Last July, Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker signed into law a budget bill that, in addition to making it much easier to dismiss those in tenure-track positions, significantly attenuates the participation of faculty members in institutional governance. Doing so, he entered into a debate that has emerged as a hot topic in higher education circles and that is the subject of several recent books, including Locus of Authority by William Bowen and Eugene Tobin, Governance Reconsidered by Susan Resneck Pierce, and The Rise and Decline of Faculty Governanceby Larry Gerber.
While all parties to this debate agree that higher education in the United States is now undergoing a profound transformation, opinions diverge on what this signifies for shared governance. The American Association of University Professors, for example, contends that a robust reaffirmation of the faculty’s role is in order, while the Association of Governing Boards of Universities and Colleges, known as AGB, insists that meeting the imperatives of a new era requires acknowledgment and support of that role, but also considerable amplification of executive authority as well as enhanced trustee oversight.
The principal developments most often cited as causes of higher education’s contemporary transformation are familiar. These include major cutbacks in state funding for public universities; intensification of federal concern with student indebtedness, tuition levels and educational outcomes; displacement of tenure-track positions by contingent and most often part-time appointments; emergence of online and distance learning providers; proliferation of consumerist sensibilities among our students; and so forth and so on.
As I read the literature, more often than not, these forces are figured by friends as well as foes of vigorous faculty participation in institutional governance as external factors that now encroach on the internal affairs of colleges and universities. What, however, is obscured when this debate is informed by a metaphor that locates the causes of higher education’s transformation beyond its walls and then, as this trope connotes, suggests that erosion of the barriers that once secured the academy’s relative autonomy defines how we should think about the future of shared governance?
This construction, I believe, serves all too well the interests of those who contend that, if higher education is to adapt to the imperatives of the 21st century, the capacity of faculty members to obstruct urgently needed reforms must be diminished. But I worry that adoption of this representation by defenders of substantial faculty participation also masks the ways in which we faculty members, and especially those of us fortunate enough to hold tenure-track positions, are complicit in undermining the necessary conditions of that role.
Whether explicitly invoked or tacitly presumed, deployment of the distinction between external and internal is common in discussions of shared governance, and that is so regardless of the position advanced by parties to this debate. For example, this metaphor informs the title of the “AGB Statement on External Influences on Universities and Colleges,” and its import is apparent in the verbs employed to characterize the work performed by these influences: “Governors and legislators have attempted to direct governance actions, regulators have tried to redefine board independence, state laws have increasingly encroached upon independent decision making, donors and sponsors have sought to determine policy, and a broadening array of organizations has continually worked to influence board decision making” (emphasis added). As AGB notes, “many presidents, governing boards and faculty members believe that institutional governance is so cumbersome that timely and effective decision making is imperiled,” and a growing number of administrators now argue that reinvigorated presidential leadership is imperative if higher education is to address its most pressing challenges,
This same metaphorical binary is presupposed by those who bemoan the academy’s “corporatization,” which is often lamented as a principal cause of the faculty’s relegation to the sidelines of institutional governance. To illustrate the point, consider the title of Lawrence Soley’s Leasing the Ivory Tower: The Corporate Takeover of Academia or, alternatively, of Jennifer Washburn’s University Inc.: The Corporate Corruption of Higher Education. Proponents of this thesis typically contend that corporations, often abetted by right-wing foundations, have seized control of the academy, replaced its once public values with those of the marketplace and -- often in cahoots with governing board members drawn from the for-profit sector -- imposed administrative techniques whose exercise is incompatible with extensive faculty participation in matters of institutional governance. True, this argument often affirms that the academy’s colonization is now expedited by the host of in-house lackeys who collectively comprise “the administration.” But this twist on the external-internal distinction does little to unsettle a characterization that effectively absolves faculty members of complicity in furthering the conditions of their own disempowerment.
