten years, and in that time I must’ve had 1,000 different people tell me, “Wait until you graduate and go out in the real world,” or “Graduating next year, huh? You’ll finally be in the real world.” And every time I heard such stupidity I wanted to slam a pie in the speaker’s face. Even toward the end of my Ph.D. program, when I was working 70 hours a week and earning $20,000 a year, an occasional nitwit would say something like, “Well the party’s almost over; time for the real world.”
The collegiate fairy tale myth supposes that I spoiled myself in early adulthood by avoiding “work” and going to college. Presumptuous garbage. Like my students today, I had in college an enormous and time-sensitive workload, social pressures, empty pockets, and little sense of physical continuity. Any psychiatrist will tell you that moving domiciles is one of the most stressful life events that humans experience, and yet we make college students move around like carnies, in and out of dorm rooms, and perhaps urging them to relocate to off-campus housing as upperclassmen. On September 13, the fraternity house of Pi Kappa Alpha at the University of Maine, where I teach, was condemned and 22 students were tossed out. My, how lucky they are to know nothing of real-world pressure!
College years are exciting and liberating, certainly, but they are also a time of myriad deadlines, limited self-efficacy, and a tightrope of time management. I met a college student a few years ago wearing a shirt popular among his classmates that read: “The University of Chicago: Where Fun Goes to Die.” While I doubt this elite institution resembles the Gulag, I did believe the young man when he told me that University of Chicago students are worked like dogs.
Not as a college student, but rather now, as a professor, I’m living the dream. I make a fair wage, have strong benefits, and get over three months a year to work almost exclusively on my own research projects. I wear jeans to the office and shave only when I’m bored. I feel no shred of guilt for such freedom; I didn’t start earning a livable wage until I was almost 30, and the creative flexibility of the professor’s life is what I toiled a decade for. I still work very hard, but I’m paid for it now, and the professional stress I feel is not at the unsustainable decibel that nagged me as an undergraduate.
Nostalgia is a sexy elixir, and it often blurs our recollection of distress as opposed to eustress. Eustress represents life pressures that motivate us and are pro-social, like a manageable work deadline or the tug on our conscience to exercise a few times a week. Distress is harmful pressure that causes us to lose sleep, eat or fast in unhealthy patterns, or exhibit short tempers. When many middle-agers compare their current lives with their college years, they do so while remembering their youthful distress as eustress, and by mislabeling many of their current positive pressures as atypical distress.
The stereotypes that college years are marked by experimentation with substances and sexual precocity do bear some truth, and these pleasures are what many Americans care to remember about their time in the academy, but the idea that college is a low-stress, light-work period is a damn lie.
Young Americans don’t go to college to avoid work. They work hard in college so they have a shot at earning a modestly rewarding living. Unfortunately for these young aspirants, they’re slogging toward a labor market that older generations of Americans have sullied. Rather than insulting college students by suggesting that they don’t know what hard work is, older Americans might instead consider apologizing for the pathetic employment market staring down graduates in this country.
The students I teach are professional jugglers who make a Cirque du Soleil show look like a barn dance. Among them they’re balancing academic course loads, community service, part-time or even full-time jobs, loan debt, athletic training and competition, transient housing situations, along with some of life’s other gems like a sick parent, a sibling in Afghanistan, or an unplanned pregnancy.
One of the primary reasons educated Americans are such successful professionals is that the college years are hard. “The real world” isn’t so daunting to college graduates because they’ve already spent four or five years in it. The deadlines they face are very real, and I know this because I rigidly impose some of them, and my students know that the word “dead” is in deadline for a reason. I don’t go easy on my students, but I also don’t belittle the loads they carry. College students in the U.S. are impressive people, and their hard work should be praised, not demeaned.
Justin D. Martin
Justin D. Martin is the CLAS-Honors Preceptor of Journalism at the University of Maine and a columnist for Columbia Journalism Review. Follow him on Twitter: @Justin_D_Martin
Freshmen who arrived on campus as the phrase “too big to fail" was taking hold will, over the coming year, be working out the details of their post-graduation plans. At this point, finding employment increasingly counts as an aspiration more than a goal -- while continuing with graduate study must feel like buying a lottery ticket. Condensing a million anxious conversations into a single humorous/appalling graphic, Jenna Brager’s “Post-College Flow Chart of Misery and Pain” finds its balance on the thin line between satire and cold-eyed realism. It deserves its spot on the opening page of Share or Die: Youth in Recession, an anthology of essays, memoirs, and cartoons recently e-published by the online magazine Shareable.
