A faculty member at Hocking College, in Ohio, has been barred from campus as authorities believe he may be a threat to three other faculty members, The Athens Messenger reported. The campus was informed of the ban and threats Thursday afternoon, and leaflets posted on campus include the faculty members name and photograph. The Messenger said it could not reach the man who was named as the threat.
Taylor Ashton Davis, a student at Kirkwood Community College, has been charge with assaulting a professor with whom she apparently had a relationship, The Cedar Rapids Gazette reported. She was also charged with assaulting a police officer who came to campus amid a report that student was "hitting a professor." The professor, who was not named in the police report, told authorities that he had been “in an intimate relationship that he tried to end about one year ago but has been somewhat ongoing,” according to the complaint. Kirkwood says that its faculty members “are not to develop relationships of a romantic or sexual nature with a student who is currently enrolled in his/her class or program, a student who is current receiving guidance/coaching from him/her, or an employee he/she is currently supervising.” No information was available on whether the student was enrolled in the professor's courses.
In a rare move, the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign on Thursday revoked the tenure of a longtime faculty member. Louis Wozniak, associate professor of industrial enterprise and systems engineering, was removed from teaching in 2010, after he sent an email to students that said he only remembered the names of those students with whom he had had sex. Wozniak said it was clearly a joke, but some found it offensive, and the university launched an investigation into his behavior going back to a prior complaint that he was passed up for a $500 teaching award, the Chicago Tribune reported. A faculty committee cleared Wozniak of most of the charges against him, but the University of Illinois Board of Trustees voted unanimously to revoke his tenure and terminate his employment immediately under university statutes, after finding “clear and convincing” evidence that he “can no longer be relied on to perform his university duties and functions in a manner consonant with professional standards of competence and responsibility.”
In its decision, the board said it did not treat the case lightly, given the gravity of tenure, but added: “There is nothing more fundamental to the mission of a university than to protect its relationships with its students. This includes ensuring that student confidences are maintained and that information is not published about them without the consent required by University policies. Every student of this University deserves nothing less than our complete and unwavering support of these policies. Prof. Wozniak has refused to meet this most basic understanding."
Wozniak, who joined the faculty in 1966, did not immediately return a request for comment. Greg Scholtz, director of tenure, governance and academic freedom for the American Association of University Professors, said the association was keeping a file on Wozniak's case and would be concerned if the procedures Illinois followed to arrive at Thursday's decision violated AAUP guidelines. It does not appear that any such violations occurred, he added.
Over the last decade there has been a rapid evolution toward increased scholarly publishing online. Much of it remains proprietary publishing available only through paid access, but there are now a number of peer-reviewed gold access online scholarly journals, and book publishers commonly make a table of contents and a sample chapter freely available. Google meanwhile has made the complete texts of millions of public domain books available for free. And there are countless websites devoted to more narrowly defined online publishing projects.
After an initial impetus toward mandating that all Illinois public university faculty put their published articles online for free six months after publication, the Illinois legislature instead passed Public Act 098-0295 in August 2013, a bill directing universities to come up with a plan to deal with the possibility and desirability of making scholarly publications freely available to all citizens. The Illinois law deserves some national publicity since other states may do the same. Existing university policies have generally been adopted by faculty senates. Illinois is initiating a policy through legislative action.
While a university would be performing a useful service by giving faculty a vehicle for voluntary self-archiving, making it possible for them to reprint publications freely online, it would be quite another matter for either a public or a private university to require faculty to place all their publications there. An optional, but not mandated, green access model (in which faculty can reprint publications on a university website) would increase the public availability of published research and promote a trend toward open-access publishing without constraining faculty publication rights.
Yet either an optional or a mandated online publication policy will require adequate funding if it is to fair and practical. Colleges and universities have long needed a stronger commitment to publishing support that makes non-commercial scholarly communication a part of the fabric of the institution. But open access systems require new infrastructure, including appropriate software and either new staff to handle the responsibility or a reassignment of existing staff.
The national American Association of University Professors (AAUP) stands firmly behind the principle that academic freedom guarantees faculty members the right not only to decide what research they want to do and how to do it but also the right to decide how the fruits of their research will be disseminated. Academic freedom does not terminate at the moment when you create a publishable book or essay.