I do not take issue with those who claim that today higher education is undergoing changes of a scope not witnessed since what is sometimes called its “massification,” principally via the GI Bill and subsequent enactments, following World War II. Nor do I contest the claim that institutions of higher education are increasingly beset by forms of intervention and regulation over which they have limited control at best. But I do contend that the present situation of higher education and hence the debate about shared governance is not exhaustively captured by a metaphor that implies that the once more or less well-bounded academic citadel is now overrun by alien intruders demanding capitulation to their terms. Instead, and drawing on recent scholarship that explores the penetration of neoliberal values within associational forms once predicated on very different normative foundations, I suggest that we think of higher education as one of many overlapping, networked and reciprocally constitutive spheres, the affairs of which are ever more fully figured as matters of commodified exchange governed by the logic of the marketplace.
At first blush, this perspective may appear indistinguishable from that invoked by the term “corporatization” (or by the kindred term “privatization”). The vantage point I am proposing differs, however, insofar as it posits that the borders that once more neatly demarcated government from the economy, and both from higher education, are now so permeable that any analysis that presupposes the adequacy of an external-internal bifurcation is almost certain to conceal more than it reveals.
To adopt this perspective is to open up the possibility of asking how infiltration of higher education by neoliberal rationality, however uneven and contested that process may be, has fostered the formation of faculty members who are ever less likely to appreciate and still more unlikely to do what needs to be done to arrest their declining role in institutional governance. This sort of fashioning occurs not because we are duped by an ideology that legitimates our subordination to a ruling class and its duplicitous agents within the university. Rather, neoliberal academic subjects are shaped via everyday experiences in multiple domains of conduct, each of which engenders a representation of conduct as so many instrumental efforts to maximize return on investments in the self, whether this return takes shape as income, status or some other good.
We are accustomed to spotting this form of reason at work when, for example, our students treat their education as a commodity whose value is to be determined by future earning capacity. Are we, however, equally adept at recognizing its operation when we upload our publications to Academia.edu (as I recently did), and then frequently check our “analytics snapshots” (as I now find myself doing)? To what extent does such conduct betray internalization of the neoliberal assessment techniques and productivity metrics that are now ubiquitous throughout higher education?
And what lessons do graduate students absorb when told they must become entrepreneurial agents if they are to succeed in what we continue to (mis)represent as a meritocratic competition for the ever rarer prize that is a tenure-track position? And what does it tell us when that forlorn term in the holy trinity of faculty evaluation, i.e., service, becomes a matter to be shunned whenever possible as a distraction from the “research productivity” that is key to our recognition within the disciplinary silos from which we derive our primary identities? For neoliberal subjects, I fear, investment in institutional governance is ever more likely to be deemed a speculative outlay of scarce resources whose payoff, because uncertain at best, is ill advised.
Careerism, of course, is nothing new within the academy. What is new is the inconspicuous but unrelenting disappearance of rival forms of professional identity whose persistence might trouble the figuration of individual conduct, as well as our relations with one another, in a neoliberal register. To illustrate, consider the sort of faculty member imagined by the social contract that was tacitly and sometimes expressly invoked, especially in early decades of the 20th century, to justify the distinguishing features of the academic vocation.
However idealized, the terms of this contract, sometimes labeled “social trustee professionalism,” portrayed the academic career as an ethical trust that entailed commitment to the disinterested pursuit of knowledge that is indispensable to the altruistic good that is progressive enlightenment. Achievement of that end required that the university be subject to neither intrusive political regulation nor marketplace imperatives. To secure such relative autonomy demanded institutionalization of its necessary conditions, including tenure, peer review, academic freedom and participation in organizational governance akin to that exercised by members of other self-regulating professions, especially law and medicine. Should faculty members fail to engage in such governance, this representation cautioned, they will endanger the profession’s claim to exemption from forms of regulation to which other enterprises, especially commercial, are appropriately subject.
If that account of the academic social contract now rings implausible or even quaint, that goes a long way toward affirming the accuracy of my claim about the insidious encroachment of neoliberal sensibilities within the academy. True, sometimes a colleague will characterize teaching as a calling. And, occasionally, if not in so many words, a colleague will commend academic inquiry because of its capacity to contribute to distinctively public goods. Finally, every so often, a colleague (typically senior) will bemoan the disinclination of others (typically junior) to assume their fair share of responsibility for collective governance. Rarely if ever, though, are these claims understood as mutually constitutive elements of a social contract whose terms must be resolutely safeguarded if the walls separating internal from external are to prove more real than not.