Released under a Creative Commons license, Share or Die is available to download for free. While Brager’s cartoon embodies a sense of foreclosed options, the spirit of the book as a whole is anything but resigned. “There’s a common anxiety in the pieces in this collection,” Malcolm Harris, its 22-year-old editor, writes in his introduction. “…The promises of the '90s and the early' 00s, that society could only be improved, that shopping was patriotic, that the earth knew no boundaries for the determined, have turned out to be worth about as much as a bunch of subprime mortgage-backed securities. There’s a sense of generational betrayal, a knowledge that those who came before weren’t planning for a future with consequences. In the face of the unknown, these writers have come to understand they’re responsible for making something new, even if they don’t know what it looks like yet.”
Shareable (where Harris works as a contributing editor) promotes an ethos of open-source cooperation and communitarian mutual aid. The volume includes advice on how to form work co-ops, pool goods and services with friends and neighbors, and otherwise strengthen social ties. The very notion of a commonwealth -- in which there are shared resources that escape the logic of possessive individualism – may need reinventing at this late date. But an ongoing economic crisis with no end in sight is the right time to begin trying to think and live in new ways. Intrigued by Share or Die, I posed a number of questions to Harris, who is also managing editor of the online cultural journal/open-door salon The New Inquiry. A transcript of our e-mail exchange follows.
Q: How did you come to do the book? Was there something in your own education, work history, or other interests that overlapped with this project?
A: I grew up in Palo Alto, California, which is sometimes mistakenly referred to as "Stanford University, California." After graduating in three years with good behavior from the University of Maryland with a degree in English and politics, I lucked into the job at Shareable (thanks Craigslist). That was about a year ago now. In a lot of ways it's a continuation of what I was doing in college, which included a lot of activism around student debt and a weekly column for the school paper on university politics. The struggles that erupted at the University of California campuses my last year of school over tuition hikes juxtaposed with the financial crisis and resulting recession had a deep effect on my thinking and what I wanted to do with my newly unemployed self. When Baby Boomers and Gen Xers write about my generation, they can almost never help themselves from projecting what I see as their own generational insecurities. We end up portrayed as lazy, disengaged, greedy whiners unable to endure a little hardship. That's not the case, and the stories in Share or Die prove it.
Q: How should people think of Share or Die -- as manifesto or survival handbook? There are elements of both. But did you have one or the other more in mind while editing it?
A: I definitely had both in mind while editing it, as well as about a half-dozen other forms -- the personal essay, ethnography, how-to's, and others. Young people face a rather total set of disorienting circumstances, and I think the variety of forms in which writers submitted to the collection indicates there's no solid consensus on how best to approach the situation. I think we could use some good manifestos right about now -- I'm a fan of the form -- but there's a real danger of abstracting too far away from concrete circumstances. The goal for the collection was to be of use in as many ways as possible, whether that's suggesting ways to think about the collective struggle for a livable environment and workers' dignity, or providing specific ways to start a housing co-op or quit your job.
Q: Some contributors express frustration at not being able to find interesting work. Three years into a collapsed job market, that complaint already sounds a bit dated. Apart from the much-discussed option of moving back in with one's parents, what's your sense of how people are getting by?
A: It is a dated frustration, and one that goes back further than the last three years. American capitalism has always offered workers a trade: your obedience in exchange for your freedom. As the writer John Berger put it: "selling your life piece by piece so as not to die." Job dissatisfaction isn't a new development, but this generation was promised otherwise. The historical narrative of steady progress and social mobility meant that each next generation's life could be more fulfilling -- your grandfather was a laborer so your father could be a professional so you could be an artist, etc. But it hasn't turned out that way at all -- the 21st-century college graduates who were supposed to be the teleological end of this chain are the most indebted and least employed in history. This has meant a vast majority moving back in with parents -- there's a touching essay about that in the collection -- and the much-discussed "extended adolescence." Besides that, it involves trolling Craigslist for short-term contract jobs, living in small spaces with lots of roommates, and learning to make instead of buy the things they need. We have a couple beautiful flow-chart cartoons by my dear friend Jenna Brager charting possible (and painfully realistic) post-graduation paths, and they're far more complex than any career ladder.
Q: Well before the recession kicked in, social critics were talking about the deep changes in ethos that have accompanied shifts in worklife in recent years. The notion of "having a career" makes sense if and only if someone has a reasonable prospect for stable, long-term employment in some field (professional or otherwise) covering the better part of adulthood. Now "careerism" seems to have given way to "flexibilism," for want of a better term -- the expectation that we will have constantly to be acquiring new sets of skills, moving frequently between occupations as well as between cities. Isn't it possible that the recession is just intensifying this? What's the difference between "share or die" and "be flexible or be discarded"?