Publications have long been covered by copyright law, and faculty members in the modern university have traditionally owned the rights to work they create that can be copyrighted. It would be a major change in intellectual property tradition, policy, and law for a state or a university to claim ownership or control. Of course a university-mandated free publication requirement does not appear on the surface to affect ownership, but in fact it eviscerates ownership by divesting it of meaningful control. A Creative Commons license is only of limited help at that point, since a freely available publication has pretty much lost all the commercial value associated with copyright.
A policy mandating free and open online publishing — even after a defined period of time — would violate academic freedom and potentially cause serious harm to faculty members. Such a policy relies implicitly on the assumption that both public and private university faculty are no different from other state or company employees, indeed that they are all equivalent to corporate employees, subject to the unqualified workplace dictates of the state or the corporation. But U.S. courts have long recognized that academic freedom is an important value in higher education and that it limits the control the state or an institution can exercise over the distinctive faculty speech rights entailed in teaching and research. A university policy that preempts a potential contract between a researcher and a publisher would abridge academic freedom.
A state-mandated blanket policy requiring open-access publishing would also change the conditions of employment for existing faculty who were hired without such a restriction, effectively significantly changing their academic freedom expectations without their consent. Such a change could not be imposed on individuals by a collective decision or by a vote by a representative body.
The harm at issue would vary by discipline and form of publication. An assistant professor’s tenure case could be seriously damaged if he or she had to seek publication only in gold access journals (those online from the outset) or in journals permitting green access (delayed self-archiving), rather than in the best journals in the field. Science disciplines whose academic journals have traditionally levied page charges, costs often built into grants, may be relatively well-positioned to handle processing fees from open access journals. Humanities, fine arts, and social science disciplines with no such traditions and no such revenue sources would find such a mandate not merely damaging but impossible to honor.
There may well be another disciplinary disadvantage built into a specified wait time for an open-access electronic version to become available. Prospective individual buyers of expensive hardbound academic books typically wait until a paperbound edition is published or until a used hardbound copy becomes available from an online used book service. Faced with a one-year wait for a free electronic copy, how many individuals or libraries would still buy either an electronic or a material version of a scholarly book at all? Paid electronic or hard copy journal subscriptions in many fields would certainly suffer the same fate. Scientists, engineers, or medical faculty might successfully lobby their institutions for more rapid access to the latest papers, but how many humanities disciplines could convincingly wage such a campaign? Mandated gold or green access at least for now is likely to seriously disadvantage humanities, arts, and interpretive social science fields.
Such a campus requirement would be an open invitation for humanities and fine arts faculty who could do so to move elsewhere and would make recruitment in such disciplines much more difficult. Imagine telling a potential senior hire that he or she would have to switch to a publisher supporting green access if they came to your campus.
In any case, gold access publications typically need mechanisms to cover their editorial, copyediting, design, and promotional costs. Nothing would be accomplished by a state or university policy that ignores that reality. Nor is anything to be gained from a university deciding that it knows what is best for publishers on campus or elsewhere.
Given the Illinois bill’s legislative history, concern about its intent may justify raising some questions about the law. Although the Illinois law refers to “articles,” not books, it is not clear that the legislature recognized the difference between article and book publication, or whether such distinctions as those between authored and edited books were anywhere in play. Is a book chapter in an edited book an article? And one may reasonably wonder whether an effort to mandate online book publication might follow. Edited books, for example, would almost always encompass authors from other states or countries; in cases where work was being reprinted the copyrights held by both profit and nonprofit publishers in other states and countries would be at issue. No editor would be likely to be able to get such a range of other publishers to agree to grant open-access online publishing rights to documents whose copyrights they control. An editor would simply have to abandon such a project if he or she had to obtain online publishing rights for its contents, an obvious and intolerable abridgement of academic freedom.
Even a two-year moratorium on open access publication of book chapters would be highly problematic, since that is commonly the point when a publisher seeks to market a paperbound edition. An open access policy limited to journal articles would be far more manageable, but even that should be voluntary.
Even the definitional problems just listed are not well-handled in existing university open access policies. As a University of Illinois library committee noted when it compared policies at Harvard University, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and the University of California, all refer exclusively to “scholarly articles,” without defining the term. Is a piece of creative nonfiction a scholarly article? Might it convey research findings? Nor is it clear whether the policies cover adjunct or part-time faculty. My own view is that adjunct faculty should be given the opportunity to archive their publications but never be required to do so.