Absent that understanding, we should not be surprised when those within the academy find appeals to institutional loyalty or sacrifice on behalf of a collective good ever more incredible in the literal sense of the term. Nor should we be surprised when people outside the academy contend that contemporary defenses of the academy’s independence are little more than self-serving efforts to shield from encroachment a monopolistic enterprise that is indistinguishable from more prosaic occupations.
To close, let’s assume that I am correct to suggest that those who argue that faculty participation in shared governance must be curtailed if the academy is to adapt successfully in the 21st century are effectively facilitating the neoliberal transformation of higher education into an engine of capitalist growth. And let’s imagine that I am right to argue that a key element of the neoliberal project involves dismantling the walls that once secured higher education some measure of independence from government and economy. And, finally, let’s imagine that I am on the mark in contending that this project’s advance is now fashioning neoliberal forms of faculty subjectivity that render us less likely to recognize our part in reproducing the conditions of our own marginalization.
To say all of this is not to advocate return to a bygone era that perhaps never existed and, if it did, was certainly not all it was cracked up to be. Nor is it to assign blame, which is an unproductive temptation to which we are already too prone. But it is to take issue with arguments that represent us as victims whose present plight is entirely a function of forces beyond our control. And, correlatively, it is to say that a failure to acknowledge our complicity in the erosion of faculty participation in shared governance is an act of bad faith.
Timothy V. Kaufman-Osborn is a professor of politics and leadership at Whitman College.
Far too many faculty members end up feeling anxious that they've accomplished -- and relaxed -- much less than they had hoped over the summer months, write Joya Misra and Jennifer Lundquist, who offer tips on how to avoid that.
Most people assume that medievalists like me have no interest or investment in new forms of books and publication processes. Nothing could be farther from the truth. While some aspects of digital writing -- especially increased speed, scale and access -- are undoubtedly new, other central features of blogging, wiki and social media platforms are not just old, but so old that they had become virtually obsolete prior to the invention of the computer. In fact, we can say they are newly medieval -- a recognition that has important implications for open communications in peer review.
When we describe an encyclopedia that operates as an unfinished accumulation of information about the world, in which multiple texts are compiled, abbreviated, juxtaposed, revised and recategorized by multiple (often) anonymous contributors over time, we are not just describing Wikipedia. We are describing the miscellaneous and assembled nature of most medieval collections, such as the bestiary, the florilegium and the chronicle. When we describe the expansion of a social network through written correspondence, we are not just describing friending on Facebook or following on Twitter. We are describing the medieval art of letter writing that flourished among notaries and bureaucrats, encouraging writers to share words with friends.
And when we describe a culture of commentary, in which the proliferation of comments upon a text or issue usurp the primacy of the text or issue itself, we are not just describing blog rants on the click-bait article of the day. We are describing the thriving industry of medieval commentaries on classical philosophy, biblical interpretation and legal codes. While all of these practices have continued to exist in various forms throughout the high age of print, they have achieved a prominence today that they have not experienced since the Middle Ages.
Among those many commonalities, the prevalence of commentary reflects a particular disposition toward writing and reading that is at the core of open-access movements. Advocates for open access have been working tirelessly to make scholarly work freely available online without most copyright and licensing restrictions, offering a vigorous response to the price barriers that limit the availability of scholarship to readers. The scientific community, for some time now, has been publishing research findings through open-access platforms, such as the Public Library of Science (PLoS), to share their work in a timely manner.
In contrast, humanities scholars have been slow to embrace such platforms, but humanities-focused open access now comes in a variety of packages from library consortia, such as the Open Library of the Humanities, to scholarly journals, such as Digital Humanities Quarterly, and independent presses, such as Open Humanities Press and punctum books. All of these open-access formats reflect a simple, yet seemingly radical, ideal: scholarly writing wants readers. This ideal, however, has an uncomfortable by-product: if scholarly work becomes more accessible to readers, the work becomes more vulnerable and its reception becomes more transparent. While there are multiple implications for this vulnerability and transparency within the context of open access, a key one is the relevance of open annotation practices for innovations in peer review.