A: But that's the false choice right there -- being flexible means being discarded all the time! The title doesn't just refer to material deprivation -- there are forms of social death, and the choice "be flexible or be discarded" is one of them. Share or Die is about a different choice, the choice to -- if you will -- discard the discarders. At the same time, flexibilism primes this pump. An Italian friend of mine, Gigi Roggero, has his first book in English coming out next month in which he makes a strong argument that with the decline of employer loyalty, employee loyalty has tanked as well. Job-searching takes up an incredible amount of Gen Y's time and energy -- for the employed, unemployed, and in-between alike. The challenge now is to take this time and energy and use it as a generation to build the infrastructure outside and beyond the market. Common resources -- both materially (spaces and goods) and immaterially (peer-to-peer networks and emotional support structures) -- have much more to offer us than a narrowing corporate career ladder and expensive therapists. That is, we have more to offer each other.
Q: The term "precariat" has emerged in Europe to name the sector of the labor force engaged in this sort of "flexible" work. The notion has not exactly caught fire here, even though we have precarity aplenty. I take it from your writing elsewhere that you have an ongoing concern with currents of social and political thought that helped spawn this term. How much of that interest informs the book, directly or indirectly?
A: Well, it certainly influenced my introduction and foreword, and the way I approached the collection as a whole. But it's not like I as an editor told writers they had to be experts on theories of the precariat to contribute to the collection. I think young people today have an intuitive understanding of a lot of the structures and practices of precarity, even if they don't necessarily have the vocabulary to describe it. Building that collective vocabulary is important to a sense of solidarity or shared experience.
I like to think of the relationship between something like Share or Die and so-called post-fordist theory (a strand of heterodox Marxism focused on terms like "multitude," "the common," and precarity) as neither causal nor coincidental. The understanding of precarity in the collection doesn't come (mostly) from reading about it; it comes from the writers' experience being the precariat. Theory coming out of the academy has played an important role in Europe in articulating both problems and solutions, but considering the degree to which the American university system adheres to market logic, I'm skeptical of the role it has to play. The best analyses don't come from cloistered dissertation research; in Italy, where a lot of this thought is coming from, the foundations were developed through workers' struggle in the late '70s. Speaking personally, I'd rather see an understanding develop outside the Ivory Tower -- practice-oriented groups do a much better job coming up with useful formulations and distributing them than any group of tenured professors.
Q: Okay, but what about the non-tenured sort? After all, there is a huge academic precariat -- not all of it youthful, by any means. Somebody entering graduate school now has a far greater chance of becoming an adjunct than ever reaching the starting gate for a tenure track.
A: Definitely. I believe the number is three out of four classes taught by TAs and adjuncts according to Marc Bousquet's great book on the topic, How The University Works. There are certainly plenty of aged adjuncts, but this was a very recent historical shift, mostly occurring within my lifetime, and it overwhelmingly targets young people. The academy is about as gerontocratic as it gets outside the U.S. Senate.
I'm glad to get the chance to set the record straight on this. After I wrote about student loans, I was accused of shilling for the professoriat, which I'm sure gave some former professors of mine a good laugh. You're completely right, by the numbers, grad school (especially, but not just in the humanities) is a con in which young people are suckered into doing labor and taking on debt to further a system that will ultimately have very little to offer most of them. From conversations with peers -- and Jenna has a very personal cartoon about this in the collection -- young people enroll in grad school for the same reason they join Teach for America: it's a predictable and explainable (if not comfortable) path where you might even feel a bit wanted or special once in a while. No one is more complicit in this arrangement than the faculty, who outsource their most laborious work to TAs, but aren't much interested in making sure they're acknowledged or treated as workers. Instead, junior professors are too busy trying to get tenure, and the tenured professors are too busy working on journal articles on the history of labor organizing that no one outside their small academic sub-clique (or, more likely, within it either) will read anyway. Of course they'd love to help, but.... The sheer mass of bad faith required to keep the gears turning astounds me.
Q: Suppose a baby boomer or Generation X-er reads the book and says, "Yeah, this reminds me of when we all tuned in, turned on, and dropped out to form that rural commune (vegetarian hiphop dumpster-diving collective, etc.) Too bad it didn't work out! But then I became a stockbroker (got a job with the Gates Foundation, etc.) and found that I preferred having my own pie, rather than sharing it. Just wait, the economy will pick up.... You'll see!" What reply comes to mind?