Academic freedom means that a faculty member has the right to choose which journals to publish in and which publishers to offer a book project. Journal editors and book publishers often also approach a faculty member with a potential project. Again, academic freedom grants faculty members the right to accept or reject such offers. A faculty member cannot be required to publish in places that have adopted gold open-access publishing principles or that grant green open-access reprint rights to their authors. A faculty member can, however, request that a contract for publishing an essay be granted through a “nonexclusive first publication rights only” clause, and some publishers who are inclined to offer (or initially do offer) more restrictive contracts are willing to accept such language. That should enable reprinting rights on a university web site. A university policy mandating online reprinting will persuade some, but likely not all, publishers to cooperate, and it still compromises faculty rights. A book publisher, moreover, is far less likely to agree to such terms for an entire book. And those faculty members who regularly propose gathering their scattered journal articles into a book will find that almost impossible to do if all the articles are already available on a university website.
It is also inappropriate for a state to mandate open-access publishing for university published or edited books or journals. A university press has to have the freedom to follow its own rationally chosen business model. Such business models do not typically entail a one-size-fits-all model covering every book and journal. Indeed a press may rely heavily on the income from a few highly marketable books. On the other hand, a press might decide that a particular book would benefit from simultaneous or relatively rapid online open access publication. And in some cases sales of the book might benefit. Publishing professionals with the expertise to make such decisions must be left to do.
That said, there are many benefits to gold access online publication. There is the potential to reach wider audiences and the chance of doing so rapidly. Educational outlets like Times Higher Education and Inside Higher Ed that operate with in-house editorial (rather than peer reviewed) decision making can sometimes publish in a week or less, which can be a considerable benefit with time sensitive publications.
Books that really have no likelihood of reaching a broad audience may be better off being published freely online than in a hardbound edition that can barely sell 200 copies. But that reality does not address editorial cost recovery or the relative prestige issues that faculty have a right — because of academic freedom — to take into account when they make publication decisions. Nor does it make sense to tell an author or publisher that they should not limit a book that can readily sell thousands of copies to a print edition or that they should offer it for free instead. Indeed there are numerous academic authors who publish with commercial publishers who would be quite amused at the suggestion they offer their books or journals for free.
At least at present, moreover, a university press would be at a tremendous — and likely fatal — disadvantage if it offered only online book publication, given that many authors still want to see their book manuscripts published as books and that university tenure and promotion committees still value physical books more highly than electronic ones. A university would garner a very rich bouquet of bad publicity, no few lawsuits, and likely AAUP action if it tried to restrict its faculty to either gold or green access publishers. We all, of course, know the example of a rogue publisher of academic journals that charges extortionate prices for its publications. But that requires targeted action, not a wholesale regime of academic freedom restraint as a solution.
The bottom line is that universities should move forward with increased gold and green publishing opportunities, not with mandates, prohibitions, and penalties — and with faculty leadership and attention to differences in types of publications, fields, and, most importantly, the preservation of individual choice. Faculty need a mechanism to opt out of the expectation that articles will be made freely available without offering a reason. Such an opt-out mechanism should, like that at Berkeley, be automatic, automated, and immediate. Not overseen by a bureaucrat making decisions about what does and does not qualify for an exception. One hopes that, with a system to encourage, but not mandate, open access publishing, the state legislature, including the bill’s main sponsor, will be satisfied. If not, as I’ve tried to indicate, we will be in for a rough ride.
Cary Nelson served as national president of the American Association of University Professors from 2006 to 2012. He teaches at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign.
How many weeks does it take to get over a bad semester? Is it like the end of a bad relationship? Too painful to talk about except with one’s closest friend… or with a complete stranger?
You are my stranger.
Kari (I should use her real name but I won’t) had trouble with writing grammatically; she had trouble with phonetics, even. When she typed, she couldn’t see the difference between building and blinding.
When she read her work aloud, she didn’t seem to understand what she herself was saying. As far as she let on, in our office conferences (that I called her in for), she was not in need of our college’s excellent Access-Ability program, though I think she was and I tried to suggest it could be useful for her to find out.
She had never had problems with her writing before, she said. She had always earned Bs in English.