Social Annotation and Open Peer Review
Reading has almost always been a social act, but I want to suggest that reading hasn’t been this social since the Middle Ages. An important distinction, however, must be made. Whereas now the social nature of reading is enhanced through ubiquity and accessibility, reading during the Middle Ages was social because of scarcity and inaccessibility. Digital texts thrive on speed, scale and access, offering multiple opportunities for encounters with readers. Medieval texts and readers were relatively scarce, raising the value and utility of the single book, which might be used by generations of commentators for interpretations of Aesop’s fables in the classroom to legal glosses on canon law. From these two very different contexts emerge an emphasis on commentary and annotation, which establish a text’s value and use.
Unfortunately, the potential of this social culture of commentary is often squandered, especially within traditional methods of double-blind peer review. I have been persuaded by Kathleen Fitzpatrick and Martin Paul Eve, among others, that open peer review (even in partially open formats) offers more benefits than double-blind peer review for the following reasons.
Open review makes commentary more transparent. Open peer review is the equivalent of a Microsoft Word document that tracks changes, showing markup. Many medieval manuscripts and early printed books were produced in anticipation of this marked-up state, with complex textual apparatus, including space for interlineal glosses and marginalia. Within open review formats, the comments of writers and reviewers are made available to all, encouraging vigorous dialogue. For example, the Modern Language Association Commons is currently hosting an open review of the volume Digital Pedagogy in the Humanities, which uses a commentary platform that allows for discussion between reviewers and writers. Such an open format allows writers to evaluate the feedback intelligently, which I have witnessed in two open-review experiments hosted by the journal Postmedieval and Media Commons Press. Writers can assess feedback by asking themselves questions, such as, “Is this just one reviewer’s agenda or is this critique shared by others?” Perhaps most importantly, the transparency of open review reveals bias. If a reviewer has a clear bias, the community of reviewers can help to identify it.
Open review enhances the utility and relevance of the commentary. Within open-review platforms, reviewers are often self-selected, based on their investment and expertise, as opposed to responding to a request from an editor to review a manuscript (which may not reflect the reviewer’s interests or expertise).
Open review allows for a large number of reviewers. Rather than limit the task of review to a handful of reviewers, work shared in open review is crowdsourced and potentially subject to a large volume of commentary. The work of reviewing could then be distributed, making it less of a burden upon individual reviewers and enriching and enlarging the community invested in the work.
Open review treats scholarly work as it really is: work in progress. Finished work is a myth, despite our emphasis on products. An exciting new project, the Open Access Companion to The Canterbury Tales, refers to its first incarnation as a kind of Netflix-like “first season,” recognizing that its value will be maintained or enhanced through accumulation and evolution.
Open review maximizes the value, relevance and impact of the work. Years ago, I asked a senior scholar about an argument he made in his first book and was shocked when he replied, “I don’t believe that anymore.” Now that I have published my own work and have revised my thoughts about some aspects of it, I see this as a natural consequence of doing scholarly work. We often change our minds, especially after being exposed to other reasoned critiques of our work. Open review formats could therefore continue postprint, making book reviews more significant and useful. The book review process would become more dynamic -- authors (and other reviewers) could respond to and correct outrageous or uninformed claims in reviews.
We should all be moving toward open-review practices and publicly accessible review platforms, but given the precarious positions of many scholars and publishers, we should proceed with caution. After all, blind forms of review have often allowed work to stand on its own and protected scholars from bias and career-damaging critiques. Keeping in mind Kathleen Fitzpatrick and Avi Santo’s important call for “structured flexibility” in developing protocols and tools for open review, I offer the following recommendations:
Make comments publicly available, even within double-blind formats. Whereas anonymity often protects the identities of junior scholars or reviewers who might be given little consideration because of their professional status, I see little benefit from keeping commentary hidden, especially on open-access platforms. While the redaction of comments keeps some critiques out of the hands of tenure review committees, such transparency would allow the larger scholarly community to redress critiques that are useless, unfair or biased. Even within such an open platform, however, editors would need to moderate commentary, especially to prevent trolling, spamming and harassment. If editors want to limit the feedback authors receive, they could open the comments only to reviewers, which could provide a forum for reconciling confusing or contradictory feedback.