A: So you're the bastard who ate all the pie! The truth is, this is the worst prolonged employment crisis since the Great Depression, something no American Gen X-er or Boomer has experienced. And if, by the grace of global warming, we get one more generation of plenty (unlikely in not just my estimation), then we will find ourselves in the same position as our parents: leaving our children with even more debt and even fewer jobs. No society can endlessly finance prosperity with debt, no matter how many times you sell it back and forth. The student power slogan "We are the crisis" -- which has cropped up from Berkeley to Rome to Athens -- isn't a threat, it's a reality. A generational debt is due; we can pay it with our very lives, stretched across decades of precarious work, or find another way to be. The choice remains share or die.
Under new regulations proposed by the Department of Labor, unpaid college internships are preferable if the intern “performs no or minimal work.”
That’s right: Even as many colleges and universities are expanding experiential learning, federal officials are issuing guidelines that would water down this powerful approach to education.
In April, the Department of Labor crafted a six-part “test” that employers, students and colleges must satisfy to ensure that unpaid internships qualify as legal. Among the six criteria is the following requirement: “The employer that provides the training derives no immediate advantage from the activities of the intern.”
Whether or not the Labor Department’s proposal would have a direct impact on most college internships is the subject of debate. Defenders of the policy argue that it is simply a more stringent application of the longstanding Fair Labor Standards Act. Their goal is laudable: to protect students from being used as free labor, particularly by for-profit companies.
However, just the threat of increased regulation could have a chilling effect on the willingness of employers to offer internships -- paid or unpaid. With experiential learning on the rise, through co-ops, internships and other approaches, the country cannot afford to create disincentives for employers to play a valuable role in the educational enterprise.
Why is American higher education heading in the direction of experiential learning? The value proposition is clear: According to the National Association of Colleges and Employers’ 2010 Job Outlook Survey, 75 percent of employers prefer job candidates with relevant work experience. More than 90 percent prefer to hire interns or co-ops who have worked for their organization.
But the real benefits of experiential learning go far beyond the practical advantage it affords students entering the workforce. Educators are increasingly realizing that the integration of study and practice is a more powerful way to learn.
Perhaps more than ever before, this generation of graduates will need to navigate the unknown. They will need to be nimble and responsive to change, and become leaders of change. A strong foundation in their field of study is essential, but less tangible skills will be just as important: confidence, poise, adaptability, and the ability to work collaboratively. These are the foundations of leadership.
When students participate in well-developed internships or co-op experiences, they immerse themselves in professional settings, ranging from multinational corporations to small not-for-profits. They bring their experiences back to the classroom, enriching the curriculum for themselves and their peers. They gain knowledge that will serve them for a lifetime.
Rules that encourage student interns to perform “no or minimal work” are antithetical to the premise of experiential learning. Under these rules, internships or co-op positions would deteriorate into job shadowing, a pale imitation of true experiential learning.
We all share the Department of Labor’s concerns about the potential for exploitation, but the role of determining the educational value of an internship or co-op should rest with educational institutions. Colleges and universities must continue their active monitoring of experiential learning programs, and place students in secure and productive environments that further their education.
A sustained commitment to experiential learning includes developing a strong network of employers who regularly provide employment opportunities for students. Through this network, institutions cultivate partnerships and work closely with students to find the best fit for both sides. Schools can and should require employers to provide detailed job descriptions that set clear expectations. In addition, employers should outline the learning outcomes students are expected to achieve upon completing their experiences.
An interesting consequence of the Labor Department’s proposal is that it may create more demand for overseas internships. At Northeastern University, where we just celebrated 100 years of cooperative education, we believe the second century of experiential learning will be global. This is vitally important for today’s students, who are more likely than previous graduates to live and work abroad. A co-op or internship in another country is, by definition, more than academic tourism; it is true global education.
But we don’t want international expansion to come at the expense of what we’re doing here at home. In a recent letter urging the Labor Department to proceed cautiously, Sen. John Kerry underscored the importance of experiential learning to the country as a whole: “Be it through internships, fellowships or co-op programs, this symbiotic relationship helps foster economic development and a competitive workforce.”
As we invest in our future by investing in higher education, we should look for ways to expand, not diminish, the impact of experiential learning. We owe this to our students, our economy, and our society.
Joseph E. Aoun
Joseph E. Aoun is president of Northeastern University.