Why did she want to be a journalist, I asked. Yes, she was a journalism student in the last journalism course I will ever teach.
I’m hemming and hawing, because I don’t want to get to the story.
The story is that I was going to fail Kari, even though she tried. I was going to fail Kari because she was a journalism major and she did not have a grasp of writing in English. She had lived in America for 10 years and she was 21. In my experience with first-generation students, those who arrive before age 16 adapt to English very quickly. Kari didn’t have much of an accent; she had grown up in… let’s call it Asia. She lived in Queens -- with two other large families in one house. Her family had the basement apartment, and in the summer all three families liked to hang out in it because it was cooler there. She wrote a “personal” piece about that living arrangement. It was not as clear as I’ve summarized it. I thought that the students should hear and read aloud their own articles; some were terrific, some were bad. When Kari read her piece aloud, she continually stumbled and had long squinting pauses wherein she seemed to be trying to decipher hieroglyphics.
She was, on the other hand, as she claimed, a good listener -- to her fellow students and to guests. She asked visiting writers O.K. questions. The children with learning disabilities that I used to work with had clear and vibrant strengths that sometimes masked their dysfunctions. But in a journalism class, Kari’s dysfunctions were loud and clear almost every day.
I was going to fail her. To my shame or pride (your choice) I had never flunked a student who tried and did all the work. Kari tried and she did most of the work, much more than many of her could-be competent classmates. I appreciated that she attended regularly and was polite and pleasant. I liked her; but she was illiterate. She was not illiterate in that mean way we say when we talk about our distracted students; she was functionally illiterate in the way that someone can be legally blind; she had various perception gaps and fogginesses.
So I was going to flunk Kari, but then, toward the end of the semester, I went to one of my old standby assignments, the observation of a public space. I write down simple emphatic instructions and hand them out; I read the instructions aloud and ask for questions. They say, “I get it, I get it!” And usually they do.
Each student plants herself in a spot that is public to any member of the college community. She only has the class hour to go find the spot and sit herself there and start writing down everything and anything she hears, sees, smells. Objective. She isn’t to stop writing. Usually students like this; they realize they are taking in so many details they usually overlook. They catch actual language. Their hands get tired. I love the assignment. We did that and the next day reviewed our work. Kari’s illiteracy did not get in the way of her ability to accumulate details. It was a fine observation really. It was ungrammatical, but I understood it. Her language seemed at the level of some of my weaker developmental reading and writing students.
A week later, I had them repeat the assignment.
The next meeting I asked them to write about and then talk about the differences between their two observations. One of the students mentioned feeling self-conscious, because someone came up to her and asked her what she was doing. She took down the whole conversation, including, “Hey! You’re writing down what I’m saying!”
Another student, whose dial was always set on “Complaint,” said she felt creepy watching people. I pointed out again that there are cameras everywhere we go; we are continually photographed, filmed and electronically identified by nameless organizations; whereas in this modest assignment, we are only individuals looking at other people.
“That’s stalking, pofessa!”
“When did people-watching become stalking?”
Kari raised her hand. “Professor, I got looked at too.”
“I was sitting there at the Starbucks and I was writing… and this psychology professor -- I heard someone call to her and say, ‘You’re my psychology professor,’ and that’s how I knew that detail, professor -- ”
“And she kept walking around me and trying to look at my paper. I didn’t like that, but I didn’t do nothing and I just kept writing like you said and she kept coming over and then she went to the doors near the fishes, the fish tanks, and made a phone call on her cell phone -- I wrote that down -- and like a few minutes later a police car came up to the outside doors and the security guys got out and she went to them, and I saw her point at me.”
“And they came by and said, ‘Hey, what are you doing?’ and they made me give them my purse and my notes.”
“Oh, my god!”
“See, Professor!” said Complainer. “You got one of us arrested!”
“Then what happened?”
Kari told us they told her to follow them to the security office and then she got interrogated there about why she was writing about the arrangement of chairs and how many people were in line at the coffee stand and who told her to do this? …
“You told them who! You showed them my instructions, right?”
“I wanted to see what would happen.”
I realized at that moment: So, I’m not going to flunk Kari.
I was astounded by her description of the actions of the campus police and I was delighted with Kari. She was after all a journalist! She couldn’t write, of course, but she was a journalist at heart. I would pass her.
“So what happened?”