Adopt single-blind formats, in which the author remains anonymous and the names of reviewers are divulged. This kind of limited open review maintains transparency during the review process, while at the same time mitigating the possible embarrassment or damage to the promotion of a scholar whose work results in public rejection. Many publishers already use a limited form of single-blind review, revealing the name of the author to two or three reviewers only known by the editor. This format protects the reviewers, which can be beneficial for junior or less established scholars who want their reviews to be taken seriously, but it also licenses reviewers to pursue critiques they may not be willing to stand behind. By contrast, an open-review platform that reveals the names of reviewers to the public would encourage responsible critiques and provide valuable contexts, such as a reviewer’s scholarly perspectives or preferences, for feedback that would otherwise be unavailable to authors.
Establish multistage processes that combine blind and open review formats. Even within double-blind review, established authors are often identifiable because of their reputations for particular kinds of scholarship or areas of expertise. For such known quantities, even the most transparent forms of open review may be appropriate. New scholars to a field, however, may benefit from multistage processes, in which their work is subject first to blind review before being deemed publishable and then vetted through open review. These hybridized formats would be especially appropriate for well-established journals and presses that already have active and vigorous scholarly communities that are seeking to make their work more available to the public at large.
Create spaces for postpublication open review. Many medieval manuscripts survive marked and mediated by the hands of multiple marginal commentators, creating a readerly trail that medievalists follow to track the way the work has been received over time. Today, our book reviews are too often limited to the views of individual scholars, who may not be invested in the work they are reviewing. Postpublication book or article review spaces would open up and crowdsource the reception of the work, providing opportunities for authors to respond to feedback from multiple interested reviewers and make important revisions to their publications.
Open Access Needs Open Review to Be Open
It is important to stress that open access, even in its most liberal forms, does not require open review -- double-blind processes can continue unabated. Open-access publishers who continue to use blind review will not undermine their efforts to make scholarly work accessible. However, those publishers will not fully succeed in making this work open.
The democratic potential and ethic of openness is not fully realized without open review, which would provide opportunities for scholarly dialogue and critique throughout the writing process and beyond. The quality, range and significance of work could be greatly enhanced, offering a distributed network of invested writers and reviewers, rather than small cohorts of experts and exclusive publishing priesthoods.
Alex Mueller is associate professor of English at the University of Massachusetts in Boston.
You just got the journal editor’s email. Your article was accepted. Congratulations!
Now what happens?
The next steps used to be automatic: sign your author rights over to the publisher, check your proofs, wait for the article to appear and then bask in glory -- or at least update your CV and tenure file.
But times have changed. Institutional mandates for open access, rising awareness of author rights and growing options for disseminating work online mean that automatic assignment of author rights to publishers is not always desirable, or even possible. At the same time, dwindling institutional subscription budgets, increased pressure on corporate publishers to show profits and dependence of small scholarly associations on journal revenues mean that publishers scramble to capture as many salable rights as they can.
As a consequence, authors increasingly find themselves negotiating with publishers to see their work to completion, even after they successfully navigate academic peer review.
This situation is bad for authors, who start at a huge disadvantage in any negotiations with publishers. Multinational corporate publishers work with hundreds of journals and thousands of authors at once, and few journals are short of submissions. Publishers can always walk away from the table and wait for a more compliant author to come along.
But for authors, a decision to walk away involves a variety of unsatisfactory compromises. Starting over at another journal triggers another peer-review cycle and incurs costly delays. There’s no guarantee that the next journal will be more open to negotiation. And author-friendly alternatives, such as new open-access journals, often lack the prestige of more established journals. In an academic world with tightening job markets and rising tenure requirements, these compromises can have negative career consequences.
Turning authors into negotiators after peer review also undermines the peer-review process and threatens editorial autonomy. Once an article has passed peer review, there is no good academic reason not to publish. Peer reviewers and editors have agreed that the paper should be published. The academic decision has already been made. If publishers respected the peer-review process, academic decisions would be final, and publication would be a reward for academic quality.
Instead, publishers increasingly use academic decisions as business leverage to extract more concessions from authors before publication. For example, in my own field, the sociology of religion, both leading subfield journals have recently reduced the scope of rights granted back to authors by significantly extending embargo periods on published articles. Both journals have also moved to web-based publication agreements, making it difficult to attach the Scholarly Publishing and Academic Resources Coalition addendum that helps authors retain important rights. Things are getting worse, not better.