She explained to them she was just writing, that it wasn’t their or anybody else’s business.
“You’re making people really paranoid,” the interrogating officer told her.
And they let her go.
“That’s incredible!” I said. I regretted the assignment now, even though it had brought out Kari’s latent journalistic skills; arrested! That was unbelievable! It was a violation of civil rights! Of freedom of speech!
The students were taunting me, “See, see! Your assignments be getting us in trouble!”
I tried to justify it again. “But nothing really happened, finally -- except I’m going to go see the security people.”
“No,” said Kari. “That’s O.K. I still want to see what happens. You can just give me a note that I’m a student in your class so I can get my purse and my ID card back.”
It was just a few weeks after the Boston Marathon tragedy and the officers at our entry-gates were being careful about identification checks again. She needed her card.
I wrote her the note and said, “You sure you don’t want me to go with you to Security? I want to go. I’m really upset about this.”
“No, no. I can handle it. It’s my story, right?” She flashed her big eyes at me and nodded, begging me.
But I was uneasy.
Later that afternoon I went to a meeting and mentioned to a colleague what happened to Kari and she made me repeat the details about the psychology professor ratting out the student; she said the arrest was outrageous and I agreed. “What are you going to do, Bob?”
“I don’t know yet.” Why did I hesitate? Why didn’t I march over to the security office?
After the meeting, I went to my department mailbox and Kari had left her notes from the observation as well as the last draft of her last article.
What was I going to do?
On the subway home I read her observation notes and got even more outraged at the security officers -- and even more unsettled with myself for not having already confronted them about it. I started reading her article. It was not her article. Every sentence was grammatical. It seemed to be not one but two professional articles stitched together (which I discovered later it was).
All right, she’d get an F.
But meanwhile, her rights had been violated. I couldn’t let that go.
The next day at school, when I asked Kari to see me at the end of class, she came up and I told her I was about to go to the security office. She asked me to please not to; it was her story.
“Yes, that one is,” I agreed. I opened my folder and pulled out her three pages of plagiarism. “But this is not your article.”
“Yes, it is. I gave it to you.”
“But you didn’t write it.”
“I made it.”
“You made it?”
“I researched it. You said to use research.”
“This is not research. This is two articles from the Internet you’ve put together.”
“I put it together. I wrote it.”
“You didn’t write it.”
“The tutor helped me.”
“This is plagiarism, Kari.”
“You didn’t write these words and yet at the top of the page you write, ‘By Kari M --.’”
“Yeah,” she sighed, “I see your point.” She nodded. Meeting my eyes, she said, “O.K., so I’m going to fail now?”
“Yes. But I still want to get to the bottom of your run-in with security.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me.”
But I didn’t go to the security office. I ran into a senior colleague, a former journalist, and told him about Kari’s arrest. I knew by his puzzlement that he thought I should have already gone to security. This was an important matter.
And yet… that plagiarism.
Instead of walking to the security office after my last class of the day, I walked to the subway and sifted the situation through my head: “I’m going to go to the defense of a plagiarizing student …” (she had plagiarized her first article too; I might’ve thought of that earlier, but when it happened, she had convinced me she had only been confused about using sources) “…a double-plagiarizing student who is illiterate and whom I’m going to fail.”
The next day, a non-teaching day that I spent at home, my conscience gnawing at me, my cowardice sitting up straight at my computer, I wrote an angry email to the security director. I should say -- I have to say -- at the last second I cc’ed the dean of the college on it. (I wanted action, Jackson!) The security director responded immediately by email, thanking me for bringing the matter to his attention and saying he would investigate and get back to me as soon as possible.
Two days passed. I let the weekend go by and on Monday morning when I showed up in the department office, my chair greeted me, shaking her head. “Your student? -- Unbelievable, huh?”
“That she made the whole thing up!”
“You didn’t hear? From the security director? He was pretty upset at you too.”
“She just wanted not to fail, so she made it up.”
I was blinking in disbelief.
“She confessed, Bob!”
Let me confess, at first I thought that explanation was too simple, that Kari must’ve been bullied into saying she had lied... and lied... and lied. Oh, yeah.
I winced, retreated to my office with my tail between my legs and emailed an apology to the security director and the dean.
Bob Blaisdell is a professor of English at City University of New York’s Kingsborough Community College.