So how do we fix these problems? How can we keep the power of peer review in the hands of academics? How can we start leveling the playing field for authors?
It’s a big challenge. Any solution needs to empower authors to walk away from negotiations without incurring career-threatening penalties and to offer a way to leverage academic decisions for the benefit of authors rather than publishers.
My suggestion? Make journal acceptance portable.
This solution is radical, but it’s not complicated. Making journal acceptance portable means that journals would honor acceptance decisions from other journals, publish those articles without additional peer review and explicitly credit the original journal’s acceptance for publication. This solution could be applied to existing journals with more generous publication terms or to new open-access journals designed for maximum author flexibility.
How would it work?
For illustrative purposes, let’s say we start a new open-access journal called the Journal of Prestige Redistribution.
First, the editors of JPR would make a list of trusted journals. That would involve reaching a working consensus about, for example, the most prestigious journals for a given field or subfield. The trusted journal list would establish JPR’s scope and would assure readers that every JPR article originally passed peer review at a prestigious journal in their field. Articles accepted at trusted journals would automatically be eligible for publication in JPR, without further review.
Second, JPR would establish a protocol for verifying that a paper successfully passed peer review at a trusted journal. A model for this protocol already exists. Publons, a service that gives credit to reviewers for reviewing journal submissions, verifies those reviews using the confirmation email from the relevant journal. Following that model, authors who wish to transfer their acceptance to JPR could simply provide JPR editors with the acceptance letter from the journal’s academic editor.
Third, JPR would publish accepted articles without further peer review, giving explicit credit to the journal at which peer review took place. For example, JPR might publish each paper with a header or footnote that says, “This paper passed academic peer review at Leading Academic Journal. Subsequent to acceptance, business negotiations with Corporate Journal Publisher broke down.” This notice would guarantee the visibility of the paper’s peer-review pedigree and reinforce the distinction between academic merit and business interests.
Ideally the resulting publications would combine the best parts of our current scholarly publishing system: the imprimatur of established, prestigious journals and the author-friendly policies of newer alternatives. By making acceptances portable, JPR-like journals could empower authors to negotiate from a stronger position, knowing that walking away would not mean starting over. And, as the (hypothetical) name suggests, JPR journals could liberate from any given corporate publisher the prestige that quality academic peer reviewing provides, restoring editorial autonomy to the publishing process.
So why not do it?
One objection is that academic editors who are hard-pressed to find peer reviewers may see a JPR publication as free riding on their peer-review process. But arguably every paper rejected after peer review is also a free rider. Making acceptances portable likely would have little effect on submissions or editorial workload. But it would put pressure on publishers to improve terms and conditions for authors. Admittedly, that pressure could create awkwardness for editors who cooperate with publishers to limit author rights.
Then, of course, there is the possibility of fraud. An unscrupulous author might find a way to forge an acceptance email, for example. Or an author could attempt to publish a different version of the paper than the version originally accepted. Those are legitimate problems, but they are not distinct to the JPR model. Perhaps even you have pulled out a few paragraphs from the final version after satisfying reviewer No. 2?
Probably the biggest objection is that corporate publishers will see portable acceptances as a threat, thereby becoming motivated to alter their submission terms and conditions or enforce new rules on editors and reviewers, in order to prevent JPR-like journals from succeeding. But corporate publishers already see challenges to their business interests as a threat. Academics are not obliged to defend those business interests.
Which brings up a final concern. Who will step up? Editors, authors and professional associations are all entangled in a scholarly publishing system that increasingly favors corporate publishers over academic contributors. Reform by any individual, editor or association is difficult. Defending academic interests requires mobilizing supportive communities and institutions. It’s possible that academe just isn’t ready to support a JPR proposal.
Whether we’re ready or not, scholarly publishing is changing. We don’t know exactly what future changes will look like. But we must be willing to explore options that benefit authors and support academic autonomy. Sure, some options might disadvantage some publishing companies or threaten established status hierarchies. They might even make some enemies. But they also might create a more generative, equitable and author-centered academic publishing future.